Monday, December 28, 2009

pain, madness and everyday life, section 2

....another day another night. pixie dies again... & again...& again. third time's a charm. Joe can't take this shite. cats make more sense anyway...they're logical more like people. Spike knew what to do with a stupid rat like pixie ... Jane watches for signs of ratgut poisoning no luck so far. no small mercies anywhere. Joe is scrabbling around the house pretending he's not craving, pretending he's not looking for stash. Jesus, four dopeheads flop here why can't I find any f&#@ing stuff!!! he is in Jane's face. He stinks. Jane asks: Where's Jack? Jack is Joe's dealer. I thought he was bringing over your stuff. He's on his way I think...how would anyone know ? the phone's been cut off... all the bill money's gone to Jack. Jane is desperate for cash. Cat shit and dog shit everywhere...pet litter costs money you know... there's a pile of turds on the back step like some animal stuck its arse out the door and just did a dump right there. Gross. It's the only door. Joe is keening.... what's Jack gonna think...WTF!!! what's Jack gonna think?! Jane wanders upstairs and runs the shower. They still have water so at least there's a place to cry in private. For now. Joe is muttering and pacing....Jack should be here.... any minute...

Jane has a love-hate relationship with Joy. This is not a metaphor...or an irony. Here is the message Jane sent Joy the week before:
$ick!! phone i$ off. $orry. i'll w@tch 4 u @nytime pm $@turd@y.
Joy thinks Jane has lost it until she remembers Jane telling her that she can't get the letters 'a' and 's' to work on her computer which is too bad they seem like important letters for lots of words. Whatever. Joy gets it. She parks in the driveway...it feels like it is too late already but there was no way to call just show up & hope for the best. The dogs go freakin' wild as soon as Joy touches the gate. The back steps are flanked by two stone sculptures, a seated hippo on the left and a fat placid buddha on the right ...it's like a shit altar ...there's no way I'm making this up, man... Joe flings open the door...aw, f@#k, man... you're not Jack! Joy stares him down he holds back the dogs on straining tangling leashes but their paws get into the shitpile. Jane pushes past as best she can, giddy with freedom, shoes flopping she slips and steps in the shitty goo that's smeared all over the step but follows Joy like a woman on a mission you can't track that shite into the car, Jane... I'm sorry ....
Jane throws her shoes back over the fence. Just go...she says, dragging herself into the car, I'm good. She struggles to pull socks over her gnarled toes as Joy backs out. She's wearing a man's shirt, green with stripes too big her hair is a mess., skin clammy, breath coming in gasps and pants. OUT...at last. Jane finally crumples, collapsing into the seat. Joy just drives.
How about we go for a coffee she says after a time... I know a place where we can sit in the car and watch the water... maybe listen to the birds ...or nothing, Even better. Joy gets them coffee. They sit and watch grey birds and grey water and grey sky. Jane sobs I'm so f#@&ed, Joy..I mean, I paid the rent but Jack's got all the rest I can't even buy cat litter. I got cash Joy says. I'll give you some. Will; not might. This is an important detail. Everything is quiet except for sips, swallows and gulls. Jane gazes over at Joy. Can we get some tylenol on the way back?

and I can't ever do justice to this unnamable madness of povertybullshiteverydaysorrow....

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