Nanny Goat

"Don't come out. It's too hot."-- Nicholas Marinelli

Despite the storm, and the fact that I knew I was off when I launched from toilet back to cushion Saturday, an attendant would not have solved the problem that I lost my balance after 10 pm. I did not actually fall, just squished, an actual Kafka vermin, and I deposited large, shall we say. Cerebral palsy is like that; wheelchair sitting augments the problem, and when my stool is hefty I get winded and knew I should have waited and repositioned; nevertheless, the episode is a harbinger that my lateral transfers are weakening. Evicting myself from Niggerland and nigger bitches and beetle boys shall not restore my strength, but I warned mio padre of my scheme and he said okay without realizing I'm rolling out of Riverside for good. Depositing that stool in a diaper would have amounted to a health hazard, and I may not have a solution, but I'm going home, divided as to whether I should put myself in rehab for a few days, not optimistic about that, and transfer boards never worked for me.

I know this is going to cost me, and I may lose my phone and even most of my possessions, unless I threaten the corporate office, but I'm leaving, even at the price of falling silent, maybe not forever-- or it could be that I have reached an end point, so if the authorities have coerced ATT into monitoring me they aren't going to find the radicalization they look for in the traditional sense. (I don't know, all I intimated to my favorite independent living center was one day they will face an Omar Mateen if they keep prevaricating as they do with quadriplegics, but it isn't just us, they hire and boot the blind and epileptics with equally perspicacious dispensing of employees who need unreasonable accommodating). I'm still evil, still angry enough to go to prison, but age trumps even the vicious, and I need to get this done before the man dies, while I wrestle the moral dilemma of bed ridden dependency. I cannot do it. I just can't. I know what I face, even if it's an open question how long I survive it. I want to go home, and my father is where that resides in my heart. I talked to him about a steel temp building of some sort. He is going to kill me, and I'm stressed beyond what I need, but there we have it.