Drift in the eyes of the ghost again

Well, the drowning man has visited again: out of the sky and into my body.



I awoke in such pain this morning I could barely move. Knees, elbows, joints, legs on fire, lower back. This is called fibromyalgia and it's a slow form of hell. They (the Doctors) want to put me on painkillers, but I am hard-wired to get hooked on those pills, thanks to my lovely Eugene O'Neill DNA. Hydrocodone scares the living shit outta me. Straight up. Taking care of this banged-up body means uncovering all the illnesses my predecessors ignored. Thyroid problems (which I have) and PCOS (which go hand-in-hand) have a dark connection to a soft-tissue disorder called fibromyalgia. For a woman who's spend 28 years on and off the ice, it frightens me to feel like I'm on fire. I am burning inside and out and it ain't passion, kiddies.



I am home instead of deciding like a good juror because I could barely get out of bed. It felt like little gnomes were stabbing me with ice picks. I didn't know whether I should report at 9 or 10, but I wasn't getting there until 10:30, which I did. I truly didn't care today. 32 and I'm hunched over like a strega? Dear Lord, help me.



So, I get there. I walk through the holding area and didn't recognize anyone. I knew I was in trouble. I limp past the security guard into the "main office". I am told to wait. Waiting without a chair is not good. "Is she ok?" I hear someone ask. The answer is NO NO NO, but now I'm getting attitude. I beg the woman to check my name, I'm worried, I'm not feeling well, and I don't want to come back because I don't want to lose my job and I get snapped with "oh, THAT'S WHY YOU'RE NOT FEELING WELL, YOU DON'T WANT TO BE HERE. BACK OF THE LINE!"



To which I think, silently burning (my legs, back and SOUL now in fury), "What the fuck do I have to do to be treated like a human being?" I can feel my anger raising. This is sooo not good.



I am told to go upstairs to the third floor. I am now lost on the elevator. 8th floor, 6th floor, 2nd floor. No third floor. 20 minutes have gone by. Finally, I get to the third floor. More attitude. I also know they are looking for that missing juror. I can't even remember the case name. I am ready to keel.



"Well, then, you need to go back downstairs so I know what room." I completely lose it. And not in my usual manner. Tears are streaming down my face now. The security guard knows I am not kidding. I proceed to break down completely. I show her my pills, I grab a chair and scream "I CAN'T DO THIS I DON'T FEEL WELL WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE A HUMAN BEING????" I tell her, another judge, and a clerk that I simply can't do this. After waiting two weeks of bullshit, going there two days, going back to work, coming back a third time, and then being told to come back a fourth time because we "might" have a judge, I give up. Then I get a phone call--PB wants to know if I'm in Thursday, Friday and next week. Of course, she doesn't call me herself. Why would she? Get someone else to do it. She's the boss. She's tired of backing up my work. She's leaving next week, so once again, IT'S MY PROBLEM. Never mind the fact that I'm working myself to the fucking bone--the burning on fire bones--but she has to have my schedule while she does damn well what she pleases. Yes, I'll be in because I'm tired of fixing her fucking mistakes. I was put here to figure out my lot in this world, not to kiss her ass. I hang up the phone. "I'll be back Thursday, regular time." I go back down with another guard, looking like I won the Courtney Love lookalike contest (mascara smeared in 12 directions), and am told to wait again. 15 minutes tick by.



I am now getting pitiful and discomforted looks from the other jurors in the lounge. I am a freak. I am distraught. Devoid of connection, empty of logic. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.



Dismissal. Four more years before I am inconvenienced again. Small comfort. I walk out into the rain, the story of my life.



I catch the bus. I'm drenched from the spraying rain. My umbrella is useless. So am I, today.



Tea, out of wet clothes, Kashi. Umbrella near radiator to dry. Led Zeppelin on the radio.



And I sit writing this, wondering how I got to this point.



Sure as hell ain't enough room to write that down.



=^..^= ???