So when I mention my standard-issue bad luck, I mean this: My checkbook seems to have the impressive power to disappear when I need it. I was running late anyway getting out the door to make the trip to Louisville to meet with the landlord and give him the deposit to hold the place and for me to get another quick look around at the apartment. Fuck it, I thought, I�ll get the money out when I get up there or get a money order. So I drive, scream-flying dazed, buzz saw, saw-tooth down the bending snake and around the moronic tractor-humping farmer jockeys. And I realize as I go just how fuckheaded I truly am since I�ve neglected the apartment addresses info and the exact time I was supposed to meet him there. We said 3, then said 4, then I thought perhaps we had said 3:30 and I just hoped I could remember where the apartment was located.I get there and slide into an atm which quickly informs me that I can�t have that kind of cash. I try to buy a money order with the card since it�s from my bank account: No go either. There�s no contact number on my shitty, Podunk bank card. I don�t know the pin for my credit cards. I�m screwed. I head over though, maybe he�ll understand. It�s 3:30, I determine which place I believe to be it. There�s no sign of him. I call and leave a message and head over to my friends house and try again. It was 3 we were supposed to meet. He sounds just a little displeased. He gives me directions out his way. My friend assures me that there must be some way to get the cash out, so we head to meet him. I stop and try everything we can think of, no money. I have money and they won�t let me have it. I have my parents bankcard they gave me for emergencies, it expired Jan. of �02, and guess who hadn�t bother to notice? What�s the use in going to meet him then? So we return to my friend�s house where I�m going to call and come clean about the no access to funds business. I speak with the wife and she�s sweet. I do well with mothers for some reason, always have. She says she�ll speak to him when he gets back since he�s still thinking that he�s meeting us. I can imagine how pissed he�s going to be. I figure I�ve lost the place; it�s my curse and idiocy. I want to kick my own ass repeatedly.
He calls. He�s not much for wanting to talk about it. Just says: Drop it in the mail to him. I apologize, but he would really like to let it go probably so he doesn�t let go on me. I do and it�s done. *Whew* So it was in the mail over-nighting itself to him. I�ll give it until Wednesday and call to find out about arranging to meet him for signing the lease and agreeing on a date to move in. I figure February 8th. That�s two weeks for the job. What I�m taking will fit in a van anyway.
I�ll take the four track, my guitar and pedals, art supplies, computer, TV., clothes, notebooks and pictures, my camera, some books, comics, and cd�s. I want to see if I can forget to pack the bad luck though, I�m just a little sick of it at the moment.
There�s some tiny music in the back of my head today to go along with this melancholy drag. There�s some flutterings of sound curdling into sensation and emotion icing up the spine to go along with the clouded discourse on life, memory, reflection.. Tired, yes, sad, a little, depressed?, maybe, confused though, totally. I walk in and out through this door tasting my anger, passions, fear but yet I�m the one left feeling like I�m just another meal. I am ambitious for ruin, consistently run afoul of my more pure intentions and desires. The great dilemma, the contradiction in form versus the content of the invited. I get my personal courage screwed up and launch a hang glider off your shoulders and dissolve into the thickening fog. I won�t be coming back this time..
