Insomniac

They’re threatening me with “reverse curfew”, which means from 9:00am to 5:00pm daily, I will be into forced exile up and down the Dixie Highway until I can find employment.

The Dixie Highway is where the bums and drifters tend to congregate. It amazes me that halfway houses do this to their people in a world where loitering is a crime and most of the third-places per capita are places of ill-repute.

I stayed up half the night tossing and turning because “That Woman” or, “The Beast” as I’ve now taken to calling her, was due to come at 8:00am sharp this morning to take my ersatz kid sister on some errands. I’ve since gone positively rancid on That Woman since her attempts at ripping me a new asshole the other day in an attempt to inspire me to find employment and hire her as my caseworker.

I’m calling a spade a spade. That woman is a manipulative viper. I’ve seen them before and it cost me my freedom and safety to interact with one such as her, far too many times.

She insulted my cooking, did I mention that? As a recovering alcoholic, as a woman still grieving the loss of her mother, cooking has been some sacred part of myself I’ve been trying to protect and get back into. She said I was using my talents to “dazzle” and “distract” people. Fuck her, quite frankly.

I’m in recovery from alcoholism and anorexia. I weighed 110 pounds when I got to the rehab clinic, you could have knocked me over with a goddamned feather. It took me medication and therapy to feel good about eating again. When I cooked again for the first time, for family dinner, I spiraled into a dark depression trying to reconcile my love of cooking with the destruction of my life.

Because I didn’t sleep last night, the world feels distorted and strange. I’m not a napper so I don’t expect sleep until sometime later this evening, so it will be a long day.

All the same, I feel like something good is on the horizon.