philrancid: (potted hand)
Today shall be the completion of my first week in my new Architectural Drafting class, which the shelter I'm staying in has been gracious enough to pay for. It's kinda neat. I have to go to court on the fifth of May for the family case--dread.

Have mediation on the third of June for the family case--don't really know what to expect.

Have court for the criminal case on the fourteenth of June--not sure at all that I want to go, ya know? Dreading that one big time. It could spell the end, ya know? It would probably do to get me snail mail addresses if you're interested in still hearing from me, should the worst come to pass.

That way, if you don't hear from me shortly after the fourteenth, then you'll know to expect a letter.

The shelter paid for the class, and is willing to pay for the supplies, but of course, they take two weeks or so to get the requests filled, and they don't reimburse for anything that you have to pay out becasue they take too fucking long.

I have to go out and try to find another job, one that has a scehdule not quite so conflicting with the class, which is in the evenings.

I am also considering seeing if I can sneak a Pell grant outta the system, so that I can try and find myself somewhere a little more private to live till all this shit settles itself.

Until the future,
I am,
Phil Rancid
philrancid: (Default)
And yes, I HAve been reading some Howard, but only a slim volume of his Kull stories
(cry poverty! and let slip the books of yore...)
and a couple of Dark Horse Conan issues from their new line. And then I got myself the new Drizzt novel, and picked up the new Norah Jones as an easter gift for someone else.

Some dude who was a friend of the guy I used to bunk with at the shelter came into my room last night and told me that if I didn't stop my shit with his pal that he would hurt me, so I spent some quality sleep-time up in the front office with bunkie and pal, and now I have to wait until tonight to find out who my new bunkie is, as they've moved me. He seems terribly messy.

Incidentally, which of you monkeys is Tasteless in here?

The librarians have this site filtered for the reason mentioned above, and I'm pretty curious as to which one of you has gone and done it--it's quite the hassle to have to ask permission every time for the password override.

Anyway, onward and downward--have to work tonight.
philrancid: (potted hand)
Pets. I like cats, and since I'm homeless, I can't exactly have one of my own, although there was this really beautiful and sweet kitty who would actually curl up and sleep in my lap on the cold nights at the shelter.

Since I know you guys have cats and stuff, would you do me a favor, and show me some pictures of them? Just put them in the comments here.

I know I said earlier that I was going to tormetn the images of your cats with a mouse cursor, but I was just goofing around--I really would like to see some cats, that don't run like streaks as soon as you call them.

There was this poor ragged one hanging out at the Falls mall, but before I could talk him into coming over, some Damned Asian Tourist Kids came up and scared him off.

(Little Fuckers. I happen to have some ties with Gazirra AND Mothra, you little turds--keep screwing around and I'll sic some Monster Island lovin' on yer damn hometowns.)
philrancid: (potted hand)
Good. Color me retarded.

Went to try and find out info about maybe taking a drafting course at the local votech. Waited much time and spent many minutes waiting on buses.

(it's coming, get ready)

Finally found the right buses after making several pointless and useless phone calls to the more seldom-used numbers on my phone list. By the way, if any of you LJ fools want to talk to The Homeless himself, drop me a line or something, with your email--unfortunately, as it is, I can only call within the contiguous US, so certain of my favcorite little peoples out there will have to go without me calling them.

On the plus side, it doesn't cost me anything to call you, if I have your number. If I don't, then it would cost me a few private detectives or something, and that is something I just can't do. Or something.

My therapist has assigned to me the odious task of going out and taking this class so that I can get some job skills, plus it helps to show that I am attempting to turn my life around, and it gets me out of the little motel-room-turned-homeless shelter, where I sit around and dwell on my pain and am generally doing nothing good for anyone, especially myself. I am also at the library because she wants me to get out more, and, really, other than the privacy and seclusion that I tend to prefer, and few paltry personal possessions, the cottages hold nothing for me.

The only problem with using such a medium (livejounal) as a means of talking to people, it's a passive medium, as Charles said, and thus I have to wait until you get here read up and then hold forth--which sometimes, things get lost in the shuffle.

I really miss my kids my wife and my life. I'd also really like to play guitar--anyone who really plays, you know what I'm talking about; that same sort of itch you get when you see an axe lying about, or when a buddy of yours is playing his and you have to wait and see when he'll be done so that you can go, "Lemme see that?"

(here it is)

So I walk up to the gate of the votech, and it's a set from one of my favorite genre films.

Spring Break.

(that metaphoric styling might be confusing to some, so here I shall spell it out--it IS spring break, and thus the votech resembled some great abandoned building, full of empty menace--or is it empty indeed? Is that man shuffling around over by the far wall actually a security guard, or is he yet another of the walking dead? Will our hero make it out of this latest faux pas, or is he doomed to contract a certainly-fatal bite or scratch, or worse, shall he be torn to pieces by hordes of the hungry dead?)

I think I'm going to go read my Conan comic books now, and then maybe some HHGTTG.

Ya'll get in touch, okay?

November 2012

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