Thursday evening. Brother's in the living room with his guitar - singing.
Looking at the pile of bills on the computer desk. They're all coming due - God knows when - I just don't feel like paying them right now. I suppose they'll send me a second chance notice if I wait too long.
I keep checking the mail for my ACLU membership card. They told me that they were going to send me one. Maybe I got it and thought it was just so much junk mail. Damn - I wanted that card.
I wish I had a beer. I suppose I could run down to the Seven Eleven and get a six pack. I just don't feel like doing that right now.
Another telephone solicitor masquerading as a survey taker. Wants to ask me about medicare. "Hell, I'm only 59. I don't know anything about medicare."
"Well is there anyone in your house who is over sixty-five?"
"No."
"Is there anyone in your house under sixty-five..."
"Well, if there's nobody over sixty-five, obviously we're all under sixty-five."
"Is there anyone in your house under sixty-five who is disabled."
"Oh, sorry. I didn't let you finish the question. Actually, I have a brother who hasn't worked in seven years."
"Is he disabled?"
"No, he's just a half-wit."
"Thank you for your time."
"I think his brain is shoved in backwards."
"Thank you, Sir."
"He just sits in there and plays that fuckin' guitar all day long."
"Thank you."
"Yeah, have a nice day."
