Left Anaheim Memorial Hospital 5 am after sleeping cramped on a vinyl sofa, better than the cold cement I'm used to.
Ready and nervous for my street performance event, I hardly slept a wink. And with benzodiazapine withdrawl in full effect, gnashed my teeth, and twiddled my toes most of the night.
Found out vending machines now take ATM cards, I enjoyed a couple soda pop and snacks. My bank card worked like a charm. No real poor people snatching fees included, all seemed to be Wells Fargo, in my decoder of bad events to come.
Going to Starbucks to land my phone on a groovy revival unit on their tables, I had the hospital staff summon a taxi. Not even sure yet what company she called, but they were there within a few minutes.
Had this big festive, anti-anxiety plan together to write signs in my sketchbook, and deliver a winning show of performance and community financial unity.
What a fantasy I had going on, that the city of Cypress, would accept this newly groomed at Ross dress for Less by a lovely, patient girl named Alana.
My hair was fantastically engineered by a humble but adept, hardworking asian woman. She took the crazy curl monster full of split bends, and carefully commandered my head dressing.
She washed my hair with car and longevity, giving this lonely traveler the feeling of another human being crafted for such a service.
OOoooh, aaaah, I tried to keep my prattle trap shut, as she was professional and serious. Most Asian women born outside the land of the gabby salons, tend to be shy and willing to lie.
We were both surprised at how young each other looked.
"Clear consciences," I quipped.
I saw the result, and put up at $10 tip after a modest sum of $17 was expected.
She wanted no internet credit, as I offer the truth in advertising to deal to the finest quality, not Costco style, but simple craftsmanship and care, and real true selling points. Not a way to lure and hide a naughty defect, of both character and product/service itself.
So, five A.M. arrived and the hospital security guard reassured a restless actor things would go well.
Cab came and whisked me to the Starbucks and ducks a lucky drug dealership full of coffee potless, busy, cafeenders on Valley view and Lincoln.
The driver and I discussed my books, as an incident had occurred which brought me to the topic of my personal and universal sexual conditioning topic where I will explore our plight: The Owner of a Boner, it will be entitled. LOL
The rather thoughtful driver reflected some interesting atrocities we face, and we shared some info and interest in the subject.
The darkness still lingering, Starbucks oasis of light, approached and got my debit card ready for a transaction and tip.
The screen like a big screen TV was in the back seat, yet, still with no glasses and brain damage, (who would've thought) I couldn't see or operate the damn thing and my card was initially declined.
I knew with simple math and overdraft protection there should be no problem.
Suddenly the driver became concerned and he tried, and Declined again.
WTH? I thought this isn't good, I could feel the arrival of the Buzzkiller serial episodes with me. Nearly threw up as a happy performer is probably the better than a stage heckling the crowd. OH boy.
WEnt to Chevron and inexplicably their ATM wasn't working.
Driver questioned me as if to suggest I had purposely obtained a ride knowing I didn't have funds.
I squealed that was preposterous.
Apparently jaded, or stiffed one too many times, he told me to just leave.
I said I'd get with the bank and straighten the matter, but was pushed out with a heavy lack of trust and really hurt my feelings.
Shouldn't he notice my big morality chip on my shoulder, and truth telling fixations? lol
Went marching out of car and left my phone behind...
Hence no FB updates, as my G4 and I were satellites orbiting in different directions and there was no way to catch the irritated driver.
As tears began to pour down on the poor, I realized I had no cash either, which meant no coffee or communication.
I lost it completely. Oh yeah, big heaving sobs, gallons of fluid flowing from my eyes, I walked out of Starbucks and hid myself in between a store and a pillar. \
Cars drove by my emotionally discharging ass and none even looked concerned. I could hear the echo of my meltdown sounds coming off the walls.
I yelled at myself: No PITY, NO FEAR, NO anger and remembering my own rule of faith: Everything that can go right, will go right, even if it seems wrong.
Didn't exactly do much at that point.
Starbucks did not want me doing banking business on their busy coffee scheduling phone, but offered a call to a friend to pick me up (and probably deliver from their midst.)
I called, Tonto, former decade old friend of the Bipolar American, who antagonized me for two months and when I improperly stiffened and met her demeaning, demanding, words with improper protest, I was thrown out and she told me to basically lose her number. (And kept all my stuff, prescriptions, blanket, toothbrush etc. with no remorse.) Bitch....lol
I made an exacting call that I was penniless, no caffeending, and it was imperative if she was to see me ever again as a friend, that she come to my emotional rescue.
Have no idea if she even got out of bed that day.
So, I took my sobbing, freaking bones across the street to begin a pre-dawn begging session with busy commuters.
Yeah, that went well.
One young woman, student, beautiful caring eyes handed me a few one dollar bills before I even asked. I fell to the public sidewalk in front of my junior league college, Cypress College, in of course, Cypress. Dynamic.
Sobbing, now uncertain if I should entertain as I had no promise of food or shelter, or even a luxurious bus ride to the bank to attack the whole industry with a dry tongue chapped from all my complaining.
I pulled out the sketch book, and instead of those positively clever signs I fashioned while living my debut performance fantasy, I scrawled in ball point: HELP.
REally creative, but certainly fitting the fearful fit I was being served by the humble pie delivery service: Buzzkill lightyear, I growled, outloud in fact, is doing it again to me.
Boo hoo, I could not imagine a more pathetic polar on the side of the road, and in front of an educational institution putting secretaries and bottle washers into the workforce by the dozens.
FUCK THEM, I thought, which triggered the opposite reaction: Bipolar Rage and Raving.
Now, it went from help poor little polar cub, pay her cabby and redeem her tab, be it small but personally offensive.
While suddenly bursting into mother code of a loose tongue tied to it's post for too long, I realized, hell I owe money to almost everybody and everything I ever did/done/or served. Not a credit report I was willing to let slide either. Family, veterinarians, libraries, you name it, I let them suck it up.
Whoops, made me madder and more vulgar.
Luckily, it was still half dark, and the college vacant of ears, such as security.
I raged, and began writing signs like NEVER QUIT, Help the fallen human, and other weird stuff until suddenly with odds on buzzkill could provide, My pen ran out of ink and I was so poor I didn't have a spare.
I went nuts. Threw the pen to the streets, got all paranoid up, and began casting doubt on my stage of events.
Yelling, muddling through physical hostile effects, cars averted and hid from the mad woman, now clearly being seen in the predawn.
Yup, I'm a real sweety pie, with a mouth of a cobra, and the spit to go with it. I thought of putting up a flag, owning the sidewalk and selling it as my property.
Losing it, they call it.
I fell to my knees, clasped my hands in begging disgrace, when suddenly I heard a familiar sound. A FUCKING MACAW.
My Sky and her kin, are quite distinguishable, and this was from the parrot store caddy corner from the college.
The birds were signalling the mad woman just as my baby would do to me when mama left balance, for beast like ravings.
Whoops. Birds had heard and I knew in my heart I had to see them and discuss my plight.
I grabbed my now scattered belongings and body language lavished with hateful tones, I hit the strip mall and found a bunch of bewinged on lookers awoken by my words.
Then the birds said NEVERMORE.
Not really, but they chided me a bit, and suddenly began the entertainment. The rolled on the bottom of cages, beeped, blurted and made me laugh and smile.
They came to my emotional rescue, these caged sages.
I expressed my discontent for their plight of caged living and lack of flight, but they all were trying to get my attention.
Before I knew it I was singing to them and laughing at their antics: Street performers one and all. LOL
My depression alleviating songs rang out of the anger throated, detonated, actress/author/songwriter/juggler/code talking vagrant.
My mood simply couldnt remain ugly with such beautiful spirits to cheer me up.
However, next door, some serious eyes peered out of the door as I rolled on the ground with them, showing them what coolness is when smoking cigarettes, pronounced them heroes who needed freedom from their sight restricting stack of metal and bars.
Yeah, we ministered to each others plight thru windows and security bars...Sick degrees of Separation I told them and that I shall come into the store and meet eyes with all of them once nine oclock had arrived. Sucks because we were a hoot and holler, gang of birds of a feather: Clipped and weathered was I too.
Philosophy for intellectually inclined parrots I guess. lol
I returned to my college front post and began a physical show only a diehard with a cast iron skill could foster.
Still feeling rejected, no one stopped to see just how clever I was.
I had picked up a spoon on the pavement and used it as a prop to show me eating dirt.
Guess the busy, possibly precaffeended crowd didn't get my gone with the wind jokes.
Tried to write them, but nobody gave a rats ass.
The ones with out tinted windows just seemed concerned.
Great start. Wow.
Then I used guilt, one sign read: Do you even have a heart left. Cold blood in your veins?
That pretty much got me back where I started, heckling the crowd from a stage.
Bright light came up and it just got embarassing as I was shockingly angry at everyone.
Then to show my massively amazing poetry recitation, I hit it with Edgar Allen Poe's the conquerer worm.
I thougth they must now see how clever and intellectual I am. They must notice my GPA status and worth.
Really, I was a child looking for some pudding or something. IDK. lol
Then bird sounds rang out again.
Another round of bird to human meltdown therapy.
U turn around back to the windows with awaiting birds. Big caustic, suddenly, feeling sad for the worlds lack of my version of compassion. Comparing my deeds as I crossed the hectic traffic.
A homeless man the day before I had bought cigarettes for, suddenly showed, and I hugged on him like he was evidence of the deficiency of everyone but me.
Yeah, that thinking gets little in the way of workable, growth, and character changing events. Delusion of diffusion, I went back to birds for advice and to suddenly write their story with a tear in my eye.
They could have given a shit about my nightmare awaking debut, they simply wanted their own kudos, and to see me smoke cigarettes.
I started to come out of the cloudy part of the mind storming the castle of hassle and harassment, and just fucking played. Much to the concern of others now occupying this strip mall.
Tried to not look crazy, but yet, the birds insisted upon my bobbing my head and beeping. Surely these people knew I had to do these things...(or did they)
I grabbed my stuff headed back to the beggar corner of my public property event and found security and the Cypress police looking on.
Oh Shit, I thought well here we go back to the looney bin or even just shackled and tackled.
They let me finish my last stanza of my amazingly repetitive poetry recitations, then approached.
Sit on the grass they demanded.
I said, that is the college grass, that sidewalk, I own it.
But I knew if I pursued this farce of an argument we were gonna be taking a ride, in front of all the onlookers who were previously castigated by a delightfully speedy, angry lip quipping.
Put your hands on your knees and keep them there, they instructed for the second time in two weeks.
During my tirade two weeks prior, not a performance, a diatribe against the world, I couldn't keep my hands on my knees.
I confessed to them it must be something passive aggressive, as I analyzed my lack of focus. ( probably right as police delighted with their presence and impounding of me and my vehicles regularly over the years)
This time, I kept those damn hands clutching my knee caps as embarassment became overwhelming. How could I this clever artist and actor be demeaned in front of this cheap, greedy, self centered crowd.
The cops, all four of them (no swat team for the fly this time, or fire trucks and ambulances which usually arrived concurrently) gently questioned me. Each asking the same: Do you want to hurt yourself or anyone else.
No, I sheepishly answered with some question as to whether I was being true or not, but yet, scared to see my own intentions and agenda.
They patted me down, asked what and where I was staying and doing.
Gotta get money to get my car back and get home to Weldon and make a new start.
Next question: how?
IDK, I creeked out with sudden burst of tears.
Need to go to hospital again, and the regular check up.
They offered no money as I explained of my hunger, no money, darkened reputation put on by cabby...I had eaten chips and soda, I was hardly starving for god sake, but my drama queen continued.
They just told me the school was in fear, the community probably equally disturbed, and they said, "just move it on the other side of the street and try your luck there."
Cool, I passed the police are you insane test. Hands still on knees, but only on one knee as I proposed to myself I looked my stylish with two hands on one knee.
(really we should all visit the mental ward which is my thought processes....)
I then gave up and went back to the birds who were excited I was back. The owner came in and close the security gate barrier and we could see each other more clearly. I spoke of Sky and her antics, and drug use, and they seemed to listen.
The patient but busy owner let me in b4 opening, and the place went fucking wild. Birds of all kinds, words, sound effects, emotional personal expression, burst out: I was shocked it was like a royal homecoming. The owner couldn't settle their need to be attended by me, and subsequent sound of the sqawk of rebel parrots.
We were one.
Healed by the first eye contact, I could see and feel their pain filled cramped cages, and visual obscurity, and we really got it on. I went to each, trying not to leave even a flighty finch out of my visit up close.
I offered my hair and some groomed me, and touched them and never did they show aggression as I had on the streets of Cypress.
The owner was uncomfortable but afforded me the time to commune with the likes of Maxwell who was small and colorful, but also trying to speak to me. He had a verbal train on his own track. I can't hear the little birds as well as the defeaning, articulations of macaws, but I put my ear to the cage and picked up such phrases as "thank you." Polite.
But he seemed disappointed I couldn't auditorilly collect the messages and repeat them. What intense eye contact we all made. Amazing.
Then I heard the familiar verbal command of a blue and gold macaw being held in the back, kenneled as owners were doing something and bird needed some extra safe confinement, I guess.
Blue and Gold is same, looked just like Sky, but wasn't my baby.
Had a needy demanding look like my little Earp too. Got me all sadded up, missing my baby, being cared for by my sister who has an actual home, not living the life of pedestrian poorhouse bipolar.
Never to be forgotten what happened there. I don't know how to even describe it, words are poor too, poor symbols for real spiritual gathering.
I left telling them General Macarthur like, "I shall return." I guess to buy them all and have a wickedly noisy home life on the streets. Hey they could live in the trees me in the park.
WEnt to Ross dress for less, that almost closed as I approached seeking lost items and sympathy probably.
Leftover bag in hand, I was told by a customer of a homeless shelter, Baptist Church quite a ways from that intersection.
I had no other choice, use my $2 left for a bus to then have to walk many miles to reach a possible haven for the home free, lets call me, us.
Hardly a bus rider, I could barely figure out how to get off the damn thing, get the door to open, as the whole bus load yelled instructions at me.
Now for the long walk to something possibly, but not confirmed, to be of help. Hungry, penniless, I cried again barely started my journey a rest stop, and sobs.
Bikers and walkers flew by the tearful trekking into the unknown fearfully, not faithfully, me. Wow, I was so dissappointed they didn't pick me up like a lost infant and take me to the orphanage.
Kept going, then dropped on the lawn in front of Knotts Berry farm.
Suddenly a lad appeared next to me, with a back pack claiming to be going to the same place, but unaware of its real properties. He claimed to have to panhandle, and had his marijuana stolen. Bummer about the pot, I selfishly thought, as one hit would have bit into my still heckling the rich luxury car drivers, and employed road workers.
Noel, led me down the street kept asking me questions and keeping my mind of my smoking hot feet, affectatively arched down appearance, until we kept reaching milestones along the way.
With no water available, he gave me gum to milk some saliva onto my chapped tongue and lips. I surfaced enough foamy liquid and took my thyroid pill, like someone who wanted to live...well sorta, you know the story. Hatin' it here. lol
I couldn't complain to a young man in a worse position than I.
Then in the distance, blind as a bat I am, I could detect a Wells Fargo Bank.
Oh, shit, verbal warfare words began to back up in my throat. I told Noel, stay put, I'm roasting bankers, we will have food. I'm not sure I was kidding.
Got in the front doors, but tension rose, as my English, male sounding personality slipped in the lip socket before I could get a button, zipper of something over the enraged quipper. The shrill quill of my demands of explanation probably were audible to most of Buena Park.
Manager and reps held together to fend off this offensive, tired, pain ridden, revenge seeking woman.
"If you don't stop talking like that you're going to have to leave," I was warned by a young man, muscley and in shape to toss this battle trap out the door.
They made some calls, I drank water like a pole vaulter, or whatever, and we found out they put a hold on the card to protect me from fraud.
I scorched back about the cabby, my phone less ness, loss of book material, etc...
They offered no apology. "It works now."
I grabbed my own face as if to protect them from a responsive bite.
You need to find the cab and the phone.
They hardly felt the need to even help. "it works now, go get something to eat."
Jesus, H, Christ, I burned Catholic vulgarities as they directed me to Tmobile to have them help me.
Yeah, we got more on this shit.
T-mobile did indeed help, but certainly didn't have to. A crew of delightfully sympathetic, and technologically advanced 20 somethings googled for me, as we had to figure out even which cab company picked me up.
Yes, it's always complicated, as it was today to...but I digress.
These lovely people, and customers gathered with possible solutions, and now maybe I can identify the company and try to find my phone.
Kind of bitter toward cabby, but will pay as long as phone comes home. I now am more pushing back at this buzz killer stalker of mine. lol Murphy or whoever.
New law in town, Faith.
Noel instructed we keep heading for the church and not get 25 cent corn dogs from weinershnitzel as I had impractically suggested.
"You need your money for other things, let's keep going."
We were practically 50 yards from the church, but the currents of food cooking on the wind was driving me mad.
He was right, If I am to get my car and dignity back, I need to humble foul grumbling and get there.
We arrived and the guard dog wanted to eat me, immediately.
Oh those intuitive animals: Angry crazy woman approaching, bite her sorry ass.
Lucky the chain didn't quite reach, and now more aware of my emotional distressed out, I realized dog knew better. But hey, don't bite me. I heckled the dog as I ate jewish rye bread offered for the bread loving poor people.
No butter, I quipped. Then a few rounds of blasphemy, delicately hidden behind hate, I found a dollar in my pocket. An extra I didn't know I had.
I saw a vending machine with 7up, my sin of the flesh, carbonated, teeth destroying soda pop.
I bought a can and sat with my friend talking about how I shouldn't talk anymore. Yum, the soda tamed the beast, best left back in Cypress, and I fell to the ground on my blanket.
Friends, busses don't attend all roadways, theres a lot of walking on the homeless circuit, lot's of lugging things in back packs, which luckily I was smart to buy.
Anyway, I got treated to a home style cooked meal, and some amazing eyes which met with mine. Yeah, they wondered if I was a Brit, or if I'd ever shut up, but treated me as I was just being me, with no more need to sample my sad story everywhere, as we are all in this same shape and boat.
Anyway, family and friends, I still persist and pursue the goal of retrieving the 5150 mobeel and coming home to Navajo ave. in Weldon to plant a Stake with a new flag: Bipolar Cuntry be aware I"m protecting my one citizen from more damage: me.
Want my macaw to come home so it's all work and luggage from here.
Got no benzos for the comforts of withdrawl, and short of funds, got a little bit of shit and waiting for a good hit. Fell to low, as there is no methamphetamine faster than me, but it kills the pain.
I'm on old traveler in training, but I as the sign said, NEVER GIVE UP.
Love you guys, gotta go, as i am buying all the used books in front of the library. Told them I'll be back with my car to pick them up. Unreal synchroncity going on here. Donate books to all who aid this weary, bleary bipolar on her way back up the record of truth.
I'm no BS kids, I"m TS, the shit.
Watch for me, gotta find the phone....lol
Riding busses is fun, get to see great people.
Thanks to all, don't worry, the world appears to be leaning my way. Buzz a bee, have and hive my orders in order of, oh hell, lol, I'm working it kids.....Love to All, Laura