Pain and Suffering, A Tale of Relationships.

Namely, the one I have with my demon goat of a bicycle.

I mean, naturally, there's pain and suffering with my other relationships, but none are quite so primal as the one I share, daily, with my not-quite-trusted steed, Chupecabra. We've been reconnected after a week and a half apart. Our last time together ended badly, with hurt feelings all around, which in many ways reflects a majority of my romantic entanglements.

However, Chupecabra and I are on the road to reconciliation, and have already taken to the streets of New York City like we never spent any time apart. Outside of the fact I can't push quite so hard - still in recovery mode.

I can't recall if I had done the CT Scan when last I discussed my fate here. Regardless: fractured rib. Good news is that after five and a half years of no longer being a nicotine addict, my lungs have recovered completely. Of course, Chupecabra is on schedule to destroy what remains of my body. Ahh... the price we pay for a moment's pleasure, right?

There's still a blood stain at the base of the Manhattan Bridge, Brooklyn side. I've still got chemicals coursing through my veins, and a lidocaine patch over the rib. This chemical mix has made for some interesting unstable moments, but for the most part, I'm doing well, considering all circumstances.

I'm chalking it up to August 28 - September 28th being my bad month... just slightly off kilter from a regular month. The worst, however, appears to be over. Which means, my faithful three, the comedy is returning, as I once again have a sense of humor about it all.

I mean, ultimately, just because I'm the butt of a joke, doesn't mean the joke isn't funny. This first year out of prison, I both gained and lost a life partner in six months (we obviously had a very different concept of what a life partner is - I was talking human lifespan, she was talking worker ant lifespan), gained and lost a good friend to silence, lost another stalwart companion to graduate school, and gained another from the abyss of the midwest.

Which is to say, my life is in constant flux. A flux that most prisoners would go apeshit over, since nothing in my life has remained stable for this year, outside of my job, my place to live, and my family. It's enough to make a convict cry, I tell you. For the past few weeks, I've felt like I was going to go apeshit myself.

Wait! I'm just kidding! No sob stories here! I'm doing great! No tears, not one! See? The computer didn't short! Everything's okay folx! Nothing to see here! I've recovering! I'm getting better! Don't leave!

Okay. *Whew* almost lost you three.

So, I'm going back to California next weekend. Northern California. Where two of my ex-significant others will be. It'll be my first trip back whereby I don't see either of them. It will be weird in that regard, but good in another - I'm getting a whole lot of work done. I'll be meeting people that will help me secure my place in law school, which in turn helps me secure my future as an advocate to free my people - the prisoners of the drug war.

And that, my fine 3 readers, is no laughing matter.

Now, about that fucking demon goat...