Yes, I did. I just got the notice in the mail. It stated the reason I was turned down was because I did not supply the *necessary* last stub which was supposed to read: THIS IS YOUR LAST PAY STUB EVER!!!

As if any pay stub says that. And even tho I provided the letter from the insurance company that paid my disability read Sept 5th will be your last pay stub and I highlighted it for easy reference.

I said before that the social worker and I got into it a bit before I backed off afraid that she would toss my application into the bottom of the pile or somesuch action. Still, I thought she finally got it and I've been waiting the necessary four weeks for them to come through. I didn't need them long and as it is, I am returning to work next Thursday. That's not a full week of work, but it's something. And food stamps would have taken the edge off. In the meantime, I've begged, borrowed, pawned and stole everything I could get my hands on. If I were at your house, you'd probably have noticed by now that your silver is a bit short.

The ex didn't come through and I realized he was jerking me around as payback for breaking up with him. Nonetheless, I've survived and I'm grateful in a way b/c I worried that he'd hit me up for sex which was not going to happen.

Funny that. I went to a friend's in July to borrow some records and I was hypo-manic and shaking. I told him what was up and I took half of the horse tranquilizer to calm me down. We chatted for a while and I did chill, but as I was leaving I brought up again how scary it is to feel manic in public. So he strokes my arm and asks if maybe sex would calm me down.

::Heavy sigh::

I've been cold to him ever since. I want to bring it up in person when we aren't around alot of people, but I still haven't figured out how to do it without shouting: YOU MOTHERFUCKER! HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY ILLNESS AND TRY TO MAKE IT AN OPPORTUNITY FOR YOURSELF!!! YOU SONOFABITCH!!

Reminds me exactly of Sept 12th 2001 when I went to work (at a hotel in times square) and I was feeling fucked up and low and confused and all that and you could smell the funeral pyre up on 50th street and I come in and Raymond, the barback, asks me what's wrong. I answer something like: don't be a retard and he gives me a hug and then playfully grabs my ass.

I screamed at him and kicked his bad knee. he wanted to know why I would do that and i said for the same reason you'd grab my ass, I wanted to, asshole.