Blue is for Bombed OUT

Sometimes the powers that be make themselves known to me. It’s like flipping a coin, however!
I find myself in another part of the country free from Mother Theresa‘s embrace and Father Floyd’s unremarkable existence.
Can I be OUT? No, not yet!
My fellow volunteers and I smile for the camera. Send well wishes and thank you’s. We are essentially made up of that page you find in the yearbook;
nondescript, big-boned, goofy looking and belong to no man’s land budding young adults. Castaways thrown off the island for being obtuse.
Our colors are blue and sometimes gray. If we were seen on the street one would not notice us…for that is how we are!
We are the Jeremys’, the Susans’ and the Mercedes’ of the world! Misfit beings in a land of misfit chaos.
What better place for me to start ‘growing up’ but amongst an overly fed, white bread group of dysfunctional-ly socially inept BIG KIDS with small egos.
My task currently is to make Virginia and the surrounding area better by hammering one nail at a time.
Which begs the question, is it better to be a hammer than a nail?
Better to be a bat or a ball?
Gay and full of self or chubby in a vacant parking lot awaiting my cue from FEMA (frivolously erroneous mutants association) ?
I’ll have to get back to you on that one. Right now I have to take a boat load of meds to get my day started.

Stop the day…

my doctor forgot to write a script for them… i tried calling and havent heard from her..There’s no way in hell I can stretch two pills three months!