One Day Soon

Today's entry concerns dreams of the future, and what steps it will take to make them reality. Now that I have a depressing, but free, place to lay my head at night, I can focus on what to do next. I offered the Donald my services as a philosopher, since he doesn't want to become a big-time Hollywood producer (I can't understand that at all), but he hasn't got back to me on that. Does he have a mole from the Democratic Party preventing my messages from reaching him? That possibility seems likely, so I suppose I should just give up on the Donald and getting any help from him. It's his loss. I'll have to think long and hard about any other rich people who need my services. Jeffery Bezos pops into my head, but he might want to shoot me into outer space, and it seems like a waste of time to go that far and come right back. If I go into outer space, I would want to stay there. My priority is getting a band together. I need a bassist and a drummer, of course, and another guitarist, maybe one who can play violin too. They must all be able to jam is my only criteria, and I don't require the bassist to become my husband, but if he loved me I would probably melt in his arms, and it would add another level to the theatrics. Each show would start with the announcement, 'The following show is a theatrical performance. Any similarity between this and actual music is purely coincidental' and be followed by a short instrumental. The fight within my psyche for dominance would be the theme guiding the act, and how that would play out has yet to be determined. Thomas, the poor sap stuck between sex and death, would come on first, and however long he could maintain his sanity would be the key. Eventually, Madame Formaldehyde would take over, as she always seems to do. She's been quiet lately, but right now, as I type this, I feel her rising within me. She's sad that I haven't written much lately about sex, because if she had her way, that would be the only thing that was written about. 'Oh Thomas, I have other things I care about' she argues, very beautiful things I must add before she makes me rub my chest, which she makes me do anyway, but beauty makes her so very horny. But there is only much love and beauty we could have before Destructo becomes enraged, and he would force himself to take over. The show would end on a dark note, with the most ferocious music possible. As for any encores, who came out would depend on many things, and would change from one show to the next. So am I finding my way? I can't tell. I don't know how living at my present place will affect me, or who will come into my life, or whether luck might shine a light on me. Will the people at the Higher Ground take kindly to knowing that I am losing my ability, and willingness, to control my urges for wearing pretty things and having sex with other men. That's what kept me out of shelters before, the assumption that there would be nothing but haters there. Now that I'm there, I guess I'll have to make the best of it. I certainly wouldn't want to be there too long, because if I get a band going, there's no way I'll make it back there in time to check in. I have so many things to consider, though it seems like I'll be there for a month or two as of right now. First, I need to get my Social Security set up, and spend as little as possible, while I search for someone willing to become my patron. The coming weeks will go a long way in setting the course I need to take.