Thankful

Many in my circumstances would Crack, but I can keep my cool. I got to sleep in a bed on Thanksgiving night, for the first time since August. It was with over a hundred guys, each in their own bunkers, and I had to win a lottery to get in here. As long as I show up the bed is mine, but I don't like all the people there. For now I'll enjoy having a blanket and a pillow. So I should also be thankful for the people who have helped me, as well as those who have hurt me. I have decided to collect Social Security, since my unemployment payments will soon come to an end. No sense trying to find a job, a realization that came from working for incompetent bosses, who care more about rules than people. I forgive them for their stupidity, and their ulterior motives are not for me to judge. It's a shame that Susana Santiago, who handled newspaper distribution in the Twin Cities, fired my cousin Vanessa after V's car was stolen, and even though I got the papers there without a complaint, her rules were more important than her customers. Someone who lived at one of the buildings told me they didn't come in to deliver them, just dropping them by the door and not until noon, or later. Such poor customer service makes me glad I'm no longer involved, though I think I will bring it to someone's attention. Yet it's not really my place anymore, and now that I have a place to flop, I can't be involved in the crap any longer. But no more bitching: I'm being thankful, damn it. I'm thankful to all the good people I know, but I don't know enough. That's my fault, though, due to deep-seated psychological issues that prevent me from reaching out to people. I'm thankful to Gingko's for letting me up on their open stage, and the host Neal Dimmick, especially since some of my material has been full of vulgarity, blasphemy, and obscenity (I must write a song with all 3). I am also thankful for their piano, and that they made it better, since some keys used to stick; so great they no longer do. I'm thankful for my brother George and sister Kathleen, who, despite their disappointment in me, are willing to help me out. Also, I could never forget Kenny Head, Jr., who I worked with at Macalester, and who I don't see enough of, which is my number one reason to despise the unnamed incompetent who canned me. He's kept me going through all the hardship, and I pray I can finally strike it rich to repay all his kindness. For now, all I can do is turn him onto music he might not otherwise hear, such as Frank Zappa playing 'Whipping Post' or 'La Follia' by Vivaldi. Despite my dire circumstances, I have a lot to be thankful for, so I shall carry on in the year ahead, and maintain enough that I can grab my next break and finally thrive.