In the aftermath of Florida's recent hurricanes I have seen many good people living with a daily struggle. Sometimes I could see the shock and loss in their faces, other times it was in their behavior. I was shocked to see how fast people could go from the top to the bottom. Many of these good people rose above the ordeal and dealt with it by helping their neighbors. Sadly I saw many more deal with it by being greedy, materialistic, rude, aggressive and dishonest. Human nature is a fascinating thing. It takes very little to strip people down to their bare elements. No matter how smart people are, our instincts ring true when we are faced with danger. This story is about one man whose life was changed by these hurricanes, and the struggle a man can go through when his misfortune is taken to extremes.

 
			Working Man's Blues Ch. 01

Someone told me once that suicide was the only unforgivable sin. I don't know if that's true or not. If other people feel like I do now I find that very hard to believe. These past few days the thought of suicide has been on my mind every other second. I keep selling the idea to myself that taking my life is some kind of final solution. Boom. No pain, no loss. I won't feel a thing. No burning in hell. I damned sure won't be hanging out on a cloud playing a harp. I want to believe that death is just an eternity of pitch black nothingness. No self awareness, no thoughts to run through my head ceaselessly. If I didn't have such a manic mind I wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. 

I have been trying to think of the moment that started this grand decline I am stuck in. The despair seemed to start setting in right after hurricane Charley. I knew I was in trouble then. I was too preoccupied with Ginny to really pay things any attention. If I go through with this she will be hurt more than anyone. When my pain stops hers will start. I know how selfish that is, but look at me. She deserves better than me. I haven't been much of a boyfriend lately. A girl like her has everything going for her. The last thing she needs is my weight bearing down on her.

I bought a gun last week. I had to wait a few days for it. When I picked it up at the pawn shop the guy behind the counter gave me an uneasy look.   

"Don't let it go to your head." The pawnbroker told me.

I thought his words were ironic. That was exactly what I had intended for it to do. At least to propel the bullet that would go to my head. I had myself pumped up. I was going to go home, put the note I wrote the night before on my kitchen table, then put the barrel against my right temple and exit stage left. For good. When I got home the phone was ringing as I walked through the door. I looked at the caller id. It was Ginny. I suddenly needed very badly to hear her voice. I answered the phone like everything was cool. I felt like a chicken shit but her voice makes everything more bearable. I didn't see any reason why I didn't deserve to hear her voice one last time. She was working on a dance combination and wanted my input. She gave me a dumbed down description of the moves. I could see them in my head. She flies around the room like she has wings on her feet. The girl was born with a talent for dancing.

Now that I think about it, I am sure it started after Hurricane Charley. I missed a week of work because of that fucking hurricane. Our power was out for ten days. I hated going to the store or the gas station. Everyone was so fucking rude. No one wanted to wait there turn. Everyone was pushing to break in line or cut you off in traffic. People ran through intersections without stopping to wait their turn. Fights broke out over bags of ice. People were breaking down right in front of my eyes. I had to take over half of my savings out to make up for missing work. I planned on working some doubles the next week to make up for it. At the time it was no big deal. I let my cable bill slide. I was going to make it up next month. I didn't mind the late fee since the extra fifty bucks would be spent on more important things.

I had to go to the hospital the week after Hurricane Charley. I spent two days lying there in pain and sweating bullets. I pulled a muscle in my back moving my furniture back in place. I had it all crammed into one room to try and minimize damage if my apartment got hit bad by the hurricane. Always put your important shit in an interior room, the safety geeks say. I haven't been at my job long enough to be eligible for insurance yet so I had to make payment arrangements with the hospital. That was seventy five bucks a week out of my check all by itself. I figured work would be busy after the hurricane and I could pick up plenty of overtime to make up for it. I missed two days of work because of that damned pulled muscle and had to work hurting like hell for the next week. My phone bill was due so I took more out of savings to pay it.

I finally got my power back on and I felt like I Was King Shit. I put everything back in place in my apartment and cleaned it all up spotless. Ginny came down from Tennessee to help me. She's too sweet to me. I don't know what I do for her that makes her treat me so good. 

I started getting my ass back in gear and Hurricane Frances came along. I dropped the ball on that one. I expected to lose power but didn't expect it to plow my ass under. The wind blew my dining room window in and flooded my apartment. I tried to put something in front of the window but it was hopeless. I got scratched head to toe by flying sticks and dirt and stuff. My tv and surround sound were ruined. That really upset me. I saved for nine months to buy them. Whenever Ginny came over we would have a big movie night together. I got her drunk one time and we watched Blazing Saddles. That night is one of my best memories ever. She laughed until she almost peed on herself. I couldn't stop laughing at her. She exploded laughing when Gene Wilder pulled Cleavon Little from behind a rock exposing him a bunch of clansmen, and Cleavon Little shouted "Where da white women at?"  Her face turned bright red and she could barely breathe.

We had alot of memories together like that. I never really lived until I met her. And now I am thinking about dying. I was in a fucked up frame of mind when I bought this gun. I did some researching online at the university hospital's medical database. Turns out most fatal head wounds are caused by a 380 caliber pistol. I was expecting a nine millimeter or a 45 caliber. So I guess you know what kind of gun I bought. Right.

I was a week late on my car payment because of hurricane Charley. After Frances I missed nine more days of work. I went to the day labor office but I was wasting my time. I went through the registration process and wasted three hours just to be told they didn't have anything available. Florida is fucking crawling with cheap out of state labor right now. I had to pawn my watch. That really hurt. I got that for winning an award at the city. The next week the restaurant opened back up and I got to work six days in a row. I ended up with eleven hours of overtime out of it. I was just beginning to think I was heading into the clear. 

Two days later this jackass in a new Vette sideswiped me on my way home from work. He was a total asshole about it. Two people saw the accident and stopped. He tried to convince them they didn't need to hang around. I guess something in my eyes told them they did. They waited around for the cops and gave a statement. The guy who owned the Vette was furious. Some people don't need to drive sports cars. They develop an attitude that's bigger than the damned car is. I love Corvettes but I can't stand arrogant assholes like that. I have insurance, but in the wake of all this bad weather they are strung out all to hell. I paid the tow truck driver fifty bucks I couldn't afford to part with. I figured I could give the insurance folks the receipt and be reimbursed for it. I caught a taxi home then called the one eight hundred number to the insurance company.  I got the standard message, 'Due to high call volume there may be a delay in answering your call'. I sat there on hold for about a half hour. Finally I got an automated prompt to leave a message. I left a message and haven't heard back from them since. That was almost two weeks ago. 

I try not to dwell on things. It seems like when you've got too much to handle it's real damned easy to let problems eat at you. Right now this gun is looking mighty appealing to me.   

Fade To Black