Stationary Bike Blues

Hammering on the proform stationary bike for hundreds of miles does not have the same ambiance as the open road, in fact sitting prone generates some of the most vivid memories of past rides, my mood has never been direr.  I am fighting a losing battle with the most ruthless state this side of the Siberian gulag, I made several trivial miscalculations which may prove fatal.  I had the stupid propensity to follow the advice of people who were supposed to be experienced in these horrible social welfare programs.  I am almost looking forward to the final decision in order to be done with all of these invasive personal questions that the state seems to want to disseminate to all and sundry. Honestly, if you wanted to paint a portrait of my abnormal personality traits, or my inherent dishonesty, you need to look no further than this blog where finally the blinders have come off.

I don't have one red cent to my name or a bicycle to ride or a job or any fingers.  People have to cut up my food or I would starve to death.  I can't fasten my seat belt or open car doors.  I can't write with a pen.  My hands suffer from chronic pain twenty-four hours a day.  I live with people who drink all day and argue all night about getting a divorce.  I play solitaire on the computer all night because I can't sleep.  I can't wipe my own ass.

Today is my birthday, I feel like I want to puke.  I want to get out of these ugly suburbs and back to the wide open spaces.  These giant size homes with puny backyards give me claustrophobia.  I could never understand how status is based on material possessions or what neighborhood you reside in.

I can't believe how I could have screwed everything up so bad.  I just wanted to be a good old boy with a steady job.  Wealth never interested me very much.  Can a person continue to live for long without hope?

I watched a whole boatload of old Tour films, bored without pleasure, to pass the time, something I thought would never happen.  I want some finality, I am tired of being monitored everywhere I go like some caged beast.  I want some faceless bastard to make a decision since they seem to be searching everywhere for a pretext to fornicate me.

Funny, when I was a normal person I didn't have two nickels in my pocket, but I survived years of environmental onslaughts without a qualm.  People would classify this behavior as insane, but the streets are full of sick crazy people.  Now, I need a shelter to survive or I will die?   I think if forced back on the streets that I will survive more environmental onslaughts, but my longevity may not be of long duration.  Without a bicycle, I may not last a month.

But as everyone knows nature punishes her freaks brutally.  I am looking forward to the challenge even though it is impossible to be victorious.

I am sure there are a great number of people who are sickened by the tone of my recent posts, but perhaps I want some detached mental health practitioner to do a clinical study of the aftermath of traumatic injuries, and who is better to document suffering better than a complete moron such as myself?