Coffee.. more coffee

I don’t want to leave the house. I wish I had never taken this poison pill of school, thinking that the way out of poverty was education. Wrong answer, back into poverty again.

The insurance is expired on my car and the sticker is with the guard man at work. The trouble is that I will likely get pulled over, then sent to the police station where I’ll have a protracted argument with any number of police officers. I’ll have to bribe one to not send me to court. Then I’ll have to bribe the guard to release the sticker which I’ll have to have when they pull me over again. It’s a never ending cycle.

I went to court once. Never again.

Every day is slow. Glacial slow. I wait for them to finish so I can go to sleep. Sleep is the only thing that’s moderately enjoyable anymore. No one watches me when I sleep. When awake, it seems that everyone is watching and taking notes looking for things to use against me. Not sure why my life is that important.

Big brother is ourselves.

The wash is hung on the balcony. I forget to bring it in. the rains come and it gets wet again. The cycle continues so now I don’t really have any clean clothes, despite having clean clothes hanging on the balcony.  Having and not having.

International money transfers are absurdly difficult when you are in a country that has terrorism. You send money, then they watch you and cut you off from sending money and try to send codes to your phone in another country, despite them knowing that you aren7t there. So you have money and don’t have money at the same time. Like the wash. Having and not having.

Not sure if I’ll leave the house. Going to try. Eventually, I will have to eat. A bottle of juice is fermenting on my coffee table. It will explode if I leave it there long enough.

I want to go back to sleep. .

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About Pete Larson

Assistant Professor of Epidemiology at the Nagasaki University Institute for Tropical Medicine
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