SO THE STORY GOES

JUST A SHORT VIEW INTO JIMMIES LIFELESS LIFE

AND SO THE STORY GOES

Jimmie sat on his broken couch watching the tube, but not paying attention to it. It was Judge Judy. He sat in the middle of his broken down Futon. The springs were broke, and there was a sinkhole right where he placed his a*s. Jimmie was a black man about to reach sixty. He just received his associates in criminal justice. His hair was mismanaged and he had no perspective. There was a small glass of vodka, a can of beer, and a bowl full of weed.

He systematically went through his routine. Swig of vodka, washed down with a swig of beer, and then a toke of the pipe. This had been a day in, day out thing for Jimmie for the last two years. His life was reaching the end stages. Social security was in sight, but a future was going up in smoke. What does a guy that was nearing his sixtieth birthday have to look forward to? Sure the American society was living longer, but Jimmie was a baby boomer. His death should come as expected. Whatever that means. He noticed the fingernails on his right hand were getting long.

He sighed. “Getting old sucks”. Jimmie took a peek at Indeed, Career Builder, Monster.com to see what the job market looked like. He was bored with it all. He was tired of trying to be some twenty years old. He was done with these stupid interviews. He had nothing more to prove. He had his associates and could give a f**k less. Then again he had three pets, bills, and no solution. The state paid for his apartment. He was an army veteran so he had medical care. Other than that he had nothing. Jimmie had missed his calling, and now it was a mad romp to save his dignity. He was ex-military, had the wisdom, and he was an expert in nothing.

Which in a strange way made him an expert in life. It was called survival. Jimmie was an expert on how to get by and live without living. He wasn't racist but he would restrain himself from complaining about the traits of certain religions or ethnicities. He was a veteran and quite patriotic, so when he saw Islamic women covered from head to toe with only their eyes showing. It made him nervous. That didn't mean that he had anything against them, it was just a reflex. He knew he had to work on that. Today he had a re-certification appointment at human resources.

He really disliked the place. He disliked being poor or having to associate with the poor. Being poor sucked. He was better than this, but it seemed as if life just passed him by. Sure he was about to be sixty, so there was time to turn things around. He just had no idea how. There was just a report that those born in 1998 were about to join the workforce. Great. More competition.

 Jimmie was bipolar depressive and the only thing that got him out of bed was his three cats. Other than that he had no family, no real friends, and could care less about society. The current president was an idiot, and the world was inching closer to its demise.

They say that we humans are living longer. Hopefully, that didn't pertain to him He didn't want to overstay his welcome. He wasn't a religious guy, so he wasn't worried about the afterlife. It took about two hours at the human resources building, Jimmie then did a little shopping, went back home, fed the cats, drank some vodka, beer, and took a toke from the bowl. He received the books for the upcoming semester. 

That is he received two of four. He had no intention of buying or even renting the other two. It was general education so he really didn't care. He was basically doing it for the student loans that he had no intention of paying back. It was another Sunday. A ton of them had gone by in the last few weeks. The Yankees clinched a wild card birth, and football season was in full swing. Jimmies a*s was still in the sinkhole. He would go out at times to replenish beer and booze.

He bought $200 worth of weed. He sometimes had to fight the wondering of his mind. Jimmie needed to become independent. He needed to get away from caseworkers, organizations, and human resources. Yet Jimmie didn't respect money, and therefore just spent it. He didn't save it for his retirement, or for anything. To this day he doesn't respect cash, but he has learned to control his mad spending to some point.

 It was now time for more booze, beer, and weed. He was alone. He would most likely be alone until his dying day, He really disliked hearing people talk about being lonely, or dying alone. Television,songs,radio. He was alone. Well, he did have his three furry kids. He had enough weed to last him for a while, but the pressing question was-what next? Where does life go from here? Sure he was about to be sixty, but he was still young. Americans were getting bigger and living longer, so there was time to enjoy life. 

He ordered a film camera and had no idea why, but then again, maybe the camera would give him a clue, or lead him in the right direction.

Well, Jimmie received his camera from Amazon.and had to send it back because it refused to recognize the flash drives. He also got wasted and confessed on Facebook that his depression had him on the live or die fence. Most of his so-called friends didn't respond. Only his longtime friend from Germany who had a son that suffered from bipolar depression. The rest of his Facebook friends didn't even reply. It reflected what he had felt about humanity. Nothing that he wrote on his page disrespected anyone. 

It was simply how he felt about life, Facebook actually sent him a notice with emotional support groups. At least someone was paying attention. The days were all the same for Jimmie. Wake up, feed the kitties, sit in front of the television, smoke weed and get drunk. It was kind of like groundhog day. Nothing was moving. He was supposed to return to the Veterans hospital for another colonoscopy, but the last one didn't go well. He had an endoscopy and a colonoscopy.

The first went well, but the second had him in an amount of pain that he never experienced. Now they wanted to put him under stronger sedation, but before that, he would have to get labs done, MRI, and speak with an anesthesiologist. F**k no. In short, they wanted to put him under so he didn't feel the pain. So his body would be screaming, but he wouldn't be able to verbally respond. He wasn't stupid.