Right, well...

I figure I've procrastinated enough on this.

I was gonna be all artsy and poetic about it, as all the sorrows of the world lend themselves to that readily, But Due to the time and my energy level I'm just gonna type it.

I'd made plans on the weekend to get together with my freind... um lets call him Steve. But on calling the man before heading over he seemed stressed, depressed and reluctant.

Half the time it feels like I'm there in official capacity as clergy for the man who needs it. So after some talking I got him to admit he'd like to sit and talk it out. So over I head.

When I get there, there is a man I don't know running around frantically and filling a laundry basket with food stuff.

It seems that an old freind was staying with him. The man was frantic to get stuff in order and get going to some place else for the night. It turns out the man is only a few months out of prison and looking to get back with his wife. It also turns out that he is a drug addict and part of his frantic behaviour had to do with having gotten himself and Steves son into a tight spot by stealing appliances from an old girlfreinds house, which he had pretended he was moving some of his old belongings out of.

So we dropped of the fellow and returned to Steves place where we had a good time having spiritual discussions and drawing on a giant easel tablet that I brought him for planning and creative projects. We talked about how Steve is doing with is illness and several other health problems he is struggling to understand and that I help him with.

He tells me often that he really feels that god has put me in his life. It's a bit uncomfortable but that's just something about me.

At any rate Steves son comes in and is relatively social for about a half hour. Steve says he needs to go lye down and I prepare myself to leave.

Once steve goes to his bedroom his sone gets up and does something in the kitchen, from which he emerges with a lit candle and crosses the apartment as I'm finishing cleaning up I hear the sound of a large elastic snapping and it suddenly occurs to me what the lit candle was for.

I'm saddened by it and not much more can be said about that. I see him on my way out and watch as his expression glazes over as he nurses at a cigarette in the cold.

I get to my car and find the door is unlocked, which is not how I left it, and on the front seat is my open mail which is how I left it, but I worry because amongst it is my open bank statment.

Well I did not hesitate to call my bank and secure my account and prepare them for changing.

But I still can't seem to be mad about the whole thing. Just sort of sad.

So please do me a favor and when I say Take care of yourselves, realise that I mean it.
Take care of yourselves.
Rovingjack