From Journal Entry dated 12/2/15
“Nobody care about you. If you die, nobody notice. If you go to jail, nobody bail you out.”
Maybe once, asshole. Maybe a year ago, this is true, prick. But not anymore. Genna paid $360 to bail me out of city jail yesterday. And I wrote her a thank you card with a poem/song for her.
I’d been singing an iteration of this song for days. Sometimes at the top of my lungs. And it’s still not a fully fleshed-out song; it needs work, but I got it.
What I ain’t got, is my phone. Fucking knockers got that somewhere, and I can’t even call the cocksucking arresting officer to get it until tomorrow.
What I did get was a pair of Underamour running shoes in my size, a Nike duffel bag, UA shorts, and a really comfy royal purple golf shirt on the sidewalk on Chesterfield Rd.
Old man upstairs is really looking out for me.
And I have my honey sweetie pie baby darling apple of my eye Genna – officially my gf since November 23 – coming over tonight to drink and play.
What I did was promise her that I wouldn’t commit crimes anymore. Of course I was locked up. So I would have promised just about anything to her at the time.
But this promise, I mean to keep.
I have broken so many in the past, but that was dope fiend shit. I’m not that guy anymore. I’m Recovering Addict Loyd, a man of formidable talent and charisma, who serves God first, my queen Genna second, and my self and everyone else third.
And God’s been looking out for me.
As in, I gave up dope, and got Genna.
As in I gave up stealing, and got the best groundscore ever.
As in I gave up being morbidly depressed, and with Lexapro, I’m having a hypomanic artistic renaissance.
As in I am in the flow, the tao, so thoroughly, I can’t help, but weep with joy when I give my prayer of gratitude in the morning.
As in my daily affirmation: I am amazing, and worthy of love, instead of my self loathing diatribes of worthlessness and suicidal ideation.
As in Fuck Yea, I’m going to make it; Everything is going to be great, and Genna and I will rise together on wings of love to ascend to the eye level of God, and give the old man upstairs a dap.
As in this entry – which while brief – is dripping with manic energy and love – love for God, for Genna, and, finally, for myself.