Black Dog

Since February of last year I have been wrestling with the biggest and blackest dog I’ve ever confronted in my 54 years, a depression so complex and deep that it defies description.

I do not know how, if, or when I will pull out of this downward spiral. External factors, especially over the last few days, have only compounded the matter. For starters, I’m trying to make sense of the household bills, which was previously Lela’s domain. I mean, I knew we were in arrears but $500 for electric and $400 for the gas bill? I do not have that kind of scratch.

And then there’s the laundry issue. I do not own a washer and dryer, so the laundromat is my only option and it’s not easy to get to on the bus; and there’s also about one year worth of laundry stacked in the closet. I’ve been sporting dirty garments for the better part of a month, if not longer.

There’s $1.24 on Paypal to get me through until February 3, I’m still sick as a dog with the flu, and there’s no food in the house now that my appetite is slowly beginning to return (I have not eaten in four days).

I’ve seen better days.

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About Rodger Jacobs

Writer

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