a way I could start my life over. And sometimes I wish I'da been born white. Things probably woulda been a helluva lot easier. More like a straight line to some-damn-where instead of this S-curve to no-fucking-where.
But I ain't stupid. I know I was supposed to go to college instead of prison. Back then, I was stupid. Which is one reason why I read a newspaper and do a crossword puzzle every single day, and it's the main reason why I been taking college classes off and on for the last ten years. Mosdy business and marketing. Computers. Entrepreneurial-type courses. Plus, I try to take some kind of philosophy class whenever I can, because I pride myself 011 thinking 011 more than one level. It's hard talking to people half the time, and these classes give me the opportunity to exchange ideas without feeling ridiculous. I like being able to interpret shit. To look at life from a whole lotta different angles, not just the most obvious. Except this time 1 couldn't afford the inductive-and-deductive-logic class, so this semester I'm gon' have to do all my thinking by myself.
I got a job. But it's on hold. I'm on disability right now. Don't nobody in my family believe I got rheumatoid arthritis. Just like me, they thought only old people get it. Hell, I'm only thirty-six. It blew my mind when that doctor told me what was happening to my body. I don't know what I'm gon'
have to do to prove it to everybody. When I told Mama, she acted like I made it up. Like I invented the disease itself. But I'm at the point now where I can't even hardly hammer. Not all day. Not no more. For years, I pretended like wasn't nothing wrong with me, but the pain started messing up my income. Off and on, for the last six months I been putting in hardwood floors in these upscale housing developments for this guy Woolery who wants me to maybe be his partner if I could come up with about five or ten grand, but where would I get that kind of money? Opportunities like this don't knock a whole lot in my world, and even though I got two sisters with a little money, you think I could ask either one of 'em to lend it to me? No fuckin' way. They'd probably laugh in my face. They think I'm full of shit. Shaky. 'Cause it's been hard to finish things I've started. But it ain't always my fault. And they don't give me no credit for trying. Hell, I could be a crackhead. I could be out here breaking and entering. But I'm trying to be an upstanding citizen. It's a slow process, but I'm doing it the only way I know how and the best way I can. If they could see me without my clothes on they'd be shocked. Shit, I got knots on my wrists that look like acorns. Bones in my elbows that look like they trying to push through my skin. Some mornings they're so puffed up I can't hardly straighten out my arm. And I don't even wanna mention my knees and ankles. I'm on my way to deformity. Most of the time my right knee look like it's got elephantiasis. And ain't no cure for this shit. I live on Tylenol Extra Strength. Sometimes I eat ten of 'em a day. The doctor said it's only gon' get worse. But I ain't complaining. I been through more, much more pain than this.
The truth of the matter is, I wanna start my own business one day, 'cause I got some 100 percent guaranteed invention ideas which-if I do it right-could make me some real money. Hell, I got a garageful of ideas but I have to keep my mouth shut, 'cause people in a better position will steal your shit right from under you and call it theirs. I know how to go about getting stuff patented, but it cost money. And of course don't nobody in my family wanna hear about my ideas. They think I'm talking off the top of my head again. "Get a job first," Paris always says. "And try keeping it long enough to get some health insurance," Charlotte is guaranteed to throw in.
Shit, when you got a pre-existing condition, it's kind of hard to get insurance. "I hope you're not getting high or drinking that hard stuff again, Lewis," because
But I ain't stupid. I know I was supposed to go to college instead of prison. Back then, I was stupid. Which is one reason why I read a newspaper and do a crossword puzzle every single day, and it's the main reason why I been taking college classes off and on for the last ten years. Mosdy business and marketing. Computers. Entrepreneurial-type courses. Plus, I try to take some kind of philosophy class whenever I can, because I pride myself 011 thinking 011 more than one level. It's hard talking to people half the time, and these classes give me the opportunity to exchange ideas without feeling ridiculous. I like being able to interpret shit. To look at life from a whole lotta different angles, not just the most obvious. Except this time 1 couldn't afford the inductive-and-deductive-logic class, so this semester I'm gon' have to do all my thinking by myself.
I got a job. But it's on hold. I'm on disability right now. Don't nobody in my family believe I got rheumatoid arthritis. Just like me, they thought only old people get it. Hell, I'm only thirty-six. It blew my mind when that doctor told me what was happening to my body. I don't know what I'm gon'
have to do to prove it to everybody. When I told Mama, she acted like I made it up. Like I invented the disease itself. But I'm at the point now where I can't even hardly hammer. Not all day. Not no more. For years, I pretended like wasn't nothing wrong with me, but the pain started messing up my income. Off and on, for the last six months I been putting in hardwood floors in these upscale housing developments for this guy Woolery who wants me to maybe be his partner if I could come up with about five or ten grand, but where would I get that kind of money? Opportunities like this don't knock a whole lot in my world, and even though I got two sisters with a little money, you think I could ask either one of 'em to lend it to me? No fuckin' way. They'd probably laugh in my face. They think I'm full of shit. Shaky. 'Cause it's been hard to finish things I've started. But it ain't always my fault. And they don't give me no credit for trying. Hell, I could be a crackhead. I could be out here breaking and entering. But I'm trying to be an upstanding citizen. It's a slow process, but I'm doing it the only way I know how and the best way I can. If they could see me without my clothes on they'd be shocked. Shit, I got knots on my wrists that look like acorns. Bones in my elbows that look like they trying to push through my skin. Some mornings they're so puffed up I can't hardly straighten out my arm. And I don't even wanna mention my knees and ankles. I'm on my way to deformity. Most of the time my right knee look like it's got elephantiasis. And ain't no cure for this shit. I live on Tylenol Extra Strength. Sometimes I eat ten of 'em a day. The doctor said it's only gon' get worse. But I ain't complaining. I been through more, much more pain than this.
The truth of the matter is, I wanna start my own business one day, 'cause I got some 100 percent guaranteed invention ideas which-if I do it right-could make me some real money. Hell, I got a garageful of ideas but I have to keep my mouth shut, 'cause people in a better position will steal your shit right from under you and call it theirs. I know how to go about getting stuff patented, but it cost money. And of course don't nobody in my family wanna hear about my ideas. They think I'm talking off the top of my head again. "Get a job first," Paris always says. "And try keeping it long enough to get some health insurance," Charlotte is guaranteed to throw in.
Shit, when you got a pre-existing condition, it's kind of hard to get insurance. "I hope you're not getting high or drinking that hard stuff again, Lewis," because
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