Gut of Ugly

I woke up this morning feeling deeply wounded by myself. Much like yesterday I felt like I was strapped to my bed and destined to be supine for the rest of my life, evenso I rose and staggered to work. I am very depressed. I am tired of being tired.

Last night I found myself in the gut of ugly. A few homes up from my parent's house I found myself on the other side of the rod-iron gate. I looked at the mustard painted stucco buildings that lurched around me with a look of utter disgust. The owner had traded in his lush green lawn for cement and a couple two-story nightmares. Apparently, he was a Catholic priest prone to offering up his home to financially unfortunate believers.

The extra haphazardly built dwellings I coined in my mind as the "Buildings of Bedrooms". The ceiling heights were arbitrary, rather than legal and safe. I shuttered to think about what it would be like to be in one of those "rooms" breathing in the musky stench of lead-paint, crawling on dirty moist shag carpeting, and sleeping between unwashed daisy sheets.

The gray clouds formed above our heads, lightning struck and large droplets of rain shot my scalp with ice cold reminders of how devastating homelessness can be. To live without shelter leaves one vulnerable to discomfort.

I know that I am not homeless, but sometimes I feel vulnerable like that. Sometimes the ceilings are low and everything around me is dirty and I want to scream.