The Elf Girl Lenora

I suppose one cannot ask a fellow tenant to wear a hairnet in their own house. Yet while Lenora is gone I am the one having to imbibe in the cooking of my room mate Lilia Beth, who once read the entirety of a fantasy series in the span of a week.

While I appreciate Lilia Beth's cooking, her hair is so thick some of it accidentally falls into the soup she makes. If it were not for the cheese we buy on food stamps, I suppose that would explain being blocked up. But today wasn't a day for jokes about fecal matter, instead it was a day of extreme tiredness. And so I begin a day enjoy the temporary break from Lilia Beth's cooking. And besides it is quite spicy, I needed some a little less acidic for the occasion.

The day had previously been spent making arrangements with my family regarding getting disability and eventually SSI, and I was scanning in documentation to secure the next stage of my life. I woke up that morning feeling extreme tiredness, and last night was a confusing mess of outrageous memories and dreams, among them the fear of not having the last twenty dollar bill. We had mainly been spending days eating cheap marshmallows, chocolate, and bread. A far cry from the soups I would have more frequently as I did in earlier months. I was on the boarder of having another mental breakdown, and it was a struggle to focus do to my constant insomnia.

The conversation with family was over, and finally I might be able to receive help with disability benefits. I suppose that kills whatever possibility of finding work for a while. It makes me wonder how many people in this state actually need to be on disability here just to live. You will find hardly anybody that can't pay for a bus ticket or drive to whatever place they are able to be employed. While I spend time on social media, watching reruns of Joy information commercials, of which one should almost always question the information presented in.

Most of the day in spent in isolation, do to the inability to even pay for smokes at the local roll your own tobacco shop. I had considered for a time attempted to try to smoke pipe tobacco in a cigarette, but apparently pipe tobacco is to wet. OK but I want whole leaves to roll into a cigarette. Yes I know, I realize I probably shouldn't be smoking. But sometimes cigarillos are the only way to cope with depression.

Even if that may cause an onset eyeball cancer.

Or throat cancer.

Beyond the dreamer's edge, a return to high school.

It was like some kind of personal joke. "Considering I just graduated like nine years ago, shouldn't I go ahead and leave? I'm like twenty seven."

One of those dreams where one imagines themselves in high school all over a again. The school life has many lessons, but none of it has to all the paperwork that needs to be filed when trying to get disability. The school girls are only in your head, and you can spend your entire day masturbating to college cheerleaders in Jesus sandals. I had recurring nightmares for a long time, but it wasn't until recently they began to take on a particular realistic tone to them.

I dream about Lenora bending over a desk, and having her bottom paddled with a board while raising up her sandals. My lady erection is largely left alone while I try to get some sleep again.

As I get up, I go into the kitchen.

Also unlike school, lunch is anytime you crave marshmallows. Sometimes you just need that sort of comfort food to ease your depression.

Marshmallow fluff dreams.

As it turned out the hotel I'm currently staying in withholds mail and trashes it if you don't claim it within a certain period of time. So here I am left to wait till my ability to get disability before I can get any sort of coffee drink. So that was how I spent my first disability check.

Of the times I've tried to write in the coffee shop, most of the time they were filled with noisy hipsters in Jesus sandals playing the latest metal jazz band. They would open their mouths wide, and deliberately yell in your ear until you move from the table even though you claimed the table first, and you end up moving to another table another tries to do the same shit.

So you punch them in the face to get them to shut up, then they continue the same sort of yelling they always did. So this ends up meaning hardly any writing time at all, most of which spent justify your existence to uncaring family that gives you anxiety attacks. However Lenora found a job, and an extra special decked out coffee shop card, and went along route 500 to check to see what the yelling what all about. So she bought us both coffees, and shut the whole world up by clapping her hands. And that's how you go around Milton doing errands and arriving in Federal Way just to see me.

We left to visit a "free to masturbate" theater, where I watched the imported fare of blonds in pigtails wearing wooden clogs, spreading their legs out, and doing little tap dances for their oral craving masters.

So she clapped her hands, we arrived at home.

I woke up and it was morning. Lenora knocked on the door. I went to go visit the door, and I told my room mate I was going to go take a trip with Lenora. Lenora started rubbing her right hand up and down my crotch, and so I swatted her hand away.

"I told you, I'm not some night time fucker. I like it daytime and public." she said.

"Well yes yes, but society doesn't." I said.

"Well fuck society."

"No fuck me instead." And we went inside, and took a shower together. Lenora started rubbing up and down my lady cock. And then gradually lowered herself down my nicely smooth torso.

And found a rubber ducky in the tub.

"You got a rubber ducky?"

"I'm a kid at heart."

She continued to pick up the rubber ducky, and played my with lady junk using the rubber ducky, and started deep throating me rolling her tongue around my shaft. And then as she withdrew, choke burped. And then all at once the feeling of being whole came into completion, with the whole room filling with light. And all of a sudden I became very light headed.

My room mate entered the shower room.

"Hey, you did inspection days?" Lilia Beth asked.

"No why do you ask?" I asked.

"Then why are you masturbating on inspection day."

Apparently a long time passed till she left the bath tub, and I never even got to see her leave and dance away. I received a text from Lenora. "You're not still masturbating in the tub are you?" she asked.

"Of course not."

We were dining in a local restaurant by the Japanese food store. I always had difficulty with the sound that's between an r and a d.

"But aren't you like Japanese?" asked Lenora, to a friend of mine. I had long grown past such weird social interactions, but there was something to the innocence of her approach that made me laugh.

"Well yes, but why is that important?" the friend said. He was going along for the ride so as to not be hammered down. "So aren't you really an elf girl?" he said, pointing to her puffed up cheek.

It wasn't everyday your girlfriend would explicitly ask something so rude, and finally seeing someone else get done in by impolite question was somewhat of a cathartic experience. She would go to gatherings carrying out a carved out instrument made from a castrated bag pipe, and blow through each hole using a reed and a place for which sound would come out. It was a multi-flute made from a bagpipe withouts its bag. "So Lenora, why you bring that confusing pipe garbage to the restaurant every day?" I asked, although I wasn't sure if my point was clear.

"I don't, don't you see." she said, and snapped her fingers.

Then the pipe instrument was gone. She wiped the Japanese guy's memory of the bizarre instrument, and simply remembered the time he was asked about what his nationality was.

So we went home, she wooden clog danced as she waltzed into the motel room.

I caned her bare bottom dispassionately for asking the Japanese man a rude question in short peppered strokes little more than hornet stings. But sometimes you need a cute nosy girlfriend, when she gives you head.

"No Lenora, I'm not Japanese! Remember that."

"Hey, I her that!"

Damn it, even Lenora can say it. But I never could. We went on like this till she had to take the bus home. She skips and clogs on home, shaking her booty on the way to the bus stop.

The homeless clinic was like a psychiatric hospital with sleeping arrangements, in the center was a community center hosting vending machines for candy bars and different kinds of coffee flavored sodas. I walked over to one of the vending machine, and purchased a drink brewed by a local chain, along with a caramel chocolate peanut bar for the morning dining.

A couple of blond acquaintances, in fact both were women, were dressed up as Queen Marie Antoinette and King Louie, reenacting their final descent into the darkness after the guillotine blade drops on their necks. The facial expression indicating a kind of suicidal joy where at last they can meet their maker while their decapitated heads are turned to each other to kiss. In actuality, they are simply standing, caressing each other in a slow embrace. They were lesbians that had moved to the state from an abusive father, who had strangled them both. In a sense me and the ladies were drawn together in to threesome among psychiatric twins.

The nights after the doctors office were often lonely, having a mandatory lights out session for the next few hours. As someone who is unable to sleep, I find that I spend most of my days reporting on things from my life, as my own perceptions begin to change as my illness becomes worse. Sometimes the illness and dreams stagnant and I can dream in normal colors. But at other times the dreams end up becoming more vivid and surreal as the nights seem to become longer.

I hunger for normal nights.

Instead I get insomnia.

There are multiple theories for insomnia, although in my case because the nature of my dream world, reality and the resulting nightmares make it impossible to become completely thoughtless. I wake up and think that at times there is somebody in the room, and they are sent by the government to spy on me. Instead I look in the bathroom and, and find nobody is there.

I tried to tell the doctors about the dreams.

But he said they were all in my head.

So now I generally avoid discussing these, and mainly discuss things related to my back story instead of how I am now. The doctor seems to have incredible patience and understanding, although I still fear that they were try to induce another mental health breakdown again.

Then I have to start all over again.

And have other melt down inducements.

The skyscrapers along the edge of tomorrow, grow over the pastoral landscape like carnivorous grass. Windows shine in the rooms bringing the false light of corn oil powered lamps.

On the bed I was left in a tired state as if waking up from a dream. The dream was much like the reality is now, except slightly off kilter. The world was upside down, and it was always night. The moon sang its nightly tune over the horizon. I feel as if falling up into the sky. The clouds in the night sky formed into a kind of fog the more I fell up. Then all at once I woke up, and was in bed again. I remembered feeling a presence in my room. Something in my bathroom in the motel by the psychiatric hospital. I then woke up again, as if from another dream. The cycle of dreams repeats its cycle again. The whispers of dialogue fill my head.

I don't want to here those voice again.

No those voices in my head.

The standard breakfast was standard boxed cereal, a Clementine, and a class of orange juice. The ambiance in the air was largely silent. For once in my life things were truly silent.

The lamps were hanging from the floor that became the ceiling. Then I realized I was hanging by my bed clothes from my back. And somehow it did not occur to me the fact that it was me who was completely upside, because indeed my entire world is upside ... down; down, down, down I went to the ground, and the floor came to greet me in the face. I need a nose brace, but it hugged my nose to much. The voices in my head were fading for now, at least for the time being.

"Aren't you going to eat your breakfast?" asked the nurse.

"Yes, with an extra glass of orange juice." I said.

I had grown tired of watching television, as someone who circularly grew tired of television because I grew tired of television. I have no explanation for exactly why, it just slipped away from my mind.

And so I find other things to do.

Other things that make me unwind. And spring forth like a death's head ... lady bug crawling along the bed sheets.

I'm not sure if orange is good for lady bugs.

She bugs the hell out of me.


Fairy Dust



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