I went to see Clayton Scott perform poetry tonight. It was a book release party. He asked me and Doug Sheilds (current organizer of open mic readings and the Ozark Poetry Slam) to offer-up opening poems. I was honored. The turn-out was HUGE! There were junior high kids there - due to his popularity in the Arkansas school arts programs that he works for. As much as I think Clayton is an amazing poet and performer, I care more about HIM than about his poetry. And though I'm very glad that he is happy with his new job, I'm sad that he is also recently divorced.
He was a big influence on Heather and I when we first started slamming. He was a highly talented and Christian-love influence in a scene that did (and still does) need it so badly. His love for people is powerful. You can check him out here: http://www.claytonscott.com .

Next week I am going to be the feature at an open mic night in Fayetteville. Doug asked me if I would do it. This will be the first time I've been featured for ANYTHING! I'm very excited. I feel like I'm stepping forward. It's a feeling that greatly conflicts with how I feel about what I'm about to tell you.

My not having a job is, as I feared, a significant financial burden for Heather and I. (It's sad that JBU pays Heather enough to keep us from recieving any federal aid, but not enough to pay our bills.) However, if I am diagnosed Bipolar II (as my new psychologist wants me to be), and we add that new development to my recently diagnosed TWO sleep disorders and my diagnosed since childhood A.D.D., then I can, by federal standards, be considered "disabled." Dis - abled. Disabilty brings-in supplemental income from the government. Is this a blessing? Is it a crock of shit? Am I abusing tax-payers' money? Regardless, I'm not sure I could feel more embarassed. Heather ensures me it has nothing to do with I.Q., . . . and I believe her, but I can't help but feel like a boat anchor. Or a child. Or a freak. And, I've been called a freak many times. I guess those voices were right. How many other things were they right about?

So, . . . disabled. At 3:21 A.M. In a rented house that is falling apart. With a wife who is significantly more intelligent and capable than I will ever be, yet who has painful, emotional dysfunctions of her own, and whose only true support is a husband who is highly medicated, doesn't know how to help her and has no job because he is . . . disabled.

I guess I'll go to sleep. And try not to dream about being scorned or laughed-at.

Sometimes I'm glad so few people read this.