My, my . . .

My father is still in that water logged city, he is scared and alone. He sounds good when we can get through to him, only I hear beyond his voice.
My Leo is too far for comfort, in the mountains of Tennessee. She drifts from sad to stoned and back again, she needs me and wants me. I know, and that knowledge is killing me.
My friends have scattered like dried leaves taking flight on a fall wind. Lost and far away, causing me to feel the same way. I can not breathe.
My drugs are wet and in the deep swamp that was my no-longer-lover-always-very-best-friend Leo's home, all but the joint which was given to me in the lobby today, Courtney ~ she deserves her own blog entry and will get one in time. Down the line, somewhere.
My home, having been mine for 39 days, is gone. My grandmothers furniture, my eclectic blend of friends and gifts and small purchases. Myself. My brief history.