I fell in the street on Friday night and scraped my right palm. Pretty much ripped off the top layer of skin and Dave cut off the gray dangling bit. It turns out we didn’t clean it properly and when I woke up yesterday a scary red streak had crept up my arm (illustration here). I read that this was a sign of an infection and that if I left it alone it could become a serious blood infection and reach the heart. After some hesitation, because I don’t have medical insurance right now, I went to the emergency room with Will. I figured even if it was expensive, it would be even more expensive if I waited.

They gave me a huge shot of antibiotic in my ass which hurt like fuck. Then they injected anesthesia all around the wound (the first couple of injections hurt like hell, too — it practically felt like the needle was going through my hand and up my arm) and scraped all the dirt and shit out of the wound with a scalpel. Dressed it and wrapped a bandage around it.

I haven’t received a bill yet, and the financial advisor was nice enough to not even ask for the usual $200 deposit. I applied for a financial program to pay for it. I certainly seem to qualify since your income has to be 400% or less of the federal poverty level, and right now my income is… 0. So yeah, here’s hoping. I felt like shit last night but today has been a lot better. Just gotta take antibiotics for 10 days (the generics were only about ten bucks) and keep the wound wrapped up with a fresh bandage everyday.

Gaaah… fuck unemployment. Fuck not having health insurance. Fuck me for being so accident prone!

I just had a sudden wave of panic as I was browsing the Craigslist job postings for Los Angeles. I’m not sure what brought it on. I guess I just thought about how I don’t actually have a job lined up, despite the fact that I’ve been applying for stuff for a while now, and have been saying I’m already living in L.A., so the fact that I’m still in Dallas can’t at least partially explain why I haven’t gotten many responses. It’s as though I’m already in California, and haven’t been able to find a job for a month. And when I actually move, I won’t have an income, but I’ll still have all my financial responsibilities. And what if I can’t find another job in one month? Or two? How long will I be able to hold out?

But I’ll just have to hold out, my creditors be damned. I can’t keep living in Dallas, just treading water. I already feel like my time here has been my Lost Year; I don’t want it to turn into two, or three, before I finally just give up and go back to grad school. To be sure, I’ve had a lot of fun here, but at the same time I feel like I haven’t made any kind of progress. I don’t like being twenty-three and still living at home. If I just take the plunge and move, I’ll have to make it, because I won’t have any other choice. It’s that thought that calms me whenever I have these moments of anxiety.

Last night I dreamed Will, Nick and I went back to high school, but we were our current ages so it was kind of weird. I was being a real smartass and got into an argument with the clearly under-qualified teacher in front of the whole class for calling her out on her stupidity. When that settled down, we all started working on our art assignment, which was to make self-portraits in the style of coloring book illustrations — thick black lines in sharpie filled in with crayon. My piece consisted of two nearly-identical drawings side by side, which together I named (somewhat confusingly) At Work & At Play. On the left, I was sipping coke through a straw. On the right, i was sniffing coke through a straw. The teacher didn’t think it was very funny.

It just hit me that in two weeks I’ll be in Los Angeles for good. I’m already worrying, but I guess I shouldn’t yet, since whatever happens before I get there won’t change the fact that I have to move now:

• I canceled my YMCA membership. My beloved Y. It’s become a ritual going almost every day. It’s kept me happy all these months in Dallas, especially through the gray, wet winter.

• I quit my job and what’s done is done; I can’t un-quit. A new guy, “Chris,” has been hired. I’ve been training him this week. He seems fine. He said the word “homosexual” in an oddly clinical, almost accusatory tone when referring to Perez Hilton in that Miss California “opposite marriage” video.

• My mom bought her new car and I’ve promised to buy her old one. I still have to go Downtown and transfer the title to my name, and also get insurance before hers expires. And I need to sell my old car. I need that money.

• I’m very slowly cleaning my room and sorting through the accumulated mail that’s probably important but that I never read.

So the move will definitely happen, despite all the uncertainties. It’ll be hard, and in a sense I’ll be starting from square one. But I’ve learned my lesson. If I’m going to be poor, I should at least have some friends around.