Imagine You&#39;re Reading

Imagine You're Reading

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I awoke spry at 5:00AM.

I mean really spry. I was so spry that I had an erection. Wow. I didn't recollect having one of them kind of dreams. Maybe I was fucking Sylvia Saint last night. I am pleased with myself. I crank out my situps and pushups with joy and ease. I take my piss and then pop back into bed for another hour's worth of sleep. I wake at 6:15AM and read. I'm finishing up books rapidly now, finding a little time here or there to read three at one time. Crazy right?

I leave at Seven for Starbucks and brace myself against the chill cold of the morning. Fall is here. And the city has never looked so beautiful to me. When leaving I met up with Ralphy, who I've seen around, but I had thought he left. I look quizzically at him. "I'm leaving NOW," he says as he carries a rather large duffle bag out of Dorm number Two. Delay huh? "Yeah," he drags out another bag. So, Ralphy, where are you headed? "Far Rockaway." For those who don't know, they don't call it Far Rockaway for nothing. He's going to be Hell and gone from here. Oh, well, Ralphy, take care. "I'll be around, Hobobob," he replies, dragging out another bag.

And that's what makes me think about the city in the morning, as I walk to Starbucks I marvel at her narrow, empty streets, wiped clean of pedestrians. Few cars roll down it's roads. A slanting sun lights only one side of the block. Everything is near sleep, not night time, but not yet day. Even the air is fresher, crisp and cool. I'm in love with the city, dearly, clearly.

This is interesting to me because it makes me think back to Ralphy, heading out to Far Rockaway. Wow. REALLY, just how fucking fortunate am I right now? I'm bitching and moaning about not getting an apartment and having to live in a dorm-like setting with the stupid Morning Meeting, and I'm really not taking stock of my life. I could be packing up right now to head out into the armpit of the city to live in an SRO, not an apartment, but a single room. Not that most New Yorkers don't do the same, they just call it a 'Studio apartment'. But no, I live on Bleecker and Broadway. Do you know what the property values are around here? It's astronomical!! And I'm rubbing shoulders everyday with these people that live down here, getting off the train at the most desirous of stops. I even get to watch a bevy of models traipse into Starbucks every morning!! How good can it get? I'm at the cultural, financial, commercial ground zero here. I am amazed this dawn. This has to be as good as a hobo can get.

Alright, I get my morning coffee from Starbucks and sit, opening email and checking what's new in my tired life. I get this in my news magazine email concerning the submission of my article yesterday:

"gee!! i love it, i cant wait to read the rest, this is the stuff i'm talking about. things that matter no matter who you are. i would say send them all in but it would be just to read them selfishly before any one else. keep them coming dude"

I look at the television audience. Do I have to tell you how I feel right now? A geiger counter stuck up my ass would be going off like crazy now. I'm about to explode. How worried I was over them not liking the piece, how long did my crazy brain torture me about how it was put together, if it made sense, if it was too vague to not keep someone's attention. And yet I get this in the email. Are you fucking kidding me???

This indeed made my day. I'm sitting in Starbucks ready to celebrate with my coffee and muffin. I think as a treat I'll tell the Morning Meeting to kiss my ass, as well as my anxiety therapy for today. Besides I was asked to come into work today, so that's that. A little money in my pocket beats suggestive reinforcement any day. Instead I blog and work on the rest of the articles. I have five now, and if they all pass, they'll extend until early November. Which will give me a chance to find out other sources of news after the love of my pieces dies out, or before they die out altogether.

I do the half day work thing, and it was a little busy today. The business is picking up. The time to go home comes all too slow. I'm tired long before it comes, and IT'S ONLY A HALF DAY. Sometimes half days are harder to get through than whole days, methinks. I head to the Madison Starbucks to get online and check my email and work.

Soon, I head to the box where I find Igor gone. There are a lot of stories concerning his departure. There is one where he stayed up all night, agonizing over the fact that the cops were called, and finally went to apologize to Angel and told him to keep the IPOD. All debts were forgiven. Another story has it that he talked to Robert until two in the morning just before he woke Angel.

John says that Igor left this morning angry. About what, I don't know. But his bed is stripped and forlorn. There are now two empty beds around me. As I count it, I have two people I can call friends, one nut, and one drug addict. What will the next two bring? That's the one thing I hate here, and I used to hate it at home when my ex would move the furniture about during the day, and that is the lack of stability. I need things to stay still. Dynamic existence is not for me. People coming and going has to be the worst. My life is a teaspoon of a Hell.

It's alright. I'm going up and down now. I'm manic and I know it. But that's one of my diagnosis'. Manic Depressive. Great big mood swings. This is just one of my downs. Which will be followed by an incredible high. I think Igor's leaving has affected me more than I would care to admit.

His area makes the entire area seem just that more lonelier.

I work on my laptop until they tell me to turn it off at Ten.

Then I read.

Then I sleep

Hobobob

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