My brother and I sit together at Starbucks, talking at intervals. Mostly I'm typing into my baby. I can't stop. I'm addicted to the keyboard. This is the thing for me, this is my future. This is what I want to do for the rest of my life. This is my Nirvana. Now to make it pay. That's the only issue for me now. To make it pay.
Before I grow old and die.
Maybe I should write a book.
"Maybe you should write a book," Nurse G says after I tell her about my being thrown in jail for menacing and harassment. "You seem to have done
almost everything." Not everything. "You should really think about writing a book about homeless- ness." Maybe I should think about writing a book. But what would it be about? Right now I'm writing a battery of short stories. Just for the Hell Of It. It's good to flex your prose muscles some. My brother would like to write a homeless handbook. That sounds like fun, but it's not a fiction novel. I would like to write fiction. To invent people, places and things. Once I finish the screenplay I'll have a lot of time on my hands. And all I need is a little time to produce work. Not much. Just a little.
Did I tell you that Dr. A gave me an article to read. "Supplementation with n-3 polyunsaturated fatty acids should join the short list of evidence-based life-prolonging therapies for heart failure." What an insightful article! It says, and I quote: "The benefits of n-3 PUFA supplementation were seen across the board regardless of the cause of heart failure, which was ischemia in half of subjects, dilated cardiomyopathy in 30%, and hypertension in 15%. The benefits were also consistent in the 9% who had heart failure with preserved systolic function and in the vastly greater number of patients with a low ejection fraction."
LOVELY! When I got to the end of this two page wonder, it says: "Fish oil cuts heart failure morbidity, Mortality." "Meaning," Dr A. says, " I want you to eat more sardines in your diet. And pop cod liver oil pills." Jesus doc, why couldn't you just tell me that you want me to do...whatever.So, today I went to Duane Reade and stocked up on ten tins of sardines, in water and in soybean oil. At Starbucks, instead of eating their sugary snacks, which is fucking bad for you to begin with, I open up two tins, finding out quickly that sardines, packed in water suck. The fuckers are so soggy that they'll make you sick. Whereas the oil soaked ones are firmer although they smell more. So if you're around me and I reek of fish, now you know why.
And as for the vitamins that I have to take, I'll have to leave them in my bag because these bitches here at the Box will confiscate them as contraband as they did my vitamin D pills. Fuck ups.I wrap up my shit and head to the Box, where I pick up my meds and head downstairs to get on my baby. I did some work, some writing as you well know, and some surfing, just for the fuck of it.
This night finished with no incidents, no basketball players and no pizza.
Hb
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