"YO! Hobobob! There's pizza in the kitchen!!" I turn around and God is at the door, calling my name. I didn't know that he knew my name. I don't know his. Hey, thanks, I say. But between you and I, I have absolutely no intention of leaving my baby to run after some sorry assed pizza from these dumb fucks. I just know that they got the cheapest pizza that they could find in New York. Probably a bunch of them home oven pizza that you get from grocery stores.
Robert walks in and sees me on his way to his bed. "Hey, they've got pizza in the cafeteria." Yeah, I've heard. "Some basketball star is in there handing them out." What? What are you talking about? Robert frowns in concentration, then looks up at the ceiling. "Hmmm, I don't follow basketball so I don't know him, you know..." He starts to wag a finger. "Stephon...Stephon Marbury." I've heard of the name before, although I don't follow basketball either. Paul the Stooge walks in and takes a seat on his bed. Robert asks him: "Who is the guy out there, Paul?" Paul the Stooge, now proud that he can answer a question, turns to us: "That's Stephon Marbury, point guard for the New York Knicks. He's a punk." I laugh. Only Paul the Stooge would have that to say. Of course he would not go in there and say that to the man's face. "You should go in there and get you a pizza," Robert says. He takes off his shirt and his protruding belly seems to flop out in front of him. Paul the Stooge Laughs. "Rob, all you need to do is find a friend with big breasts and no stomach, and put the two of you together and you'd be a perfect fit." Robert looks at him sideways. "Be careful, Paul. I know where you sleep."
I write, basically because that's what I do. I get busy with a short story. It's been a long time since I wrote novellas. It's a good feeling to let my prose be more creative. Poetry, and haiku can be so restrictive. The night wears on and the Tech's do not tell me to close down tonight. Maybe because Vanessa isn't the lead tech. Which is good, because my juices are flowing like mad. But soon, sleep does catch up with me and I begin to nod off. It's time for bed.
I sleep fitfully, almost like the dead. I don't wake up in the middle of the night. Not even once. I get up early, about five O'clock but I don't get up to take a shower today. I just go back to sleep. If I do so tomorrow I will, I promise. I sleep until a quarter after six, where I get up, and drink a bottle of San Pellegrino, a one liter bottle. Then I get behind my baby, writing. I don't fuck around. I wonder what the rest of my dorm mates think of me. Always, always typing on my laptop. A man on a mission.
I get up when the call for meds come in. A good forty five minutes late. What kind of shit is that. There's little wonder that there's a line out and around the corner waiting for meds in the morning. I walk out into the corridor, heading for my meds when a woman in the hall points at my crotch. I look down to find my fly gaping wide. Shit. I thank her and zip up. Great start in the morning, huh? I get upstairs to for my meds and there is no one there. No one. I frown and look about. Kelly the Ten Year Old walks by, calling Morning Meeting in twenty minutes. Fuck that. I don't care less now. I get my meds and I WALK THE FUCK OUT.
On my way down the street, I run into John the Janitor, who stops me. "Hey, Hobobob, do you think you can help me start an ebay account?" Sure, that would be no problem. "I can't have these people here find out, we're not supposed to have any financial dealings with the clients, but I'm desperate for someone with computer knowledge. I'll pay you for your time." Alright, do you have email? "Yeah, but I don't know how to use it. Do you have a phone?" No, I don't. I don't use phones. But I can call you. I take down his phone number and he runs off. Wow, again my computer skills are turning into money. And making an eBay account is really no big thing. Anyone can do it. Well, not anyone.
I get to Starbucks, this time the Fifth Avenue one, because the Madison avenue one is overcrowded. I find the best seat in the house and get busy. I'm working like a motherfucker because there's alot to do. I'm cruising at supersonic speed. So fast that time gets away from me. It's about 11:30 before I make it down to the library and find that Electra has saved our seats. I cop a squat and bet behind my baby again. I do that a lot.
"Well, so you saw her," Nurse G says, sitting back in her chair, her tits resting comfortably on her belly. "You can't stop taking your psycho- tropics." I know. I'm beginning to see why. "Here, let me write you out a prescription for more. Next time you call up and come in and get them. Come in anytime. This is crucial." I understand. She writes out three 'scripts and hands them over to me. LAMICTAL, ABILIFY and WELLBUTRIN. Three happy pills. Nerves, things and smiles. Gotta luv it.
She asks me how the conversation went between me and my pseudo self. I told her, basically it was crazy. She had no insights for me. It was just a weird conversation that showed that nothing is going on in my dull thinking. I have no deep secrets, no flashes of insight from my other beings, my other selves. Inside my skull is powder and sawdust and dumb motherfucking blondes.Maybe I'm a dumb blonde inside.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2008/10/nerves-things-and-smiles.html
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