I wake up but I don't move.
Have you ever done that? Wake up, but don't move a muscle, as if you're playing dead to some bear sniffing your feet? Then, I move a little to look at my watch. It's a quarter past 6:00AM. The lights are on in the dorm. I hear Littlejohn's voice complaining that someone had left a cigarette butt on the commode in the bathroom. Someone is always smoking in the damn bathroom.
I don't move, and that could have been my mistake, because when I do move again to look at my watch it's five minutes to 7:00AM. I jump out of bed. I wanted to be at Starbucks early this morning get my favorite spot. I bust ass to get out of the Box, and when I do get to Starbucks I find some skank in my spot. About a dozen tables and she's sitting at mine. All because she has a cell phone that needs charging. She has to sit at my table because it is next to an outlet. Hey, that's the reason why I want to sit at that table!
So I pick one next to hers and lay out my baby. As soon as I finish meticu- lously taking out all of the components of my system and sit down behind her, does this quiff pop up, pack up and leave. Fuck me. So it takes me another five minutes to move from one table to the next. Piece by piece, part by part, but I get 'er done.
I settle down. I have a lot of writing ahead of me. I've accepted the challenge of writing a poem a day. Well, in all actuality I did so a long time ago, but it was just re-affirmed on the night of the wine and reading party. They encouraged poets to get into the ritual of writing a poem a day for a month. Now, because of a writer/artist friend of mine online, I had placed that challenge on myself earlier and I feel good about it. It feels as if I am building up something, a body of work I suppose. Still, it feels good.
I breeze right though until 10:00AM, missing the Morning Meeting. I grimace at the thought. If Starbucks and writing is the most beneficial way of starting and preparing for the day...a start that builds up; the Morning Meeting is just the opposite. It colors my entire day. One five minute meeting can fuck up a wet dream.
I will soon pack and head uptown to the 34th Street library, to be in striking distance of my psychotherapy session today. Today, lets see if I get my psycho-social evaluation from Nurse G. today. I think not. She'll have something else to blame it on. Probably me for forgetting last week that my appointment was moved to Friday. Shit, I'm not good with those last minute things anyway. I fuck up sometimes too. I'm only human, just like the rest of us. Shit, and I'm homeless on top of that too.
When I look at the windows of the Starbucks, it is white with rain. The clouds have literally opened up and dropped heaven and Earth down on Manhattan. The city is getting drenched with an outpouring of precipitation. People are running about, those with umbrellas are strolling. I'll wait. I'll wait until the sky is more patient and understanding to my need for movement.
Shortly it is and I pack up and take off. As usual, though, the skies set me up for a fall. Once I got to the opposite station at 33rd street did the rain come back for a second round. I was forced to walk through it to the library. It made the streets slick and clean. It washed away the filth and the grime and the fear and the sweet stench of hate. It was New York as I like it. I used to love rainy days before I had to carry this pack around on my back. I hate getting it wet. I used to love standing in the rain with a nice trenchcoat and hat. Now, I have to wear my poncho, which gets quite hot underneath, but at least it covers my back pack.
Later I realize that sirens are all different. Well, In New York they are. Fire Engine Sirens sound different from Police sirens, sound different from ambulance sirens. I noticed that tonight sitting at Starbucks. It is crowded now, with people at all of the tables. They are packed in tightly, but this is only for awhile. Soon, after 7:00PM, they'll start to peel off, like petals on a rose, and pass away. They'll be heading for home.
Everyone heads for home, sooner or later.
Everyone other than the homeless. They're going somewhere, but it's nothing close to a home.
That's how these things go. Take care and sleep tight.
Amen, and good night.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2008/11/rockerfeller-skank.html
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