I head downstairs to Starbucks.
I chose not to wear my coat because it was not all that cold outside and the walk to the establishment is too short. If you were leaving my building, when you step out of the elevator, you'll have to make a quick right down a long hall. Some distance down this hall the rec room opens on the right, an office on the left. Before you, several more feet down are the double doors, otherwise known as a 'mantrap'. Once between the double doors of the mantrap you are standing before the large glass window of the guard station. All this about the layout is for description purposes. I know that I'll have to explain it once more in the near future.
I blow through all of this as I hit the sidewalk and the cold afternoon. I'm not much bothered by the weather, I slip into Starbucks and find a table near an outlet.
I'm back with the three most dangerous things in the world. I quickly got started with e-mail, blogging and sending out my article to my online magazine. One of the e-mails that I receive is from my coordinator. She will not be coming today. That's fucking great. Because I couldn't get a decent Internet connection all morning in my room, so I didn't get this email until late. That just about tears it. I'm going to cheat for the first time in my life. I'm not just going to surf on WIFI signals that aren't mine, I'm going to find a WIFI booster antenna and see if that shit works. A booster antenna increases your effective range of reception of WIFI signals. I'll dangle the little motherfucker out the window and see if I can latch onto those signals that the administrator told me is here and that they use freely, no doubt in the front of the building. Those further back, behind many and cold and lifeless walls, like me, can go straight to bat shit Hell.
The sun sets and I get the bright idea to go food shopping. Remember now, I left my home without my coat, and the sun has already set. I set out up the block to Amsterdam Avenue, the wind beginning to whip and punish me for being so stupid. Once reaching Amsterdam, it's two blocks downtown to 96th Street where the Associated Supermarket is. I enter in, completely forgetting how cramped and small the fucking place is. Instantly there is a woman behind me working her shopping cart up my ass. Easy lady! I'll get out of your way! I slip into the cramped aisles, negotiating around other shoppers, moving shoulder to shoulder sometimes to get where we want to go. This is truly a ridiculous store that needs another thousand square feet for people to use. It must have been built for a much smaller crowd of users, but this is pathetic. The place is literally cramped and packed. I can't fucking wait to get out of here. I buy a microwaveable turkey and gravy dinner, and a mac and cheese entree. Fucking A. Also, a quart of milk for my Strawberry Nesquick and cereal galore. For my health, I bought some microwaveable rice. How is that healthy? I don't fucking know. It doesn't have sugar in it and it's not all that processed like the TV dinners. Who the fuck cares? My injection quotient is still what it is. Food really doesn't matter.
Blood pressure does. I'm taking my meds regularly and on time though. I'm doing better now than I was doing at the stupid Box. Maybe things will change. I'll see my doctor next week, I'll get more news from him. He knows all about these things.
I hit the cold of the night a second time, and walk like a stick figure back to The Spot, where there is nobody in front of the building or in the Mantrap. I enter in and the security guard addresses me: "May I help you?" I live here. "What room?" I tell her. "Do you want your mail?" Wha? I have mail?? Yeah, sure. The security guard passes it to me. I take it and is buzzed in. Strolling down the long hall to the elevator I notice the name on the envelope: Angel Rodriguez. Who the..? I toss it on my window sill. I'll mark it return to sender and drop it in a mail box later. Those knuckleheads downstairs will probably toss it in the trash. I head upstairs and go into my apartment, putting together my gear on my desk, putting aside my clothes, emptying my pockets...and then proceeding to make dinner, hearty and hale, and pound that shit down like it as my last meal on Earth.''
I feel like I'm getting fatter.
I fall asleep, dreaming deep dreams, and got up in the middle of the night to take a piss. I have more bottles next to my trash can.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2008/11/translatable-languages.html
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