Cry Wolf, Bitch

Shit!!

I did everything...almost.
I split early this morning, go to Dr. A.'s office and fix his Internet connection. He bought a new circuit and I switched it over for him. Then I split to BioReference. They say that they are on Park Avenue, but the fucking entrance to the building is in the middle of twenty third street. I'm walking around like an idiot, with the address on a piece of paper in my hand, searching around for the damn entrance, thinking it's supposed to be on Park Avenue. But I find the place. And I head up to the sixth floor to find an empty reception area. I mean, the place is huge, and there is no one around at all. No one behind the reception desk. No one in the waiting room. No one with a gunshot wound in the middle of the floor kicking and screaming. No one but me. I wander about a bit, looking here and there and I find a sign: "Please sign in and take a seat. Our cameras see you."

I ain't signing shit. Suddenly a woman walks past me to the left on a cell phone wearing a lab coat. I watch her disappear down a hall. Then she comes back down, without the cellphone, walks past me as if I wasn't there and continues down another hall. I fall into lockstep behind her. If she freaks out, then I can ask her where is everybody. She turns into a small room with a metal plaque next to the door which reads: "BioReference Laboratories Specimen Collection Center."

Well ain't that some shit. She pokes her head out. "Are you here for a blood test?" Shit yeah lady. She lets me in and does the vampire thing on me. The whole ordeal takes five minutes. I'm in and out of there. I like that.

I walk across town to ICD to Dr. W.'s office. I'm announced and told to go in. Dr. W. is an overweight woman, who moves very little. She talks rather slow and breathes heavily no doubt because of her weight. She explains to me the drugs that she is giving me thoroughly, how they work on my brain, stimulating the pleasure centers constantly to take the cravings for alcohol and sex from me. I'm stunned. Does it have to be both?? "You can't have one without the other." She says. Hmmmm. She prescribes more refills for me and that is all. Out the door I go to see her next month.

I hop, skip and jump uptown to Starbucks and get online, because that's what I like to do. Soon, after taking my break and drinking my coffee, I realize that I BLEW DR. L OFF!! I completely forgot that I was supposed to go to see her right after Dr. W.! What the fuck?? How can I do something like that? I'm in the same building, two floors above, and yet I fuck that shit up. It must be the meds. It has to be.... I completely forgot. I write her an email. Well, I almost got everything done today. Shit.

My brother joined me not long after and together we stay until nightfall. We trudge up to Grand Central and part company. I wait for the Shuttle, reading THE WATCHMEN and turn to see a dyke behind me. My eyes narrow on her, and she ignores me. Buzz cut hair, tattoos on her neck, all cotton lumberjack shirt, opened, a tee shirt under it, jeans and work boots. She cops a smile all of a sudden, like my catching her behind me is funny. I don't think so. My bag is behind me, between me and her. The train pulls into the station. I take my bag and slip into the crowds filling the platform, traveling down the length of the train and step into the second car. Right behind me is the dyke. I head for the center of the car, she sits at the end. Ohhh, we're playing games now. I hate being followed, even when its coincidentally. When the Shuttle pulls into Times Square, I stand back and wait. Wait for the dyke to get up and file out with the rest of the passengers. Then I fall in behind her, and follow her through the subway. She looks over her shoulder several times, probably not liking the attention. Smoothly, she dives into the foot traffic and ducks off. I let her fly. I head to the number two train.

Anything to be concerned about. I dunno. This is New York. Anything can happen and does happen. She wasn't a skek, but then again, people act like skeksies at times too. Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean that dykes up to no good aren't following you. I get off at Ninety Six street and make my way home. I am tired, and not ready for further surprises. Of course the couple in the elevator...the woman with her shirt bunched around her neck; the man, his back to me, going to town, suckling a breast...doesn't think so. They jump when I walk in, correct themselves and laugh at each other as we ride up. I say goodnight to them as I leave. I wanted to say: resume fucking each other, but I'm sure they'll start without my encouragement.

I enter my little room, suddenly feeling a sense of relief. I lock the world OUT. The crowding city can no longer reach me here. It is held back, kept at bay. I take off my clothes and get ready for bed. I feel bloated, like a beached whale. I am dismal. I'm a sunken ship, slowly traveling down to Davy Jone's Locker.

I shrug it off. The mood enhancers must be failing. Dr. W. told me that I was at the maximum dosages of all the drugs that I'm on. There's no more room to play with. I wonder...If I'm always having my pleasure sensors stimulated, and anything that brings me pleasure is toned down...then maybe these drugs are counteracting those drugs, and vice versa? Naaaah. Dr. W. would have said something about that. I've got to go out and find my own happiness...without the pills.

Tomorrow, I think I'm going to get back on my diet.

Earlier, in Starbucks, my brother shows me his new bi-focals. He dons them cheerily. I say: Neat. I should have burst into tears.

I'm just getting old.

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