The Old Days Were Terrible Days

Today it’s going to be hot in New York. It’s going to be almost 90 degrees Farenheit. Underneath my balcony right now, kids are walking. They’re holding long cables connected to adults. They just stopped when someone said, “About face!” Then they all turned around like little soldiers. Now they are all walking back under the balcony, back to the school or daycare or whatever.

I bought some patio furniture yesterday. Now I set up my iPad on my new seven dollar plastic made in America stool and I’ve got my bluetooth keyboard on my lap and I’ve got my coffee and Morgan is asleep inside and it’s just me out here. My wife, we’ll call her Molly from now on, is at work. She had to go early because she’s the boss this month. It’s turning her into a little neutron star of stress. I work today at 3. It’s 10 AM now. I don’t have shit to do. I have a lot of things to do, but since I know I won’t do them, I’ll just pretend I don’t have shit to do.

To be honest I’m scared to be honest. Some days it seems very simple. Some days it seems unnecessary. And on days like today it seems difficult and possibly not worth it. It’s hard for me to even be honest with you any more, now that you know me so well. I think about what you’ll think of me now. I think about what I’ll think of me when I’m you, sometime in the future, re-reading old bullshit.

I’ve got a lot I want to talk about, but I’d like it to seem well-written. Self-censorship is good when you’re writing for an audience. Only an egomaniac would go on about whatever he wanted to for three thousand words and then hit publish. Well, if I’m a fucking egomaniac, I’d better just shut the fuck up about it. I don’t even know if egomaniac is a word. I usually prefer the term narcissist. I don’t really know how the two are different, but narcissist sounds more classy.

I know what I could do, to make this easier for you and pretty much, though not exactly, the same for me. I could break this up into pieces and schedule them to be posted in the future. Since I feel like writing an epic rant about whatever the fuck, I might as well set myself up for the next few days and then I won’t have to actually write things on days that I don’t want to write things. Man I am good at doing exactly what I want.

Three Trains

I was busy this morning writing and revising what I wrote. Writers have notebooks. I don’t have time to make sense of that. I’m on the subway to work. I barely was able to feed the cats and all of that. I was writing and writing. It snowed and I watched, like I was living in Boston again. I set up the kitchen stool next to the bed so I could use it like a desk.

I came down the stairs to the subway and the train was just leaving. Just missed it. Another one came quickly. I’m taking three trains today instead of one because it snowed, better to stay underground.

Switching trains now. Kids everywhere, school just let out I guess. Scarlet Johansson is in a new movie about women wearing tight clothes. I started using product in my hair and it itches. I don’t wash it.

I had a thought halfway through he tunnel to the next train, but I forgot it.

Today meditation told me to be balanced. That’s ok. Don’t let your mind run away unless you mean for it to do. What now?

No money because it snowed, and the old me would say no bridge and tunnel weirdos, too, but now I say…those people are okay. Who doesn’t like fettuccini alfredo anyways.

Can’t believe I lost that thought in the tunnel. It would have made this post. Something about switching. Got distracted by a kid’s backpack. The monopoly man was fleeing the bank in a jail outfit.

Hair itches. Big hat because it snowed. Nothing like that. Switching doors each stop so I can lean and type. Nothing like that.

I started typing out journals again. Journal entries. Just typing and typing sometimes. I had switched to hand writing. Now I switched back. Maybe the problem is switching. Too much switching in one life. I’ll never fill up a whole notebook with handwriting by the end of the year at the pace I’m going. I’d better switch to something faster. Some faster state of mind wherein I still hamdwrite shit for some reason.

Hit the square. Be kind. Don’t think. Don’t tune out tho.

Up the stairs stay close to the crowd but then a dude flies down right in front of you trying to catch the train you just left.

Been cold at home with the heat off, put on the big hat and go out in the snow, you’re warm for the first time all day.

Train pulls up you’re at the top of the stairs and you find yourself in the exact situation as that dude who almost ran you over earlier. Crowd is coming toward you, climbing the stairs, you got to fly down and let the chips fall where they may. Probably would have been clear if not for them people suddenly pausing in the aisle.

Almost to work and how did it happen.

Last night I ate too much chicken and I was sweating the whole shift. Tonight I’m wearing wool socks.

Today I Felt Okay

I woke up today and I didn’t feel sad. The weather was shitty, and I had to go to work. But I didn’t mind it so much. One thing went right that if it had gone wrong, might have fucked the entire day up, so that might have been the reason. I am “on call” for lunch on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, so I never know until about 9:30 in the morning if I am going to have to go in at 11:45 and work lunch. If I had had to work lunch this morning, and then work dinner, I would have probably been in a fucked up place by the end of the day.

I had switched my sleep schedule around because Wife is working overnight at the bakery for Thanksgiving and all. But anyway, that didn’t end up fucking me in the ass like it could have.

But I don’t think that was the reason I didn’t feel sad, like I normally do. I don’t know what it was.

I wrote another Daily Post response but I think I got banned from that shit or something. My fellow daily post-er Chas at The Rad Blog is also having trouble. I think it might have something to do with profanity or some shit, I have no idea. Fuck em. You should check out his blog if you like mine. He rambles a lot, too, and keeps it interesting.

So my visibility just got kicked in the dick and I guess the only way to keep getting views is to keep writing more content. Maybe those bastards really didn’t like my posts, or thought they weren’t following the prompt closely enough. I was going to say they should have at least emailed me or something, but it’s possible they did because I don’t check my Gordon Flanders account, so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.

I’m actually pretty sleepy. Probably because I took a shower and got under my comforter.

Yeah but that walking around not feeling depressed was weird. I was thinking of setting goals and shit. And where I wanted to be next year, as if I’d still be alive. And I was thinking I was going to stop looking at my stats all the time.

Alright yo well I just started this story yesterday and I got like 1700 words in so I’m going to go for another 1700 and pass the fuck out so I can work a twelve hour day tomorrow.

Quantity Is More Important Than Quality

Reality, in the metaphorical sense, in the sense that reality is everything undesirable about your otherwise good life, is back today like an old dying Aunt with no friends who just wants a few quarters for the slots. The last wave of inspiration has subsided, tonight I go back to work, the smell of coffee is negated by the smell of a full trashcan, the inbox is full of emails with bold underlined capitalized bullshit, and the guy who cut my hair last night somehow fucked it up. From now on I’m just getting that shit shaved. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking asking for some kind of ridiculous shit like short on the sides and messy on top. Yeah it’s a fucking mess now. Good fucking job.

I don’t think there’s really anything worth talking about now, especially since I can’t seem to even word the boring shit to be funny any more, so I might as well keep typing. At least I can get in a thousand words before getting bogged down in the mire. I’ll just resort to typing long cliches. I’m listening to an album of classical music called Mood Booster. I thought it would be a good idea. I started listening to The National at first and then I realized I was just going to type the lyrics over and over again if I didn’t stop.

Woo fuck, this is going to be tough shit. I do not feel in the least like writing. Ok, well, shit we’re a quarter of the way there now. Sometimes you just got to push on through, like Bob Marley said.

I been reading a lot about American History so I could write a book about a guy in America sometime. Maybe I was wrong to do that. I don’t think so, I’m just feeling like I was wrong about everything. It’s funny how much I don’t know about American history. I don’t know much of anything about American history, and it’s not that much history to even learn.

I don’t mind working, I guess, I mean I hate it, but it pays and that’s cool. I think I’ve worked everyone’s expectations down that I’m coming home for Thanksgiving or for any reason really. I love my family and I have one of the most loving families…or at least verbally loving families, I think maybe their actions say otherwise. My family is all about drama and shit and talking behind each other’s backs and putting on a good face and also full of expectations. No one expects you to do well in a career, they just want you to do well in your spiritual life, AKA go to church, pray, and get raptured in the next few days. And then they also want you to do Amway. Then you’d be good.

Shit, I just wish we could all sit around and chill when we see each other. But you can’t relax because they need you to be someone you’re not. Ah but that’s fine, because most people do. Nobody wants to talk about death all the time. Unless there’s a heaven afterwards, in which case my family would be happy to talk about it. But I guess the fact that they are my family makes me expect them to love me unconditionally. So I guess we all have our expectations.

I just want to move to Siberia and they can all stay here. It sucks because I want to see them but at the same time I never want to see them again. My grandmother is close to the end of her life and she never expected anybody to do anything but their “lessons”, which is what she called homework. She doesn’t think you’re a bad person as long as you’re not a bad person, whereas most of my family thinks you’re a bad person if you’re not Jesus Christ, and not just the real Jesus Christ but the rich one who hates gays and abortions.

Anyway, only three hundred words to go now. Ah, fuck, this sucks shit I feel like I’m cleaning a stubborn bathroom. How can I add something to your life today? I don’t know. What to I want to make you feel? Who are you? What emotion do I want to communicate? Boredom… I heard this song by The Doors on Other Voices. The guy was like, “I’m nervous I’m bored I’m stoned I’m ugly something something.” That was a good song. I bet he didn’t know what the hell to write about at that point.

Damn if I could just cut down some god damn trees around here. Even cleaning something doesn’t feel as productive as the idea of cutting down trees does. Like I could clean the apartment more and that does make me feel better about my life but that shit is just temporary. You clean something and then the next day you wake up and that shit is not clean any more, and then you start to believe that every day is a new day and you are just as wretched as you were the one before. You never make any progress. Like Chuck Klosterman said, every night things come together and I understand the world, and then morning comes and I don’t understand shit, and that’s why I hate mornings.

I like mornings, pretty much, sometimes, if I’m feeling good…alright so I liked one morning one time it was pretty good. Or the mornings of my childhood or the ones when I was in France the first time, but those are in my memory and probably didn’t happen at all like I remember and I probably hated them at the time. I guess the only thing to do is to trick yourself into thinking you were having a good time yesterday.

Well, there you go. Sorry about that, I guess, unless you liked it. I enjoyed it minimally. But I will try to remember that it was fun.