A Lot of Words About Sleeping and Shit Like That

I feel like I will go to sleep. I went to sleep after the last post. It was great. Yesterday, I was sitting in the park on my break and I went to sleep there. It was fitful, but at least it was sleep I guess. This morning, Molly woke me up at 7 AM to say she had been awake since 5 AM. I fell asleep again until 7:30, when she woke me up for good. I am very sleepy now and have to be up at 7:30 tomorrow to go to a basketball game with Morgan and some people from work. To play basketball, that is, and then after that to go to work for twelve hours. I have Sunday off, though, and Morgan will be moved out by tomorrow afternoon, so I don’t know what I’ll do about that. Try to go back to regular life, I suppose, unless I get drunk on Saturday night and have to sleep most of Sunday away.

I guess by the time you’ll be reading this though, by the time you do read this, it will be Saturday already, since I’m scheduling posts now because I’m worried that I’m going to miss a day or something or just not feel like it, or really because I was in the mood to write such a long post a few days ago that I wanted to break it up for you, but it turned out not to be that long at all and I already wanted to start writing again by today. I probably won’t have time tomorrow, though, so that will be good.

Anyway I guess I would just delete this whole thing, but I’m trying not to care still.

I guess I’ll take a nap, fuck it. Twenty minutes and then get up and do the dishes. Get the hell out of here. Hit the fucking road, jack.

Last night, the bar manager wasn’t working and life was so stress free. I should do something about it, I guess, tell her off and stop listening to her. Cut her out of my life. Deal with her. I don’t know. Live in the moment. Or just quit my job, I guess, I don’t know. It’s also stressful that a lot of people are leaving my job so I don’t know who is going to cover the shifts that I need off coming up in the summer. But I give people the advice all the time: the less people they have to cover your shift, the less they can afford to fire you if you don’t show up for it. But then I end up feeling to guilty about the whole thing.

I want to get back into my honesty routine and all of that, but this last week helping my little brother out I guess has been fulfilling enough to my inner critic that I’ve let myself just sit around on balconies eating Cadbury eggs and shit like that.


Yesterday I got so tired. We walked around Central Park and the upper east side. We saw a fire up there. Then we were completely fucked by the subway. Then we tried to negotiate the streets in a Lyft. That was even worse. We had to run a mile to the next station to make sure he got to his second day of work on time. We pretended like nothing happened. 

I drank a glass of white wine and felt woozy and phlegm collected in my throat. I slept ten hours and now I don’t want to get out of bed. We have a lot of work to do, but I’m worried I’m neglecting other work I have to do. It’s like I’m back where I was. In some ways. Maybe once I get out of this bed I’ll be alright.

Sad Guy

Guys I am really sad right now and I can’t let it go. I got up this morning kind of energetic and getting things done like. Now I am sitting in a basement in an uncomfortable chair. It smells like someone didn’t take a shower for a lifetime and then spread blue cheese on themselves. It smells like they just left this chair. Meanwhile people are walking around doing their jobs and shit, distracting me from writing this and processing my pain.

It’s my break, but I’m trying to save money so I’m not going out for espresso today. It’s prayer mats covering the concrete floor. Cages and shit down here. Now my friend comes over with a big metal bowl of rice and beef and chews that shit loud as a mother fucker and he’s asking me what’s the meaning of this text he just got. He doesn’t speak too much English.

I told him I would find him a girl, I don’t know why. I told him that a long time ago and he won’t let me forget. Now we’re sharing this moment where I’m trying to listen to some music before I go back to work and my failure to fulfill that promise hangs between us. Now he’s calling the bank or something and has it in speakerphone while he eats.

Well I suppose he’s providing me a distraction. Certainly can’t think straight in this strange turn of events. And I got what, ten minutes before work again.

Sad sad sad what was I sad about…

“No pork in this food.”

Sad because…

“No pork right buddy?”

“No. Beef!”

“I love it.”

He’s Muslim, no pork.

Well I’ve got to go. Basically I’m sad because I thought I could do a good job for the sake of doing a good job, but in the end I need someone else’s approval to feel like I really did do a good job, and that person is withholding her approval and is in fact telling me that I did shit worse than usual, which is so weird since I tried harder today to do good, but you know it has nothing to do with me, she’s just capricious. But I’m still sad though. Damn Thursdays kill me.

Can you do…NO! NO I CAN’T!

When people question me about my work, I am very defensive.

In life, I am usually mellow, albeit moody. I can usually put on a tranquil front at least. Usually I can do some deep breathing. I can feel the tightness of my shoes on my feet and remain in the present moment.

But when someone says, why does this character do that? Or, why doesn’t this ebook work on my phone? Or, how can I print this ebook out in a different way? Then I suddenly tense up and get super annoyed and answer quickly and defensively.

What I’m going to do about that? I don’t know. Shit’s annoying as hell.

I been drinking black coffee. Not today! I’m through with all that; there’s more to living than not dying.

I think there was a drug in the Franzen novel Freedom called Mexico that made people feel zero guilt. Am I remembering that right? I would take that drug! At least once in a while.

Guilt guilt guilt!

Anyways. Like I said before, discomfort = good! No drinking today! Dealing with the guilt head on, hand to hand, face to face, dick to dick and pussy to pussy.

Pachow! Don’t ask me any questions about the way I formatted this post. I will karate chop a nearby object or organism.

Fuck It (Part V)

Hello, friends. Guess I got to feeling guilty again. You know how it is when you miss a couple of commitments and the next thing you know you’re wrapped in blankets and shaking uncontrollably in a dusty corner.

Well I’m sitting in a chair now, looking in the mirror, and I figured I’d say hello.

I was sick for a week. I was coughing and coughing and coughing. I had to pay for going so hard a couple weeks ago. I worked four 12 hour days and went out three times. I couldn’t hardly sleep the whole time, too. Yeah but the sickness didn’t stop me from working and going out some more and stuff like that. On Saturday I overdosed on Tylenol Severe Cough and Cold and felt like, well I don’t remember, really, just felt bad. I got some cheap cough syrup from Duane Reade. I thought it would be as good as the regular stuff, whatever, had the same ingredients. It tasted like shit and didn’t do much of anything otherwise.

I had an iced coffee for the first time in a while and then my stomach hurt the rest of the eight hours I was at work. It was miserable. Jesus Christ. I used to drink that shit every day in the summer and I always kind of felt like that, honestly. Jesus.

Woo! Some low level problems out here to be sure but you know these past few weeks I’ve tried to entertain very few thoughts so I am identifying with my body more. Just trying to convince myself that I am not my thoughts or feelings or experiences. But not really trying to convince myself of that because that would just be my thoughts convincing my thoughts of something. So I’m just not thinking about that shit and just existing in a manner of speaking.

I recently learned that Hemingway’s¬†The Sun Also Rises was based so closely on real events that the people who were there when it happened said that they couldn’t believe he was passing it off as fiction. I think I’ll write something like that about the restaurant. Just write down a bunch of real interesting shit and make it look like a novel.

Sometimes I have been thinking of some more shit Malcolm Gladwell likes to talk about. He always makes me feel better about my life. He said that there are two kinds of artists, some are like Picasso and some are like Cezanne. Cezanne would paint the same thing over and over again and wouldn’t produce anything of value until later in life, while Picasso painted shit quickly. Everyone thinks you have to be like Picasso I guess, but maybe I’ll just keep doing shit all circular like and eventually I’ll make something pretty, too. Ha or just be lazy till the day that I die. Who cares! Fuck it.

Yeah last night my wife was telling me some plans she was thinking about which involved modifying some plans we had already made, some life goals and shit and I was like is that what you want to do and she said what do you want to do? And I said that sounded good, after staring at her for an uncomfortably long time. What do I want to do? Fuck it, I’m doing it.

Drunk again, holy shit I am drinking all of the time

I don’t want to write about it but I regret not writing about it before, as a kind of breadcrumb trail. Say, my writing is muffled and coarse and cliche, like my thoughts. The other day I said that people were oysters, that they need a grain of sand to make a pearl. I said that out loud to people. Woo! Shit. A motherfucker finds it hard to live out here. 

I find it easy to continue working, to hang out at work. I used to dread my double shifts, but now, I guess due to some meditation and my undying love for this coworker, that shit’s over before it began and I’m dreading my two days off. Can you believe that? Dreading my days off? No fuckin way. 

That and I stopped even looking for a way out of this restaurant shit, unbeknownst to my wife. Fuck it. Just stop trying. Nice not to have to fight this shit every step of the way.

I had feelings about the people I used to work with, so long ago, so long that now I forget, and they were strong feelings. Makes me wonder if I’d better not write amemoir  about this shit and my feelings now or else forget forever.  But you know, say I do forget, what am I going to remember by reading something I wrote.

A girl got fired today. That doesn’t usually happen. And she got fired for her attitude. Her name is a city in the southwest.

Man what a crazy fucking life it really is. I don’t even know how I’m going to sleep tonight, and it used to be that the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. I mean tonight was not an easy night, and me and the girl weren’t even working near each other. At one point in the night I had to force myself to stop trying to help her because it was becoming embarrassing. 

I skipped my break for a shot at the end of the night and I drank green chartreuse for the first time since Boston. Two ounces straight to the face after not eating for twelve hours put me in a good mood. Woo! Shit but that shit wore off quicker than I thought. And hell it almost gave me heartburn.

I realized I never gave up on feeling guilty for my sins. I tried not to feel guilty. My hair was so crazy and I didn’t shave. I started doing push-ups and sit-ups. I don’t know what to tell you. 

I’m not as obsessed as I was and I don’t think anything bad will happen. Bad meaning sexual. I told her all about my wife and how she is the only reason I’m not covered in my own piss begging for money at Broadway Lafayette. Then I realized that for sure I would just devote myself to her the way I do to my wife and I would be consumed and nothing ultimately would change except for the fact that I wouldn’t be deserving of anyone’s love at that point.

Almost home, so ending this drivel with nothing at all. 

I’ll need a few posts to get back in the rhythm of this thing, but I’m trying to post every day. At least for a week. Then we’ll see what’s up.

I’m in that same park where I saw those squirrels and that pigeon. Some people say it’s not a park, but it says park right on the gate. Some people call it a gated area. 

But Jesus Christ it’s loud as fuck in here how can I get anything done? I should have brought my goddamn headphones. I should always bring my goddamn headphones, what was I thinking?

Work is right across the street. I’m on a double again. I’m always on a double. Morning and night, son of a bitch.

Now a mother fucker from work just sent me a text asking me to get him a Reese’s peanut butter cup. Can you believe that shit? Who’s even eating peanut butter cups around here?

This mother fucker, that’s who. He’s always eating candy. He’s a candy eating mother fucker if I ever seen one and I have seen one. It’s him.

God damn it, crazy ass mother fuckers around here asking for too much. All I’m trying to do is sit down in a noisy ass gated area with pigeons and shit and write a goddamn blog post.

Can’t even do it though. It’s the first day in New York City this year that the temperature has reached 70 degrees Farenheit so the world is out in battalion level numbers. What does that mean? I don’t know, but it ain’t fucking civilized I’ll tell you that.

Then this mother fucker next to me pulls out his phone and starts talking into it in a voice straight from the underworld speaking some old accursed language and his voice is so low this whole goddamn bench is shaking. It’s scary as fuck to be honest. To be honest I got to go I can’t sit here no more like this. I got to go if I still can.

Calm. Down.

That’s too many isms. I am freaking the fuck out around here lately. I used to be really good with people and I think I still am outwardly, but I leave every interaction feeling a little disoriented. Sometimes a lot disoriented. I don’t know what it is. I can’t seem to relax around people. Maybe because I’m new in town?

Today I found out my schedule is going to go down to four days. Still five shifts but instead of 3 night shifts and 2 day shifts, it’s going to be the reverse. It’s great except that I have this expensive ass health care and I am broke now. God damn health care, too, because it seems like you just go to the doctor once a year and they don’t really do anything if you are healthy. I haven’t gone to the doctor in like ten years, though I did get free MRIs all the time when I lived in DC by participating in the National Institutes of Health studies, and I seem to be fine. Shit. Should have tried to keep that up.

My other job, who a couple weeks ago said they were going to see about bringing me back in for a couple shifts, they haven’t said anything and I don’t really want to go work there, but I do have a foot in the door already there so it’s slightly more enticing then trying to start somewhere else.

The upside is that I have Sundays off, so my wife and I will have a day off together every week.

I have been super jumpy all day. Well, except for this morning, when I rode the train in a modified fetal position. I got into the seat and literally hugged my backpack and buried my face in it. I didn’t exactly feel like a terrified child, but I felt like doing that so maybe I was just in denial that I felt that way. I was all depressed and shit and then I got a coffee with espresso in it and drank that shit all at once before starting work. It worked ok at first, in fact the whole shift was fine. In the end, though, I just feel off and crazy.

I waited on this table of dudes my age that were apparently in the fashion industry and they were saying fuck this and fuck that and I was at first thinking oh, cool someone who curses as much as I do. But for some reason it started to seem weird and then I started to think less of these guys. I think it had something to do with their clothes and what they were actually talking about, I don’t know exactly. By the end of their lunch I was thinking these mother fuckers should stop cursing so much.

I am listening to Rob Zombie and writing so I am starting to feel better. I thought that I might. But I wish I knew why I got so crazy in the first place. Why am I feeling so anxious out in the world? I hope I’m not becoming agoraphobic.