I took a hell of a hiatus.
This past week has been as interesting as any other this Summer- I’m still a gardening in a Lower East Side establishment and I am still sleeping in one of five air mattresses in a two-bedroom apartment. Now, there’s crumbs in my bedroom- probably remnants of something awful like a cream cheese pastry that’s really nothing but some gawd-awful compression of sugar and butter and extract so thick you wouldn’t know what else to call it.
It gets under my feet and I want to rip my fingers off of my hands. My air mattress is also very slowly deflating. Now, if I sit on the ends, my ass touches the crumb-sprinkled floor and clots of dust and dirt and cream cheese blow out from underneath the mattress.
Luckily, I’ve had the opportunity to live uptown- cat-sitting for my Sister, Anna.
Contrastingly to my LES Flat, she’s sporting a one bedroom apartment on Sixth Avenue one block away from Central Park. The pigeon nest nestled under her A/C is easily overlooked, with her half a block commute to the F train and a bathroom half the size of my bedroom.
It’s a busted commute time, if only because the F line is currently undergoing some construction that rides every passenger up in such a God-Awful way. The MTA does this thing where they never recognize that all of their muffled announcements reverberate off of the steel and cracked tile. So, in an attempt to allow commuters to clearly understand any important updates they should be aware of at the time, they decide to blast the announcements. It’s like thunder that hasn’t found ground to land on. An auditory hard-on that never knows how to stiffen when it absolutely needs to. It’s hell.
And they just keep blasting and blasting, as trains come and go, the sounds of grinding steel and mandolin symphonies drowning everything away anyways. It’s all muddled until you sit near some piss stain that stretches along the entire train car. At that point- you just don’t hear anything at all anymore.
I’ve had to make the trip at least nine times this week.
The time I was going to take the train for the tenth time I figured it would be best to walk home- it would’ve been no more than an hour, and with the construction the F was undergoing, I figured I would’ve only be losing 15 minutes anyways.
So I set down Sixth Avenue and take in all of what Corporate America has to offer when it’s wearing a three piece suit and walking across 45th street.
The street’s filled with attractive people. For whatever reason, either because they dress decently or because they’re coming out of Rockefeller Center or the Bank of America Tower- I dunno. Point is- they’e employed and probably off to Hooters for a pitcher of Coors light and those buffalo naked wings with the sauce that never seems to leave the distal edges of your finger nails. They’ve got their apartments and their ride home and don’t even think about dropping two fifty into the ticket machine to buy a One-Way.
And then there’s me. Working two days in a garden, my Crunch Membership jingling along with the rest of my keys. I was a week too late to freeze my account for the month so I had to pay the eighty dollars I had planned to use for groceries for the entire month. I’ll also be gone about two and a half weeks by the time July is over and would’ve only gone into the gym about fifteen times.
I start to think about my Summer. And how much it blew.
Blows. I’m still in it.
I’ve had a couple plays of mine go up, which is great. I wasn’t there for any of them as they were both out of the City. But still, I suppose that’s something… and now because of the gym membership, my ass has been getting tighter. Some pluses.
Finally reaching my block, I’m able to afford a slice of pizza for a dollar in hopes that I can raid the fridge when I get home.
I have nothing in there. The idea of going to the gym to make up for my losses sounds good, but I’m too tired to go. Ends up I’ll just dish out $3 out of my remaining $22 in my checking account and get an iced coffee so I can make the $90 membership worth as much as possible.
I’ve been considering a change. A new city. Chicago, probably. It’s cheaper there and I could play my cards the right way to land a gig over there.
If I can afford to get there.