Hold Hostage Your Brine

He sits on his bags on the corner.

A well tended beard, long curly hair, a cap on his head. He is dressed reasonably well, like a construction worker, and he is carrying a sign: Down ON Luck, broke. Anything helps!!!

I've never seen this new talent before. Not in my shelter. Maybe I should go around to others, checking for new faces. I know that times are hard, maybe more of the middle class are finding their way down to the lowest face on the social totem pole. No body stops to leave him scratch though. He's just sitting there for his health, pulling at the ends of his hair.

My fingers STILL hurt from cutting the nails. I'm silly. I would like to have an idiot meter before my eyes, so that when I do things such as this the needle will swing to 100% and a little light will begin flashing in the corner of my eye.

Speaking of eye, I find myself sitting once again in the "Eye of God," at the Astor Place Starbucks. Upon arrival I find a neat little sign in front of the cash registers stating that they will be closed for renovations for the next two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Shit!! The note continues: take your ass to our other Starbucks on Broadway...BITCH.

Nice. They're closing my living room down for two weeks. I should go to the Box and come back with more weapons than SWAT can count and hold the Starbucks hostage. Not the people, no, I'd let them all go. I'd train the rifle on one of the percolators and threaten to lift it's top off. When SWAT comes in they'll take me to...the BOX!

Yes, the sanitarium where I live.

They'll punish me for such a deed by making me go to the Morning Meeting, or worst yet, read a handwritten letter by Igor. Oh what fun.

So I'm killing time, waiting for the SHOUT OUT, gearing up in mind and body to deal with the event. It's not all that trying though. I rather enjoy it once it gets going. Once it's performers start to appear and read.

It's not all that bad. Afterwards, I have more 'plans'. That's right, I've planned to meet up with 'Nessa at a party for artists and musicians. I shaved for the event. Yeah, that's right, I can clean up a little. I even put on a fresh sweater, largely because I don't have much else to wear that's clean. But it seems like a good idea to do so since the places where I go to, like the Astor Place Starbucks, OTTOS SHRUNKEN HEAD, and the Dorm, all have their air conditioners cranked up to the max. By doing the math I can just about say that I am indoors within these conditions more than I am outdoors. The party tonight remains to be seen.

And parties. Well you know just how good I am with those. I can't wait to go and stand around, tottering from leg to leg, and finally gravitating to a corner while I slurp up all of the wine and beer that I can find. But then again, it will be rather late, so I can't do too much and end up at the Box getting breath tested. I wish that there would be some liquid courage there. Some Jack Daniels, to loosen my shit up. A few drops and I'll be in orbit, filled with superior power and knowledge and daring do. I'm cavalier when I'm on that shit, but of course this you know.

Otherwise I'm mild mannered Clark Kent. Glasses and all.

It was Jack that got me laid every week. Jack that got me married. Jack that got me self employed, and in the long run, Jack that got me fired. I can blame Jack for a number of things, he being somewhat of a constant in my life. But now we are estranged. I have to deal with life on its terms. I really can't say that I like it. I'm not all that used to sobriety, but as Dr. L says, I'm making good advancement. Soon, she'll give me the boot. Yeah, once I make a decision to stay sober my sessions will be over. And vice versa. As soon as I realize that I'm a drinking man, my sessions will also be over.

This is distressing to me. I feel very close to Dr. L. even though I know that the feelings are not mutual. To her, I'm little more than a patient. Someone that she meets with for forty five minutes a week. Not much interaction there. Does that therefore mean that I'm a lonely man. Maybe in some ways it does. I am isolated by a life that is foreign to most. There is very little common ground between me and much of humanity right now. I don't have co-workers, or family, or club brothers. I don't have a nightlife, a church life, a sports life, much of a life period.

I have my brother, but we are far too independent to call each other very close.

And I have my blog. I have you. Possibly the closest person I know...well that knows me.

Maybe that's why I'm so addicted to my blogging. Maybe thats why I keep coming back to it. Maybe I need to have this connection to others that I don't normally have. I look out at the people marching up and down the street from the Eye of God, and find something surprising. There are hundreds of couples. I don't necessarily mean loving couples. There are friends and no doubt acquaintances, along with families and children. There is a morass of humanity, and in it there are single people quite alone. They are a minority, I know, but they are out there, wondering what to do.

I don't know if I'm a part of their ranks. I have friends. I have close friends. I am not alone.
But sometimes in a day, sometimes within the crawling hours. Sometimes, when the light shines upon this lonely globe. Sometimes. I do feel alone.

Sometimes there is the bitter loneliness that being without someone in your life can bring.

The briny taste.

Hobobob