Hold On Baby

Snap Quiz: What do you do if you can't hold on?

Answer: Baby, you tie your ankle with the end of the rope and then let go.

Don't let life get you down, any of you. Times are tough and are going to get tougher and soon the punches will begin to fly, and I can promise you, you can only duck and block so many. All good fighters say, don't let a punch land on you, but if one does, be able to take one.

There's nothing wrong with being knocked down, there's no shame in even being knocked out. The shame is in if you don't stand up right afterward its over. Things turn dark and your options can dwindle, but that doesn't mean shit. Because everything, no matter how bad, is survivable.

There's no need to go into the rec room of your expensive home and open the gun box and tear through your home and family because there is no other alternative to the streets. The streets will not kill or finish you. It will make you harder, tougher, but not dead.

I worried about the streets. I worried about the future. I plain worried. But in my experience, things answer themselves.

With that being said I got up late this morning, by the insistence of one of my roommates, and had to call a forklift to get me out of bed. I seemed to have managed. The TRAMADOL at night is very strong. It had knocked me out so early that the lights weren't even turned out before I was unconscious.

I headed out and downtown to Wall Street and crossed over to the West side where the Southstreet Seaport was. It had been a very long time since I was there, and it was amazing how very little had changed. The walk was pretty long and halfway through it I could feel the stirrings of gas to pass. Panic crashed together with fear as I realized that it was not gas at all, but something more, with substance. I pinched my ass cheeks together and headed to the piers. Now let me describe the seaport. A big, covered pier wherein there is a shopping mall. This was good. Every mall has a public restroom.

But I also felt control of the situation, as I stood there, snapping away with my camera. I was not going to go to the bathroom until I got the pictures for my article, due today. This is no fun. Today is the coldest day ever in New York, primarily because of the blustery wind. The wind, which whips around like a naked blade, slicing through clothing. Shit!

Still, I get my pictures, and then raced upstairs into the seaport. I find and follow the familiar symbols of the man and woman together, around corners and shops until I reach the men's room. Once there, I see a long line of stalls, closed, except for three. A gentleman on the other end of the bathroom, after seeing me, dove into one, leaving me with two. That's fine. I went to the first one, and did my check of the toilet tissue and found that with two dispensers there was no music roll.

Fine, that left me with one more stall. But this one would not close, for the life of me, I could not get the door to close shut. I was about to put my all into it but that's he last thing that I need, for the damn door to lock shut and leave me with the option of sliding under the bottom to get out. That would not be fun. Upon leaving the last stall, a user emerged from one clear across the line. I dashed towards it and dove in, like the man that I met earlier. I need not tell you what happened next.

Afterward, still stunned by the actual act of having to use the bathroom, since I had done so this morning and wondered what else did I have within me, I headed back, across the frigid landscape of lower Manhattan. Yes, it was indeed cold out, but in the sun it was still warm. This is what is crazy fall weather.

I went back to the Box for a brief meeting and then grabbed my hat and headed out again. This time to the library, I checked to see if my therapist wanted to have my session on Friday via email, and lo and behold, yes she did. I'll have to deal with her again. She's getting warmer and less combative as we go along, perhaps she reads my frustration with her. She probably also knows that I can drop her at anytime and find another therapist. Probably no big deal for her, she'll still get paid and still get billable time, but her prestige might be hurt. Who wants to be a therapist that chases away patients?

Remember, when you get to the end of your rope....

Stay strong.

Hobobob