Behind Which Stands

Well, Hell!

It was the smoothest election in human history. Bam, zoom, finish. No fuss, no muss. Could have surprised me. The voting commission pulled one off this year without a hitch. Again, I must eat crow. Crow is beginning to be a delicacy for me as of late. Well, Barack Obama is the president elect for the next sixty or seventy days. Lets see how far Bush can fuck this up. He'll probably call a nuclear strike before the inauguration.

Well, that's that. My day went near smooth as the election. You know me, I can't go anywhere without there being some shit. Like, after I voted, I headed to the Way and as soon as I hit the platform, some jive-ass, huge fucker walks up to me before the turnstiles, hawking a ten dollar metropass. Unfortunately for me, my metropass read insufficient fare when I swiped it through. Fuck. This made this clown's day as he started hopping up and down that he had a metrocard with ten dollars on it. I told him nicely, no thank you and then, I do what I like to do, I switched him off. Which means, turned up my headsets.

Well, I guess that wasn't enough for this buffoon, because he follows me up to the machine, pleading. I use the machine to get a new metrocard to his surprise and now boiling anger. He switches to calling me names, as I turn and calmly walk back to the turnstile and enter the Way. He is left in my dust. I wish I was a car so that I could watch the red glow of the tailights in my asshole display across his face.

I found myself in the library shortly afterwards. Electra was not there. There was no sight or sound of her. Her bags were not left behind like they normally are. I set up my baby and head out for a muffin and coffee. The usual 'Old men in a cart' were not there, so I had to go and find a 'young man in a cart'. His muffins were not as good as the 'old men'. Well, those are the breaks.

I don't worry when I leave for a lunch break or breakfast, about leaving my baby alone downstairs. I do it often, largely because the laptop is strapped down to the table by a strong cable and lock. So for a few minutes, I'll leave her alone without worry. Soon, I am busy with work. I read emails and IM with friends until I look up at the clock.

It is time for my anxiety session. Great. Isn't it strange that my anxiety session causes anxiety? I need anti-anxiety medication for the anxiety I feel for my anxiety therapy. I don't know and I can't put a finger on what it is that works me up so about the therapy. I'm always uncomfortable with large numbers of people in a room. I think that's the major reason that I'm so against the Morning Meeting. The constant, ritualistic meeting of people I would just much rather avoid.

As I look up at the clock, and my heart sinks further in my chest, I know that I'm not getting up for the session. I just know it. And I don't. I burrow my head deeper into the hole that I call my laptop and vanish for several hours. When walking to the bathroom and meeting my brother, I am reminded that we are to leave for a wine and cheese reading in the New York Public Library. I pack up my gear and head out with him to the Big House where we get the directions to one of the conference rooms in the library. Now I don't know if you've every been in one of these rooms or not, but GODDAMN. The walls are deep, dark rich wood carvings and painted frames. The ceilings are vaulted and dangle chandeliers. Very, very ornate, and quite large.

I enter in, now completely ill at ease. My brother and I sit at one of four long conference tables made of dark carved oak, with matching chairs. Ahead of us was a rostrum, behind which the poets and writers read. I tried to hold out for the entire thing, but at the time of the third read I was nodding like a dope fiend. Funny, I've been sleeping a lot at night, and yet, I'm tired all of the time.

After the last reading, we were excused into the hall where the wine and cheesy crackers were. It was also a time to associate, which, unfortunately I can't do without a few belts of hooch in me. That's the one thing that can make me feel comfortable about crowds, and that is a liquor edge breaker. I find that I'm twenty times more sociable when I have some alcohol flowing in my bloodstream. It doesn't have to be alot, just enough to cut the nerves.

That's why now would have been a good time to ask for a glass of wine. And I said to myself, why worry about it? It would never show up in a breathalyzer anyway when I got back to the Box. But instead of taking the wine, I just asked for a glass of water from the bartender. Yeah, that's right, the NALTRAXONE did it's job on me. I was no more interested in the glass or two of wine than I would have been in a ghetto ass whupping.

OBSIDIAN floated about the cocktail party like a will-o-the-wisp. He had already knew one person there, who introduced him to others. I, largely hung around at the refreshments table and scarfed up the cheesy crackers. In time the conversation floated around to me and I was introduced to an editor and a professor and one of the readers who had came to a SHOUT OUT and reminded us of such. He did look familar to me, but I just couldn't place the face until he told us that he was at one of our readings. And I normally never forget a face.

It was soon time for me to leave and I headed, with my brother, to Grand Central Station, where I hopped back onto the Way. In no time and with less fuss than this morning, I was back to the Box and watching the election on my laptop. But I got drowsy early and turned in. This time I made certain that I put my baby away before retiring.

It was a nice day. Maybe. Possibly. We could have made a connection for our book, HEGEMONY.

Possibly.
As the professor said: "Good luck with that."

Hobobob