Eat Drink and Eat Some More

I wake up.

You don't know how much I appreciate my being able to do just that. To wake up. In the afternoon, in a bed. When you are homeless, you have to get up early, like Five AM, and stay awake until late, around Ten or Eleven PM, and not sleep in a bed. There are no such things as afternoon naps. There is no such thing as sleeping in a bed. The bed thing can get to be addictive.
I'm growing soft. Ever since the shelter, my rough exterior has been falling away, along with my lean frame. I've gotten fat and lazy, soft. I'm no longer in fighting trim for the streets as my brother is. I'm no longer made hard, with a body like balsa wood. I'm more like a muffin, or a marshmallow now. A Moon Pie. I sit on the edge of my bed and think of all the shit that I accumulated so far. In the shelter I got a printer that I hated to be rid of, and when I thought that I would be kicked out, my greatest fear was to be without it.

What kind of shit is that? I've lost everything that I've ever owned in my whole life. Photo- graphs, books, televisions and even a refri- gerator. Letters, written collections of works piles of irreplaceable things. I've lost it all, and the shirt off my back, and now...now, I'm worried about a single printer.

Then my eyes stray to my DARLING and ZAPRANOTH. Now, because of this room, I have my coffee maker and my wireless router that I can't do without. My baby goes without saying. Even now, it goes everywhere that I do. I never leave home without it. I can't bear to.

But now that cold dread falls upon me. Tomorrow I'm off to a Christmas Day meal. My brother and I are going to meet at Madison Avenue Starbucks and from there go to Madison Square Garden for their annual Christmas Dinner, or more accurately Christmas Day meal where they serve millions of people some of the best food in town. The Skeksis live for this day. They come from miles around, a fucking convention of the living dead, shambling in tattered clothing in long lines to get into this meal. And guess what? Homeless people are on this line too. And even shelts and people in SROs like I am now. We're all on this line. I'm on it, not just because they cook better than me any day, but to also remember where I came from.

My circum- stances may have changed, but all changes can be temporary, and it's best to not grow too big for your britches. We all, every last one of us, can be laid this low at any time in our lives. It's useless to claim that it will never happen to us, because we just don't know. We just don't know.

But, we are to meet there, feed like ticks on a dog, and then leave there to go to 'Nessa's place for...guess what? A Christmas Meal. Now you might find this to be terribly greedy, and you may say, 'Shit Hobobobby, you don't need to eat twice of anything!" But this is simply a precaution. 'Nessa is single, just like we are, and single people usually don't excel too much in cooking. I'm not saying all don't. Some can do a rather passible job. But in general, single people can't cook. Or cook very plain. With this being said, we can fill up and have a good dinner in the day, and in the afternoon, just pick and not grouse and complain if 'Nessa's best efforts fall short. We're also planning to take a few bottles of wine to get our swerve on. At best, we'll be among good company, full stomachs and filled with Christmas cheer.

With all of these plans in the works, there is a plan that I have yet to feel good about. Leaving behind my baby in my apartment. I've taken her with me every day, strapping it to my back and carrying it around like the newborn that it is. My laptop has constantly been by my side. Tomorrow will be the first day that I will be leaving her out of my sight. Now I know what Separation Anxiety feels like to a parent. I'll be worried about a break in all day long.

A thief might come in and leave with the printer, thinking it, rightly so, to be of some value. The router they would overlook as some flying saucer. The coffee maker...well it's a fucking coffee maker. But the laptop would scream valuable. I'm putting it in the bag, and stashing the bag underneath the table. No...in fact, I'll do one better. I'll stash the laptop beneath the bed. Leave the bag under the table. If they take the bag, so be it. But the laptop will not be in it. IF they go through the bag first, all they'll come away with is cables and wires and shit. Nothing of value.

That's the plan for Christmas day. That might work.

It's hot in my room tonight. I've washed dishes and folded clothes. I've done everything save make my bed. I've even got on an Internet connection long enough to post to my blog.

I'm just blogging offline now. Sitting in my underwear. Not a pretty sight. I'll go to bed soon, after making it. I've ate a good Boston Market TV dinner.

This is Christmas Eve.

Ho ho ho

Hobobob