Forgetful Children

I find it difficult...

To remember things. I must be sleeping too much, or trying to at least. I rise from sleep again and it's close to 3:00PM. Sleep is what I'm doing best...and vacuuming up food. When is this food shit going to run out?

I get ready, packing everything up and leaving for the SHOUT OUT with a groan. It's not that I hate going to the SHOUT OUT, in fact I love it. It's the fucking ride down on the Way. Always crowded, always obstructed. It's a pain in the ass. I might start leaving early in the morning and staying at a Starbucks close by, like I used to do when I lived in the Box. It sounds like a plan, but I have the suspicious feeling that the morning will be just as packed on the Way as the afternoon.

Just a sneaky feeling.

I get to OTTOs Shrunken head and find two poets waiting in their car from the cold, and another patiently waiting outside. My brother shows along with three others, and we still wait. Another and another poet shows and there we all are, hands in our pockets, hopping up and down from the chill wind whipping by. No bartender.

Nope. She's fucking late again. Her odd ass comes walking up briskly about twenty minutes after four as if she was walking at that speed from the start. She makes me wonder, at what time did she open up before we started coming along? Four thirty? Five?

We file in and start the SHOUT OUT which goes pretty smoothly and ends early because we didn't have the full house as we normally would, and everyone stayed under five minutes with their reading, even the feature didn't use up all of her time. So we ended about a half hour early and just associated afterward in pleasant conversation.

My brother and I left together, going through our usual errands, mine getting chicken from the Kennedy's Fried Chicken place next to OTTO's. We make our way downtown to Astor Place and bullshit until late, then hit he Way back uptown where we hang out in Daddy Day Care until closing. From there I show him my apartment building. I say goodbye to my brother and head up to my room, plugging all of my shit in and with a whoosh the browser was online. Fuck! I'm ready for bed and the Internet is ready for work. Man, what a quandary. That's like giving me a choice between food and sex. I would like to think that I would fall on the side of sex, but lately, I can't be so certain.

I hop on for a minute, checking e-mail that I've already checked...and then a friend pops up on IM. So I chat with him for a moment before the signal transitions and then collapses altogether. That's a sign for me to call it a night. A refreshing day and a long night. I crawl into bed like a lobster, take my meds and drift off to sleep immediately.

Hobobob