What To Do With Nothing?

It never, ever fails.

I don't know about you, but how many times do you have this happen to you. You're just about to do something that you love, and something comes to interrupt you. If it happens to you ALL THE FUCKING TIME, then you know how I feel. We're still sitting in Starbucks, right? My brother gets up and goes to get more coffee, then returns with this broad, cheese eating grin on his face. "They don't close," he says. "On Saturdays, they're 24 hours."

This elicits a big, cheese eating grin on my face also. Now I don't have to rush out of here at closing. I can take my time and go home whenever I please. Just then, a friend pops up on IM, which means, I can take my time and relax, drink my coffee, converse with friends, chill a bit with my brother. Everything is cool, right? Well, you know where the fuck this is going right about now, don't you?

Yep, just then, the pimply faced kid comes out of the door marked 'stoopid' and works his way from table to table telling everyone that this section is closed. We have to move to the overcrowded front section to remain in the establishment. Very fucking good. Now I have to shut down, close down, unplug everything and move out, because there isn't going to be room in the front half of the building for anything or anyone. My brother and I pack up and leave.

Shit, it's cold outside too. It's a frigid chill, where the air is quite still. Even though you know, if the wind blows, the windchill will drop the air around your body to refrigerant settings. Your head will turn into a big fucking ice cube. It's just that cold out. AND STILL, there are women in short skirts, showing off miles of gams. Yeah, even in the bitter cold of the night, you have them walking about with high heeled shoes and dresses riding all up their asses. Unbelievable. Not that I have a problem with it, mind you. I love to see a nice pair of legs as well as the next guy. But c'mon! Cold is cold. You can't be that much of a slave to fashion, CAN YOU?!

My brother and I ride the Way, and part on the N train. I take the 3 on a scenic route around 96th street, my stop, because of the construction. They closed down the entire platform going uptown. So I had to ride up a stop to 110th street, and then back downtown to 96th street at One Thirty in the Morning. Fun.

I got home late, and tried to blog, tried to write email, tried to surf. It was a pretty done deal. The bed called and I answered. It was just a long night.

I slept raggedy, but at least I slept for more than four hours. I woke up feeling much like shit. Off ONE beer too. I never have a problem with one beer. I'm falling off my drinking skills. I have a salad to counteract the beer in my system, and get online. It's a day like any other. I don't want to really leave the room, it's nice a quiet today. Tomorrow will be busy enough, like yesterday. I'll have all of the fun that I want tomorrow. But I think tonight I'll go food shopping because I found a Gristedes not far from the 96th Station. This one has AISLES. Not that narrow bullshit that the Associated has. I still can't believe that Associated can even generate business with space as limited as they have. I opt to go to Gristedes today.

Not that I even have to go food shopping. I have food in my refri- gerator. I mean, with a daily caloric intake of less than 1,700 calories a day, there's seriously not a lot of food that you need to have around the house. One or two shopping bags and you're done for the entire fucking week. A healthy diet is a good thing to have around the house when you are on a frugal budget. It's hard to overstock food. Get too much and it'll all go bad on you any fucking way, so, live within your motherfucking means, Hobo.

I look in the mirror to check on a pimple at the side of my head. I have grown a scraggly beard, my hair is long, like a black cloud about my head, and my face...my cheeks have already began to loose their chubbiness. Instead of my head looking round like a pie plate, it's starting to take a more heart shaped appearance. My weigh in is this coming Friday. I wonder what it'll read. There is no use getting all excited. I don't expect much. I'm thinking four or five pounds. Slow is better than fast any day. But each day that goes by, if I'm losing a fourth of a pound, that's just one day closer to my goal, and one day more I can FUCK UP. Yeah, that's right, just like trying to stop drinking without NALTRAXONE, there's always a relapse rate. Well it's worse with food, because EVERYONE IS GETTING STONED ON FOOD. Everyone is addicted, and many are abusers. With this kind of environment, it's hard to show and use restraint.

So if it's slow off, it takes a multitude of fuck ups to put it back on. I just have to play the game of averages. More wins than losses. That's all. More wins. Keep counting the little victories until they come daily, hourly, every minute, every second. Win the war by the inch not the mile. I am ready, because this is a foe I can address. I've seen the enemy, and the enemy is me.

WHEREAS the SYSTEM is a different story. Seeing my future with my benefits, I see a parade of pain. But remember I'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE. I led this marching band just a few months ago with a stupid Social Worker smiling at me at the end of the ordeal, saying with a partial laugh: "I bet you won't miss one of these meetings again, will you??" Jack booted, gap toothed, motherfucking bitch.

The SYSTEM is designed to put you through this once a year, to make you less comfort- able. To motivate you, to get you off your ass and back out into society. Well, sure, give me a job then! OH, and while you're at it, why don't you hand all those other millions of people out there jobs too!! Shit, at least they were laid off!!! I was fired!!!! The laid off guys, well they get to draw unemployment and keep all of their shit. I didn't. I had to draw the losing hand.

BITTER Hobo? YOU GODDAMNED right I'm bitter! I'm bitter as two lemons pushed in both eyes, and lemon juice pouring out my nose. Don't ask me if I'm bitter. That's a stupid motherfucking question!! Now I have to deal with this SYSTEM, but I have a leg up. A silent weapon, a grenade with a pin that I can pull and direct when the time is right. But I have to wait for the right time. Right now, it's to become a writer. At all costs. Write until I fucking die.

I check the website for the web magazine that I write/wrote for. It's still down. It will soon be the end of February. The front of the site still reads gleefully: "CHECK BACK EARLY FEBRUARY FOR AN ALL NEW EXCITING NEW YORK SITE!!"

Yeah, check back folks.

Hobobob