Lost In Your Own Head

I feel as if I've been lacking coherency lately.

I spent another day, burning it down. It seems to me that working, even thinking about FEGS makes me want to do nothing. I mean, not nothing, because I wrote all day. Almost a constant stream of poetry and prose. I was busy. I just really didn't leave my room. Yeah, I did that too. I braved humanity and went down to the nearby Gristedes to buy more tiny tabletop pies. My little guilty pleasures. I've been eating them for some time now, ever since I found out that they were below 500 calories each. About four hundred...wait...350-380 calories depending on the pie. Which means, as a guilty pleasure, they can fit in my diet. Shit, if I eat correctly I have something like 700 junk calories a day.

Well, that's enough of that. I got some pies and my meds. And I had a little enter- taining aside with one of the counter people of the pharmacy. Nothing big really. She just thought that I was trying to steal some meds. A misunderstanding that always happens to me. I wonder why?? Do I look criminal. I would think exactly the opposite. I would think I looked studious.

Yesterday, when I got back from WECare, I went shopping in Gristedes, which is why I know about the pies, right? And I bring all of my bags of food upstairs and I smell shit. Not a lot. Just a faint whiff of the odor. I curse myself and look under my shoes for it. I don't find any. Then the elevator door opens, and I smell a LOT of shit. I walk out into the corridor cautiously, go through the first fire door and then move to the second bathroom on the right. I needed to take a leak. As I reach down for the top of the commode I pause. What if the monstrous smell is coming from under this lid? What if something horrid awaited for me. The smell did seem fecal and focused right around this area. I leave the second toilet for the first one on the right. The smell was not that much better. But I had to take a piss. I lift the lid and find it clean underneath.

I piss like a racehorse. Afterward, I step out into the corridor again and head carefully down the hall to my door, looking out for shit covered madmen, or a puddle of shit on the floor. I don't see anything to indicate where this smell is coming from. It seems to be coming from all over the place. I open my room and slip in, closing the door behind me. The shit smell stays outside. What in the world could that be. Somebody died in one of the rooms, A MONTH AGO?

Going back to coherency. I feel like I'm losing it as of late. I can't keep my thoughts together for longer than a few minutes. After ten, fifteen minutes and my mind starts to drift. And if I'm typing something I'm running off with the sentences as if I was handed off a football. My mind is constantly doing a switch up, racing. It's hard to compose a thought. And things are moving too slow around me also. I'm falling behind on everything that I'm supposed to be doing. I haven't gotten all of my newsletters out for the SHOUT OUT. I haven't finished a score of other emails. I'm just frazzled. I've never felt this shorted out before.

Walking out the other day, I run into Snow White. "Hey Hobobob!!" Yeah? She stops me across from her in the narrow corridor. "How is it going with Social Services?" I'm going on one of their appointments right now. She inhales. "I was wondering, if it's alright, that I come up and inspect the apartment." Wow. Didn't I just have an inspection? Is Snow White fixated on apartment inspections? I know that it's probably mandated, but give me a break. Yeah, that will be fine, Snow. I hit the door. Two days later, I'm coming into The Spot and walking down the long corridor, past the offices and low and behold, who is in the office. None other than Paula, with her new bug eyed alien looking sidekick. As soon as she sees me, she waves her hand like a survivor on a raft upon seeing a helicopter pass overhead. "HELLO HOBOBOB!!!" She jumps up and down, acting like I'm the mayor of the fucking city. I walk on, waving a passing hand, not stopping. Why the FUCK did she have to know my name. It gives her a false sense of closeness which just isn't there. I hate when these knuckleheads use my name anyway.

I really don't know why my insides hurt every time that I think about her, but they do. They just do. I even tried to think erotic thoughts about her to maybe lighten the hateful load that I'm expending upon her, but that doesn't work. It' only ends with a snuff movie going off in my head. She is just that annoying.

Tonight I work on my next book to be published: RESTING THE CHEM- ISTRY. I'm just a publishing fool now. I'm enjoying getting this shit out of my system, and, like I said, on the new year I'm planning to have a table with my printed works on it. Just like many of these other poets. Not many though. Maybe a few and I hope they'll all sell out, so that I can recoup my money in making them. But yeah. I would like to do just that.

Just for shits and giggles

Well, tomorrow I see the Doc, and go in for my official weigh in.

Until then, tonight, I've got a cabinet full of pies.

Hobobob