You Were Never Really Alive

It's snowing.

Yeah, that's right. It's snowing in the city. Yesterday it was raining but in the 50s, and now it's snowing. I stand up and look out the window, and while there, pop pills. I had gotten up early in the morning to get a lot done, but I dozed back off to sleep and woke up just an hour before my departure time.

I pack my gear carefully and head out. There is nothing that I hate more than the Way in Rush Hour. It is a madhouse. It's a wonder to me that people don't draw weapons and start slaying each other down there. The pushing and shoving and shouting is incredible. I hate it. I wrestle my way through the trains to Doctor A's office and have my physical. The doc is wondering how my kidney functions are. He tells me that BENAZEPRIL starts up the kidney functions and when I don't take them they stop. Because I was without it for a period of time I was essentially starting and stopping kidney functions and that could be why my bloodtests came out with a lot of toxins floating around in it.

He asks me a series of symptoms to which I reply to the negative except for one. "Are you finding yourself sleeping alot?" As a matter of fact, yeah. Why? "That could be the cause of reduced kidney function." How? "The body doesn't take well to toxins floating around in the bloodstream. It'll make you tired and sleepy while it tries to process it." That's nice to know. No wonder I had to give a urine test yesterday. That was great. I show the Doc my paperwork from WE-DON'T-REALLY-CARE. There is an EKG that has in big block letters across the top ABNORMAL. He laughs at it. "This is consistent with someone whose left side of his heart has been under long term hypertension. It's called blah, blah, blah, blah."

That's nice to know. He laughs more at the report. "Flat affect," he laughs again. I leave him with the comic book outline of my health. I head to Madison Starbucks and once there meet up with Electra, who's sitting at one of the tables and in a jovial mood. I pick up on it. We talk. Well, she talks. She gets me up to speed on everything Penn Station, my old home. We talk like old times. I kind of figured that we'll be talking again, we just needed cool off time.

I cop a squat and begin computing. It stopped snowing, and then started again. Nice. March has the most fucked up weather I know. But it will soon be over, and monsoon season will begin in the city. I remember it from two years ago. It was brutal when I was out in the streets. I could never get dry, no matter what I did. I had to live with being soaked. Now I'm free of that madness.

While going though my email, this one comes through: "Your lab for kidney tests is BETTER than the lab 4 months ago and more in line with that information than the one from last week. SO, relax, thanks, Dr.A." I guess my doctor knows me too well and how I'll catastrophize. It was good news though. I wasn't looking forward to the rest of my life on dialysis.

Soon it's time to go to the Wyoming theater. We hop up and first, without much thought head to the nearest liquor store for portables. It wasn't an urge for me. It was more like a reflex action. It's what one does just before going to a reading. I went and picked up a pint of vodka and a bottle of water. I poured out three quarters of the water and filled it with the vodka. Then chucked the bottle. That way you can drink it in public without fear of reprisals from the police.

Exciting stuff. Then we took the Way uptown to 57th Street and as I stepped out of the Waystation I emerged directly in front of a cigar store. My eyes roamed the window and they found the eyes of my porn editor. What the fuck? There he was. Sitting in the cigar store with a half other cigar smokers, laughing and talking and yucking it up. When he noticed me his smile fell. I turned away and then walked away. I guess that my working for him is over with.

We got to the building that the Wyoming was in and met Joey Joey, a comedian friend of ours and a friend of his, Rickey. The four of us walked into the lobby and were told that the Wyoming theater was in the back of the lobby. We took a narrow hallway down and made a right turn in....

...to a small room. It was small and cramped and chocked full of misaligned plastic chairs. Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me! I was thinking that it was some huge theater and its a tiny room. We negotiated through the room and found four chairs in the back. The open reading went on, and OBSIDIAN and I got pounded. Suddenly, I was in the zone. I was chomping at the bit to get up in front of everyone. I felt that I could do no wrong. Let me at 'em. I was invincible. I rushed the front of the room where there was a music stand and microphone. My brother and I went into our Feature, going back and forth with our reading and I was firing on all cylinders. I could feel it. I held the audience in a choke hold and like some spiritual pitbull, I would not let go.When I finally released them, it was too soon, and they were exhausted. There was thunderous applause and pats on the back as I returned to my seat. We were victorious. OBSIDIAN give me praise for my work also. I was amazed. My coping mechanism came through in the clutch as usual. Now I see how powerful alcohol was in my functioning life before. I was made superhuman though its use years ago.

No wonder my emotional dependency on it, which leads to a physical dependency. No wonder I can't cope without it. The open mic ended too quickly and soon we were heading out of the theater and walking to the Way, heading home. It was a long day, and a successful day. I was pretty much wasted going home, and when I walked into my room it was rocking, but in all it was an awesome night that I will pretty much forget with all of the alcohol in my bloodstream and sodding my brain.

I crashed.

I had pleasant dreams.

Hobobob