Knowledgeable of Obliviousness

Tired.

Just tired. I'm turning into a living sand crab. I'm finding myself at home mostly, on the computer, surfing the web. I'm starting to fall into my own head, and it's a bottomless pit before a sheer precipice.

Well, I'm due to get out again, I'm going to my therapy and then after that I'm going to head over to Starbucks to hang out with my brother. I guess, if he ends up there tonight.

I just put on my clothes, listening to Death Cab For Cutie. I blast my shoes with Lysol disinfectant spray because I have some serious foot odor that I haven't been able to get a handle on up till employing it's use. This is the only shit that works. It kicks ass, but who ever heard of using Lysol on shoes? Must be another one for the Homeless Survival Manual that I'll one day write.

I pack up my gear and hit the bricks, catching the Way just before the kiddie rush hour. You know...when school is out. Then I head to Dr. L's office, running late and...yes, you guessed it. Tired.

"...so, you have met your near term goals. It's time we think about terminating the treatments."

I blink. This is probably the seventh time she says this. I never heard of such a thing, I tell her. "Yes, you say that you stopped drinking to secure your housing, and now you have. Then you say you want to drink and have control over it, and apparently you have done that too." Yeah? I know. "So in the final assessment, we should really consider terminating the sessions."

That makes eight times.

I think she's trying to tell me something. She explains how Dr. D's sessions are the lynchpin to all of my treatments. If I drop him, everything, all of my one on one sessions collaspe like a house of cards. Then I'm a candidate for the bozo lounge, that's group therapy. I HATE group therapy with a passion. That's the reason why I haven't been going to Dr. D's sessions, because he has a truckload of bozos in there. OH, don't get me wrong. I'm one too. I'm probably the biggest bozo in there because I put myself in there. But it's time to sit in groups, if I'm going to get therapy. The one on one sessions are drawing to a close.

That's great. I don't need mental help now. Why do I think it's a time versus cost thing? If you see ten people in one hour, you make more money than seeing one person an hour. Does the math sound a little discouraging to you? It does to me. Not to be a skeptic, but it bears bringing up.

She asks for toxicology. I give her urine.

Tomorrow is the trip to the Nephrol- ogist. That sounds like fun. I wonder what HE's going to do to check my kidneys? More toxicology? I'd better ease off the coffee and hooch a bit so as not to cause my readings to run riot.

I get to Starbucks and a table opens up almost magically. It's incredible because the fucking place is filled with people waiting. I get on the line, order a grande cup of the bean, walk back into the seating area, and one of the good tables against the wall and near a power outlet is just sitting there. The minute I get to it, a woman comes up behind me and waits patiently. I turn to look at her, removing my hoodie. "OH! You're staying!" She gasps, and then walks off. She wasn't all that far behind me to be so confused.

I set up, but soon I have to give myself a toxicology and take a piss. I like that. I'm going to call taking a piss, Toxicology for now on. Well, I have to go to the bathroom to do a toxicology and I get in to find the nasty toilet seat down after a woman left the bathroom. I use a shoe to kick it back up and do some toxicology.

And then an observation hits me.

What do women do when they use public restrooms? Do they actually sit on the toilet bowl or do they 'hover', which is what my ex used to call it. 'Hovering'. Now I've used public restrooms until they were nothing to me. I used to go in, wipe the seat with toilet paper, and then cop a squat. No matter the condition of the seat. But that was because I had little choice, I was homeless. Nevertheless, I used to pride myself on never finding a tolet seat that I couldn't rest my cookies on.

So I wonder what it is that women do when they come across a not so perfect seat? Give up or use it. Further, hovering only works for some circumstances, not all. If these other circumstances arise do they still weigh anchor?

This is just some of the shit that goes through my head on a daily basis. My rumin- ations. I've got one more Starbucks obser- vation. An attractive woman sits near me and rests her bag on the floor at her feet, then bends over to rifle through it. She's wearing a low cut sweater and shirt and when she bends over, well, all of this opens up and there is a perfectly hanging breast in the air. How do I know? Because I go into stare mode. There's something about a tit flopping out of a shirt that catches your attention no matter what you are doing or where you are. It calls out to you.

So, I'm staring right? But a second voice in my head says: "Shit dude, if her knockers are knocking, she OBVIOUSLY knows it. That means she's going to look around for someone to be staring at them." So I look away, and would you know it, she does. She scans the room and then stops at me to see if I or anyone noticed. What the fuck is that about?


Now, I'm supposed to be embarrassed if I'm caught, and she can act like I'm a lecher or something, gathering her clothes about her or putting on a jacket. I'm the bad guy if caught looking, and she is not the bad girl for flashing. And they say that it's a man's world.

It's gray out. It looks like rain at sunset.
Beautiful New York.

Hb