A lot of work.
There is a lot of it. We crawl over the Grant Proposal, going over it with scribe-like intensity. We crawl, every word, every letter has to be correct. We work long and hard, taking much needed breaks in between. The damn thing is incomplete at a page count of 23. We've got the financials to do next. Oh how much fun that will be. That's the real mother of the proposal, the fucking numbers.
The fucking numbers. Something that I sucked at in school. I hated numbers, and mathe- matics, algebra and electronics, and medicine. What do electronics and medicine have to do with mathematics and algebra? Nothing...they're just as foreign to me as Math and Al. But I'm one to never turn away from a decent challenge, no matter how personally abhorrent it may be....well, I haven't turned from a challenge...Yet.
We do our shit. We close down Starbucks. The night was wonderful. Not too cold, not too hot. The streets were abnormally empty, not even many cars sliding down the street. It was New York at her best. No clouds in the dark heavens, the air crisp and clear. It was a great night for a ghoul like me. I love New York at night. I just had a habit of moving better in the night. All of my jobs for years were night jobs. I love being up when the world is asleep, and sleep when the world is running. Which means, on the weekends I'm looking for the night clubs, the late stores, the night matinees.
I'm also looking for a woman of the night. One whose engine starts turning when the sun goes down. A nightcrawler like myself. I'm hungry, I'm wild at night. But, lately I'm a homebody. I'm happy to be home. I think of this as I rock and roll on the crowded train up the west side. You've probably never lived two years without a roof over your head. You've probably never. But when you are without four walls and a ceiling for longer than ten months, you start to feel exposed. When you close your eyes, and there's nothing between you and some psycho kids with a can of gas, matches and idle time; stomping shit kickers looking for a victim; broke ass stealing Skeksies looking to rob you of ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!! When you gather all of your shit up into the center of your fetal position and you sleep with one eye open, with no lock to make you feel secure.
When you wake there is no destination. I mean, you're out to find a bathroom somewhere, you're looking for water somewhere, and soon after that, breakfast somewhere. But there is no home to head to, no place to take the mind for rest. You open your eyes and you are IMMEDIATELY outside. This becomes really acute when it rains and you can't find some construction overhang or a place to rest from the storm. You stay awake or you stay wet. And although water is fun...it's not fun to find yourself soaking wet, with all of your gear, the majority of which does not react well to water.
I opened the door to my room and instantly I feel good. I go to the refriger- ator, pour a glass of water and sigh tiredly. Another day behind me. I get online and relax, like taking a smoke of a cigarette. I check email, I mail email, I write email, then I work on my novel. The detective fiction one. I jump back and forth between the two of them. Keep them both hot, keep them both moving. It grows late. I get tired around two O'clock AM. I'm surprised that I stayed awake for so long.
I awake the next day and get online. This will prove to be a weird day for me. I get up too late for breakfast/ lunch, so I drink water. Khami IM's me early so I get ready and head downstairs. She is down there when I get there. I retrieve my camera and we shoot the shit for a little bit. Then I go food shopping! That's right! In the morning, in the broad daylight! Something that I am loathe to do. But I did it. I got enough to fill my refrigerator for a week or two.
I get online but I find it hard to stay on the computer for any extended period of time. So to help me with this new malady, I cook and clean. Thereby jumping back and forth between the two. The day dissolves. I burn it down. I haven't just burned a day in awhile. I turn it to cinders. I grow tired around Nine in the evening, so against my better judgment I crawl into bed for a nap. My nap turns into a good nights sleep. I awaken at four in the morning. That's just great. It's warm in my room this early in the morning.
I check mIRC. It is empty, there is no activity at all. I could search around and find trouble, but what's the point of that? Get an early morning group of friends that I'll then try to stay up to talk with them too? I think not. I blog instead.I finish this post. After that. I might 2142. It's never to early to fuck up kids online.
Or I might just work on my novel.
Get to work!
Hobobob
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