Walk Up But Don't Faint

The SHOUT OUT.

I wake up for it, wishing today was Sunday, safely past the poetry reading. I wonder what people feel that show up at the SHOUT OUT. I wonder what they are thinking: Do they believe that they'll have a good time? Do they want a good time? Can we guarantee a good time? Should we guarantee a good time? I don't know what to tell you. I just feel a level of trepidation at this point, worried that this SHOUT OUT will be a bust, not a boom!

It is early in the morning and I am not yet awake. My provisions are getting scanty. I have to start going to breakfast downstairs to pick up Breakfast and lunch, which would make the food in my pantry stretch. I need it to stretch. I get dressed and take the elevator down, heading down the long hall to the cafeteria. The door is locked. I go to a side door back down the hall to find two women hard at work in the kitchen. I ask when does breakfast start. "9:00," they reply. So I take my happy ass back upstairs again, this time getting online and going straight to IRC to see who's up this morning.

At 9:00 I head to the elevator and press the call button. It does not light up. SHIT!! The elevator is being used right now?? Yes, sometimes maintenance uses the elevator, taking it off 'on call' status and manually operating it for their own purposes. What this means for the rest of us is, go suck dick. I am exasperated. I want to get breakfast/lunch, but I DON'T want to do those stairs in the morning. I go back to my room, and deliberate this fiercely. I hate all types of exercise so much that I am willing to starve before tackling those stairs. FUCK!!

I change shoes and head down the stairs. Even going downstairs was no fun, my knees protesting with every step. Goddamnit, I used to remember my father complaining about his knees when I was young. Never did I think that I would be a party to such pains in the years to come. I shake my fucking empty bottle gourd of a head and head to the cafeteria, finding it open. Here, I snag my breakfast and lunch with amazing simplicity and tackle the stairs once more, this time huffing and puffing all the way back up, not stopping on any floor, but instead ascending cleanly and evenly to the top. Once I reached my floor, I was winded as Hell, panting like an old steam engine. But I made it.

I go into my room, jumping back online and checking up on everyone. I was missed sorely.

Soon, came the time for the SHOUT OUT. I got dressed, packing away my gear, and headed out, walking down the stairs and heading down the block on a nice spring-like morning. Everything was fine until I decided to stop at a corner store to buy some bottled water. That's when I realized that I had no money on me. None. Not even money on my metro-pass. FUCK!! I have to go back upstairs. Time was ticking and I stood out in the middle of the block as if scared to death. I could have wept. I headed back into the apartment, and tackled the stairs, carrying two bags of gear, and worked my way up to the sixth floor before petering out.

On my second attempt, I gain my floor and get money for my trip. I march back downstairs, my thighs and calves feeling as if they had been flayed. I hop down into the way, which was another nightmare. The 1, 2 and 3 were just crawling...crawling, and stopping in the tubes. We sit at 34th street for about fifteen minutes...JUST WAITING!! The L train was no better, but when it arrived it made good time to First Avenue. I shot over to the station late and walk into the SHOUT OUT, finding the poets already inside.

MY brother and i set up the stage and as soon as it was up, I got started. I felt more comfortable than ever on the platform. I am growing accustomed to being before an audience. The SHOUT OUT is another success, going off without a hitch. I break down the stage and head out with the Gang of Five, minus one, DJ Bensonhurst. We go and grab a pizza and break up, each going their separate ways except for my brother and myself who head up to Starbucks and get online. I, of course, jump straight onto mIRC. The chatrooms were somewhat empty for an evening, probably people enjoying real lives IRL (In Real Life).

Our time at Starbucks came and went too fast and before I realize it, I'm heading for the 1 train, riding it back home. I do no shopping, but I do stop for potato chips. Upon entering the building, I see the sign reading that the elevators are still out of service. I suck it up and trudge back up the stairs, struggling once again with these two heavy bags.

I make it to my floor and head home finally, dropping my bags and falling into my chair, going on IRC . I spend the rest of the evening in a virtual ballroom, dancing the night away. I'm Fred Astaire, with too left feet, until I fall asleep.

Hobobob