Know Your Limitations

I am high out of my head.

I'm also hosting the SHOUT OUT alone. I am standing in front of a packed house. My hands go from normal to seismic shock. My voice wavers. The weed is making me paranoid. The more paranoid I get the more self conscious I get. I am fucking up. OH Shit, I forgot to read D2theL's Bio!! I have got to do that. I'm stumbling over two left shoes. One of our own, D2theL is the feature today and I can't get it right.

I'm stoned. I'm rolling through this like a rolling boulder. I'll get through the other side alive or dead. In the end, when it is over, there is thunderous applause for D2theL who absolutely deserved it. He did an exceptional job.

And they even applauded for the SHOUT OUT.

The poets had a nice time. I'm surprised. I'm shocked. I thought I fucked up their SHOUT OUT for them, but they didn't care. Everyone thought I did a good job as a host, doing it by my own. We head out to the front of the building and I toke some more, sinking my head into a deeper hole. I've been worse, I'm comfortable now. We do the usual, pizza, stroll down the block. Bullshit. Have a great time.

I am elated. This is living. I do like the SHOUT OUT. It's hard to begin. It's hard to go through it because there are so many things that have to be done. You have to watch the time, watch the sound, watch the music from the bar, watch the lighting, follow the list, make certain that everyone is on the list, there's just so much pressure in getting through the show that it almost takes the joy of listening to the poets from it. I don't really know why anyone would want to run their own reading other than just for the love of the poets and poetry. It's obvious to me, after the show, that I love poetry and poets.

But the work is too great during the week for one man. I couldn't do it, WECARE, search for a job...it's just too much. As Clint Eastwood once said as Dirty Harry: "A man's gotta know his limitations." I know mine.

I make it home. No problems. Nothing. I get upstairs and close my door. I am glad to be home. It's not that I hate the outside world, I just love it in here more. I remove all of the shit out of my pockets and strip. I turn up the thermostat on the A/C and crawl into bed. I'm thinking that this weed is still going to kick my ass, but in twenty minutes of laying around I find myself sobering up. I jump up and get online. Then I remember....

This morning, I got on IRC, and I'm talking to BIGBUDDY9 when I get a private message from XANADAU. She tells me that there is an virulent IRC virus to be released today into the wild and the safest thing to do is to stay away from IRC for the week. Shit. Why in the world would someone waste their time with releasing viruses into the wild? That is just mean spirited. I have virus scanner on my PC but these things tend to be VERY NEW. Meaning, your scanner will probably not recognize infection until SARC (Symantec AntiVirus Research Center) locates it, isolates it, reviews, writes an antiviral program and then sends it out to their subscribers. By that time the viral payload could have probably anal probed you and stole your wallet.

I write emails, and eat everything in the refrigerator. I starved all day and now, my munchies are kicking in, I'm voracious. I'm growing tired. It's time for bed. It's time to close my eyes and if I think very hard about a red head in a bikini, I wonder if she'll come up in a dream? Maybe I should think hard about finding a job. Maybe one of them will come up in a dream, and pop up in real life.

Stranger things have happened.

Goodnight everyone.

Hobobob