Too Casual to act Unusual

I am pleased.

Even though our Feature canceled we still had a great SHOUT OUT! I had no problem getting down there, although I had to suffer the tourists. They're out there, just waiting for you to step out of your home so that they can do dumb shit when you are commuting. And I'm not knocking the average New Yorker, my question is: "Where the fuck is he?"

I mean, no matter where I go, there is always someone acting stupid, like stopping in the middle of a train door to say goodbye to someone sitting inside. So while a million New Yorkers are trying to get into the train, you have a fellow New Yorker, blocking their path, just to say goodbye to some stupid idiot, waving back like some kind of hyperactive child.

Then you find that these doorknobs are talking in German, or Swedish, or whatever foreign language that they choose, and you immediately know...tourist. When do you hear English anymore without a heavy accent in this city, or are asked directions, but the person damn near needssign language because their English is so bad. Then they walk away from you, like you're the idiot because you can't understand them! What kind of shit is that? It think I'm getting a button the just says: WKoSIT? "What kind of shit is that?" Maybe it'll take off and become a national slogan that I'll make scads of money and become rich and famous... and...and....

I came upon a new term called Microblogging, which means :The content of a microblog differs from a traditional blog in that it is typically smaller in actual size and aggregate file size. A single entry could consist of a single sentence or fragment or an image or a brief, ten second video. But, still, its purpose is similar to that of a traditional blog. Users microblog about particular topics that can range from the simple, such as "what one is doing at a given moment," to the thematic, such as "sports cars," to business topics, such as particular products.

So if I was to microblog, I would only leave a single sentence behind like. "Help." Or, "Look out I'm loosing my mind here." Talk about briefly summing up your life. I mean, can you do that? Can you boil down two or three days into one sentence? I mean, Jeez. I was emailing a close friend of mine who had recently switched over jobs to another company and practically on my hands and knees I'm begging him to keep an eye out for me for another position in his new company. He tells me that he was fraying at the ends, which is what my old job was good at, and that he almost "pulled one of my numbers", and end up on the streets.

So that's the summation of my life right three. My microblog entry should read: Pulled a number. Hey, that'll go great on a tombstone. "He pulled a number!" Ha ha! Hey, you have to look at the bright side of things. That's what a friend of mine was trying to tell me. So as I basically did nothing this Sunday but smoke dope and write...yeah, I found that I can do that too. It takes a lot longer to do something, but it's certainly damn fun to see what the fuck you wrote when you come out of it. Normally, when I got high I wrote strange emails to friends and family. Now, because of this damned Novel I write in it. Beautiful isn't it.

I napped on and off yesterday too, Sunday, I couldn't stay up for long, no matter how hard I tried. I would sleep for only two or three hours and then pop out of bed, only go crash back in five hours later. So, keeping up with this strange body clock, I woke at 3:30 this morning after going to sleep after 12:00, and I'm pissed because I can't go back to sleep and I'm no longer high. Instead of going for my 'roscoe' and blowing my brains out again, I get my clothes on and leave to go to Duane Reade and get milk for my coffee.

I am delighted to be on the streets at this time of the night. There is absolutely no one except for doped out stoners or drunk people. I don't see them until I come back, watching them dance loudly up the sidewalk across Broadway from the sidewalk that I'm on. It's takes all kinds in New York, doesn't it.

Duane Reade is empty except for the night manager who acts like he's on something. If I was doing night shift at Duane Reade I would seriously be caught nodding like a fiend. Like a fucking fiend. Or napping somewhere. Unless it was busy, then I could stay up, and as in times past, if there was no hooch around. Hooch, or alcohol, would fuck me up at night where it would be impossible for me to keep awake.

But those were the old days in a past and forgotten life. So much so that it's irrelevant to me about the place. Irrelevant.

Well, there goes my micoblog post, which would read: "He talks to much." I like that. I think that I'm going to try to do a mircoblog at the beginning and the end of my posts just to see how that flies.

OH, so wish me luck. I'm going into my old High School this morning to see if I can get my diploma in a reasonable amount of time, so that I can get these six points for my fucking identification before WECARE sends me an offer that I can't refuse. You know, if I was ever hit by a truck and hospitalized where I would need my medical benefits worse than I did now, these scumbags would cut me off because I didn't make one of their appointments. Nice to know that New York loves ya baby.

MICROBLOG: I am too tired to deal with WECARE

I'd better get that diploma today.

Hobobob