Coming to a Realization

There is a big motherfucking storm coming to the East Coast tomorrow.

That's not good. I don't think I like that at all. I have so much to get done, so much, that I had better screw my head on right and figure out what it is that I want to do. I've got to go see Doctor A., then the Post Office, then Western Union, then Duane Reade, then home...and get in my exercise. Not a good thing. I'm going to do this all by foot.

I drink coffee and answer emails until about 11:30am, my choke up time. Time to get going. I dress in that damn coat, and head out into the cold, and damn was it cold. Real cold. I thought to myself, this is real snow weather. This is not going to be funny Saturday.

I cross the street, and head down the avenue, moving briskly, ducking foot traffic. The cold air bracing me at first, chilling me, but the walk, and the coat compensated. I built up enough body heat to keep me warm. When I hit 72nd street, my leg muscles had warmed greatly, flexing well, springing solid. 59th street, Columbus Circle, still ducking foot traffic, moving at a steady clip, still no problems with my body, my legs.

Across Central Park South, to Madison Avenue, then south again, down to 40th street. A tremendous piece of Manhattan to take on foot. Dr A. is his usually sunny disposition and we talk. My blood pressure is perfect. I ask to be weighed 234. He told me that I looked leaner, like I lost weight. I was 145 before. I grin. He has computer problems, and I take care of them. I'm growing more adept at working on Macs. Maybe I can be a Mac Guru and work at the Apple store...NAAAAAH.

I am given paperwork for a blood test. Uggh. I take it and make my way down 40th street to the Eastside, Lexington Avenue and down to the lab on 35th street. Once there I hand over my paperwork. No waiting, I am called into examination room two. I go there, take a seat and the blood technician preps my arm. Here comes the needle. Boom. No blood. She moves the needle around in the same hole, pushes it in. Boom. No blood. She moves it around again. Boom. No blood. Alright lady, just because you are in the same hole, this shit hurts. She gives up on the arm, slapping on a band-aid and goes to the other arm.

Boom. First shot, blood. Fuck, I was feeling good. Because if his arm did the same as the previous one I was out to find another technician. She bleeds me dry, and its over. I coat up, glove up, and hit the bricks. Now it's cross town to Eighth Avenue and the Post Office for Christmas Stamps. The line is madness. Madness. I stand for twenty minutes on a long snaking line that is taken care of by four clerks.

Now this is what bothers me about these dickheads at the Post Office. When there are half a million people, understandably because of the Christmas rush, which happens every year, why don't they have more clerks at the windows? If you don't have them, hire temps. Just have all the windows filled with clerks so that there isn't some huge line of patrons looking to mail shit. This is what causes people to go postal. I mean really rocket. This is the madness that they cause to happen. What kind of shit is this?

I'm soon done with the stupidity and hit the streets again, this time up Broadway and 41st street, to go to the only Western Union that I know and put money on my credit card and to pay my Cable Bill. Once done, it was time for the way and back up to 96th street where I go to the Duane Reade across the street from my home and buy Christmas Cards.

New Yorkers are a rude, dumb bunch of fuckers, I realize. Common courtesy is breaking down in this city, and as I was told, common courtesy is the oil of civilization. It makes living in cramped, congested areas more tolerable. People just don't understand that shit. While I'm Christmas card shopping an old lady is standing right in front of the card rack, blocking people from looking at the cards. She just stands there until I just start excuse me-ing her, reaching over her head until I annoyed her. After this mental case walks off, I stand back to let others reach in to check out the cards on the rack. Can you believe some bitch steps right in front of me and does the same move as the old woman.

Shit, I wanted to slap her upside her head. I balled my fist and was about to clock her down the aisle, but the thought of being chased by the cops into my building and around the hall ways. It would be hard to shake them. Fuck that. I went shopping and came back later, after the bitches were done. There were no more problems, I walked home and made dinner. Shit, shortly after that I passed out, and slept for an hour, which is all that I'm going to get for the rest of the night.

I sit naked in front of my computer. I blog.

It's going to be a long night.

Hobobob