Whatever You Wish Darling

Jack- hammers.

Yeah, right outside my window. I roll over in my bed and open an eye, and all I see is sheet covering my head...and the jackhammers. I pull the covers from me and sit up to the blare of the hammer hitting brick. Jeez, it sounds so fucking close! I slip out of bed and lift the shade from over the air conditioner. I don't know why, I can't see down to the ground floor. All I can see is brick wall across from me, except for today.

Today, there a man on a scaffold, right across from my window, with a jackhammer, tearing away at the wall across from me. What the fuck? I look up and around and there is a small army of construction workers up on the roof of the building across from my window, taking down the parapet and the wall and stacking new bricks on its edge and lining up a small cement mixer. Is there any real reason for this? I look at the clock. It's six in the morning. Aren't they supposed to start work on shit like this after Nine O'clock? I drop the shade, swearing and sit on the side of my bed.

I turn on my computer and try to watch television but I can't hear shit over the bang and crack of the bricks across from my window. I am disgusted. What else can go wrong today? I shouldn't have asked such a stupid question. Remind me NEVER to do that shit. Suddenly there is deep, hollow bumping on my ceiling, as if the World Wrestling Federation is above me, taking down heavy weight wrestlers over and over again with dull thuds. At first, it was not bothersome, but as time went on, it literally caused my bones to ache with each fall. Thump, thump, thump. I clean my room, pack my garbage and carry it out to the trash can where I come across a note on the elevator. "We are doing work on the roof. Please excuse the noise. Thank you."

I nod. Everyone seems to be working on roofs this week. Hell, it's time for me to do what I've always been putting off since the weather turned in the city, and that is my walk from here at 98th street to 59th street. Quite a long walk, but it's great because not only is it a heap of exercise, it also gives me time to clear out my head, and think of solutions to my problems. Problems that seem to want to overwhelm me, but they can't overtake me. I don my sneakers, and my cap and strike out on the sidewalk, heading to the Duane Reade drug store to drop off my prescription refills and then down Broadway.

Almost instantly I pass by two young sidewalk solicitors that are hawking donations for the ASPCA from the passerby. I hate sidewalk solicitors. When a homeless man does the same fucking thing, the police arrest him for aggressive panhandling. But when these dewy eyed teenagers do it, it's for a good cause. I shake my head. The two young people look at me as I approach, and then turn the other way, bothering other pedestrians. I think about this, wondering for a moment, until I remember that I haven't cut my big assed Afro, or shaved in a month. I look like a psychopath. I smile, what a way to get rid of these nutty kids for a change.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I need a shave and a haircut, and this will happen soon. I'm just not in the mood for facial grooming now. I'll do it later, in one fell swoop. I'll go to my favorite barbershop and get it all taken care of. 'Till then, it's wild man cometh. I head downtown, stepping lively, ducking the mothers pushing their baby carriages with reckless abandon. It's as if they want me to either fall on their kid or jump like a jack rabbit out of their way. I do neither, just to see how far they intend to push me. The smart mothers stop short. The stupider ones graze my foot angrily, warning me that the next time I don't jump out of their way, there will be consequences. We'll see.

It's hot in the city. I'm sweating like a pig, and there is no wind to cool me down. I make it down to Columbus Circle with no difficulty, take the large circumference of the circle and then head back uptown, still walking somewhat briskly. I am slowing down a bit. My feet and calves are beginning to ache. My mind is racing on my future. I have a big court date tomorrow, in Brooklyn. I have been informed that my benefits will be cut off, as usual, and I am to bring proof of disability to continue on. It all devolves into stacks and stacks of paperwork. I've always been excellent with paperwork since I ran my own company. I was able to bring forth even the most obscure letter, email, report, or contract at the spur of the moment, making my case. This is all too easy for me. The difficulty in this is that there is the law to play with.

The law has a tendency to stipulate rules and regulations, that if you aren't aware of, you will be impaled by. You know, rules such as arbitrary time limits for evidence, type and form of evidence that can be submitted, signatures and notary public stamps, shit like that. All these things to keep you off balance. They are lawyers with all of these rules and regulations memorized, you, on the other-hand are not a lawyer, and your only line of defense is to read the reams of paperwork that they deluge you with. By doing so, you are inadvertently agreeing to the stipulations that they will present to you. It's a fucking bum deal, but I've been through a lot of them, and it's all a learning process. Soon I will have enough experience to be a Social Services lawyer without going to a school. Well, I guess you can say that I've gone through the school of hard knocks.

I think, as I walk into my room, that I'm going to self publish another book of poetry. I have it all written down of course. All I need to do is to format and typeset it. Easy actually, it just takes time. I've set myself into poetry exile like another poet that I know. I do have another reading to do in a week, that I had committed to months ago. It shouldn't be long, and it's an outdoor reading. I find this to be some fun, but after that, I'm going into exile for a few months and write poems and haiku. My problem is that I have to find another muse. I have to wait for another inspiration to put a light under my ass. I lack motivation.

I sit on the edge of my bed. The jack- hammer has quieted. The World Wrestling Federation is still going on over my head though. My feet, calves, back, shoulders, and neck are aching with a great soreness. I snatch up a painkiller and crawl into bed. I am anxious over tomorrow. I'm going to give it my best shot, and deal with whatever comes, which is all that is asked of anyone. I wonder.

I got off the streets, I got into the system. I'm working towards getting back into the real world. I feel as if I have one foot in and one foot out. The world closes around me, and darkness settles into my mind, as the afternoon sun burns high in the sky.

Hobobob