I'm just getting used to this again. Give me time. Patience!
I sent off a resume to a law firm in Leominster and got an email back requesting that I call the office to set up an appointment. I set the alarm on my phone so it would go off exactly at nine this morning to remind me to call. A regular early bird. I get up for work at five-thirty, and this gives me considerable advantage over my previous, late riser self.
Right now I'm listening to some cds Anton burned for me two years ago. I've had so little access to the sort of time that lends itself to listening to music. The radio in the worktruck isn't great, so I mostly listen to NPR and audio cds. I think of my older self, the musical self, in the same way I think of the boy who once had to take a cold October bus to school.
During my drives, I manipulate a lump of green silicon that I bought at EMS. It is supposed to develop grip strength, but it has the added benefit of keeping me amused. The silicon material seems to melt when you squeeze softly, allowing me constant variation in the feeling of the thing. I time it out: ten squeezes one hand, ten the other. Back and forth, sometimes letting my mind drift so much that I wonder for how many miles I'd been kneading the lump from lump to snake to ring back to lump.
*
I called a man about a job posted on craigslist for a radio dj. He sounded old and told me that he had been getting such calls all day and that his name was George. He told me that he thought the radio station had shut down some time ago. It sounded as though he wanted someone to talk to, so I indulged him, and he talked to me about Quincy, the town in which he lived.
*
My pitch would have been for a comedy show with Big Bill. I work with Big Bill and some of you remember and, by now, some of you have met him. His is gruff and strong and bald. He used to have red hair. He works twelve hour days and is always broke, a classic working stiff who can never get ahead despite his life's obvious humble state.
I told Bill about it and it seemed to ignite his imagination. He said we should send a guy out in the street to play a variation on a warehouse game called "pockets." In pockets, you bank on having more money than your opponent, because whoever has more cash in his pockets gets the other's, assuming they decided to play along. No one ever does, but we threaten to. I doubt anyone would have as much cash as Billy. Because of bad credit and money management skills, he doesn't have a bank account and cashes all checks immediately. Thus, he often ends the week with a roll of hundreds in his pocket.
After making a car and insurance payment last week and buying beer and wings for the fight, I was left with seven dollars to last me the entire week. By tonight, I still had six left, which went into the gas tank because it was getting low. I spent a dollar on coffee yesterday.
To survive on nothing, or next to it, I made rice and tuna every night for the next day's lunch. Each morning I woke up early so I could fry some eggs for a sandwich. I bought a sixteen ounce roll of spicy Jimmy Dean sausage, too.
This morning I was so rushed that the sandwich tumbled out of my hands as I was trying to open the door. This meant I wouldn't have breakfast. J saw this and told me later she almost cried for me, because she knew what it meant.
*
Instead of eating, I thought about food, and remember an ambling internal conversation as I drove. Since I spend much of my day driving, it allows me to indulge in amounts of self-absorption that most would consider excessive. But it's better than loading pipe off a steel pallet.
I thought about what constitutes sausage. When I was younger, I figured it was the shape, but the shape is only caused by the casing. Jimmy Dean sausage is formed into burger-shaped rounds. But steak stuffed into a sausage casing would be some type of beef sausage, no? Perhaps it's better not to think of such things when the sun has yet to rise and you're looking at a long, hungry morning.
I sent off a resume to a law firm in Leominster and got an email back requesting that I call the office to set up an appointment. I set the alarm on my phone so it would go off exactly at nine this morning to remind me to call. A regular early bird. I get up for work at five-thirty, and this gives me considerable advantage over my previous, late riser self.
Right now I'm listening to some cds Anton burned for me two years ago. I've had so little access to the sort of time that lends itself to listening to music. The radio in the worktruck isn't great, so I mostly listen to NPR and audio cds. I think of my older self, the musical self, in the same way I think of the boy who once had to take a cold October bus to school.
During my drives, I manipulate a lump of green silicon that I bought at EMS. It is supposed to develop grip strength, but it has the added benefit of keeping me amused. The silicon material seems to melt when you squeeze softly, allowing me constant variation in the feeling of the thing. I time it out: ten squeezes one hand, ten the other. Back and forth, sometimes letting my mind drift so much that I wonder for how many miles I'd been kneading the lump from lump to snake to ring back to lump.
*
I called a man about a job posted on craigslist for a radio dj. He sounded old and told me that he had been getting such calls all day and that his name was George. He told me that he thought the radio station had shut down some time ago. It sounded as though he wanted someone to talk to, so I indulged him, and he talked to me about Quincy, the town in which he lived.
*
My pitch would have been for a comedy show with Big Bill. I work with Big Bill and some of you remember and, by now, some of you have met him. His is gruff and strong and bald. He used to have red hair. He works twelve hour days and is always broke, a classic working stiff who can never get ahead despite his life's obvious humble state.
I told Bill about it and it seemed to ignite his imagination. He said we should send a guy out in the street to play a variation on a warehouse game called "pockets." In pockets, you bank on having more money than your opponent, because whoever has more cash in his pockets gets the other's, assuming they decided to play along. No one ever does, but we threaten to. I doubt anyone would have as much cash as Billy. Because of bad credit and money management skills, he doesn't have a bank account and cashes all checks immediately. Thus, he often ends the week with a roll of hundreds in his pocket.
After making a car and insurance payment last week and buying beer and wings for the fight, I was left with seven dollars to last me the entire week. By tonight, I still had six left, which went into the gas tank because it was getting low. I spent a dollar on coffee yesterday.
To survive on nothing, or next to it, I made rice and tuna every night for the next day's lunch. Each morning I woke up early so I could fry some eggs for a sandwich. I bought a sixteen ounce roll of spicy Jimmy Dean sausage, too.
This morning I was so rushed that the sandwich tumbled out of my hands as I was trying to open the door. This meant I wouldn't have breakfast. J saw this and told me later she almost cried for me, because she knew what it meant.
*
Instead of eating, I thought about food, and remember an ambling internal conversation as I drove. Since I spend much of my day driving, it allows me to indulge in amounts of self-absorption that most would consider excessive. But it's better than loading pipe off a steel pallet.
I thought about what constitutes sausage. When I was younger, I figured it was the shape, but the shape is only caused by the casing. Jimmy Dean sausage is formed into burger-shaped rounds. But steak stuffed into a sausage casing would be some type of beef sausage, no? Perhaps it's better not to think of such things when the sun has yet to rise and you're looking at a long, hungry morning.
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