By Helene "I GOT THINGS TO DO" Gresser
I am smoking a cigarette and then am going to eat. I've had coffee brought to me by my guy (yeah, I know it's sickening to constantly chirp about how great my guy is, but it's been a LONG time, a LOOOONG dry spell, so suck it up and let me chirp), a hand-rolled ciggie made from spare tobaccy sitting around in butts and rolled in ciggie paper - yes, we're that poor and desperate in the wee hours - and a jelly doughnut. And I've gulped my Adderall and Pristiq and Abilfy, so I won't freak out or cry or space about how much stuff I need to get done in the next few days. It works. It all works. And now I am shaky and need to mangia, so I will go to Subway and get a tuna sub and then probably have no time to write more bloggy blog before I need to get on the train and do a set tonight at 6.
My Guy is talking to me right now, telling me happy stories, and I cannot concentrate. I'm going to get off the computer and eat lunch with him. More to come, later. Likely much later. Life is happening right now. I need to attend to that.
-hmg
Addendum: It's now 2:25 a.m. I am smoking, just scrubbed a tub that will not yield its scum to my orange-scented cleaner, and I am mulling over my rambly set earlier tonight whilst watching Body Heat on the boob tube. I am also wondering why I did not buy TWO packs of ciggies from the cheap underground ciggie guy in Queens. My smoking disgusts me, but I am not stopping. I cannot stand the smell of stale smoke on my clothes and hair and fingers. I am coughing a weird phlegmy cough lately. Maybe I will stop soon. For some reason, I am finding the chain-smoking oddly comforting, despite all the medical issues I know it can cause. I cannot drink to excess because I get killer hangovers, I don't like getting stoned too often, nor do I view my Adderall as something to be taken for a fun high. I split my tablets in half to make it last longer because it cost so damn much without insurance. So the smoking is my vice of choice. I feel the need to be a little naughty, a little self-destructive, to soothe the constant panic thrumming through my nerves. I suppose it is childish and stupid, as well as repulsive to many, but I don't give a damn. Not right now.
I haven't yet cried about being suddenly without my safe little apartment, have not lost my stoic resolve to get my shit together and find a cruddy room to live with my cats, and with a stranger making funny smells in the kitchen. New York hasn't kicked my ass so hard that I am ready to leave town, though I had contemplated moving to another city for other reasons not so long ago. This town likes to play hardball, and I can continue to be a player as long as I can steal bases and bunt. I like the freedom that I have, but am well aware of the weight that debt and lack of security adds to my hunched shoulders. I walk past Madison Avenue windows and see my curved back and furrowed brow in the reflection as I glance at sparkly Louboutin shoes and Dennis Basso furs. I contemplate Botox and massages and Pilates and know I cannot afford any of these luxuries. Fuck it, I might as well smoke, I think. At least for now. Just let me be a little bad. I've been so damn good all my life, so very careful to please others, so very self-conscious, so very accomodating. I kind of enjoy the occasional look of disgust and the lady who HOLDS HER NOSE as she passes by my little cloud of stank. That's right, I think, hold your damn nose. I am fouling the October air with my pollution stick. Deal. 'Cause I can deal with the city spitting in my face. For now, at least.
-hmg
enjoy your re-rolled butts, jelly doughnut, and Guy. you're entitled. chirp away. :-)
Thanks Mindy, and thanks for reading!