Classic NYC Story

I didn’t believe them either. At least, I didn’t believe their sob story. Not fully. But I gave them the money anyway, and so did other people. I think that’s our version of compassion. Or maybe it’s respect for the hustle. I think everyone in this city has had to resort to a hustle at some time or another.

I kept imagining that the salesman would, just after ringing up the sale, magically morph into my father. “What are you doing here? No, no, no, this cannot stand. You have to get out of here.” The same way he did when he found out that I was married.

I read in a book that the best method of time management was to handle everything one thing at a time. This generally makes sense, if one of the things isn’t keeping you waiting.

In that moment I reached out to the switchboard which was sizzling and crackling with overloaded wires and disconnected mine. My movements became smooth and graceful and regulated like a ballet dancer performing her signature piece. Ladies and gentlemen, I was out of there.

Earlier today, after the concert, and during the concert… i don’t know how i want to say this. The show was in a small church with classic acoustics. The sound was powerful. The sound was a tsunamic force. My God! Twenty five musicians in a tiny reverberating hall! Trumpets, trombones, saxophones, strings, drums, guitars…

It was exactly the kind of situation in which one would like to run into an old friend… as opposed to the alternative. It dispenses for the need to say things like “you should come see me because I look amazing and I’m at the top of my game.”

Of course, every time you say something like that out loud to somebody, you’re probably lying.

I just skimmed through an ebook whose primary message was that I don’t take good enough care of myself. That I should eat better, do more exercise, wear clothes that look good on me, read more books, focus on my passions, etc. Of course, I know these things. The two things I said I was going to do after getting out of the hospital were taking up yoga and practicing more. I have not done either. Why don’t I do these things? Do I not like myself?

It’s a silk scarf. It was my friend from Harlem’s insistence that made me get a silk scarf. I would have gone for something cheaper. Actually, to be perfectly accurate, it’s not a scarf at all. We picked up a couple yards of silk from a fabric store in the garment district. It was my idea to do it that way. I figured it would be more original and more fun.

Tomorrow is another day, isn’t it? Another day to do all the things I could have done today… just as long as I don’t beat myself up about it. I’ve found that I’m awfully fond of beating myself up about things and then not learning anything from the beating… Just as soon as I get it through my head that a New Yorker never ever has an excuse to do nothing, I’ll be all right.

But here we are, and she’s back to nagging (why would my mother ever be able to follow a doctor’s instructions?) so now I get to decide how crazy I really am… because I know where this argument could go if it does indeed turn into an argument. I’ve actually of late been becoming more and more averse to practicing politics with people who get on my nerves.