Classic NYC Story

Maybe, I thought to myself, maybe I have that famous wanderers’ disease, and I’m simply never happy with the destination… any destination.

On further consideration, that’s bullshit, because I’m happy right now.

It’s amazing the things I learned to live without while there. I was locked up for two weeks, and I didn’t miss the internet. I didn’t miss rum or tequila. I didn’t miss a cheeseburger. I didn’t miss busy-ness or productivity. Fuck, I didn’t even miss my shoelaces that much. I haven’t even put them back on my shoes yet.

It’s amazing how I’ve only just checked out of the hospital and I’m already filling my life up with empty motion. Just like a New Yorker, huh? I’m so full of empty motion. Never sleep, always busy, just like my city…

That story may be the only thing of worth that I have in my possession. I’ve got a pocket full of change and a shopping cart full of stuff, no past and no future, hardly much of a present… but i’ve got enough integrity left to throw out a diabetic’s poison.

I’ve decided to check myself into an institution. Why? Because apparently it’s crazy to think of oneself as superwoman.

I hung curtains today. And by “curtains,” I mean two scarves and a bandanna held together with wooden clothespins and draped over an old broomstick perching atop a curtain rod fixture.

These are the things that clearly at one point in my life were important enough for me to pay to store them. Now that I’ve been without them for fourteen months, I wonder at their usefulness. There are one or two things I don’t even want to look at, because I know that if I even take one look at them, I’ll know instinctively that they’re not worth keeping, and I will have to throw them away.