Here's my life of late:
8.01 a.m. = hit the snooze alarm.
8.09 = hit it again.
somewhere around 8.30 = get up & look for something to swallow before
9.20/25 = jump the wall & walk to the corner.
9.25-9.40 = sit at bus stop reading the book of the week (this week it's
"75 Short Masterpieces").
9.40 = get on bus & read.
10.20 = get off bus.
10.20-10.30 = walk down Lake Ave. 4 blocks to California.
10.30 = go in Winchell's & get a muffin (blueberry or banana nut) &/or a
doughnut & a small coffee or a chocolate milk. Sit, eat & read.
10.45 or whenever the coffee's gone = go next door & down the stairs to
sit & read for 10 more minutes.
10.58/9 = clock in & start opening boxes.
1.30 = run out of boxes & start looking for other stuff to do while on
2.30 = except for tuesdays, I can usually split by now.
2.45 = get on bus at Colorado & Lake.
4 p.m. = get off bus & climb back over wall. Check mailbox & go upstairs.
Check email, try to write some fiction or update journals, play this
video game Ivan gave me for the Sega called Shadow Squadron. Fun game.
Once or twice a week Monica shows up & we draw pictures & play guitar &
laugh & talk. Then she goes home & I smoke cigarettes.
Variations include an occasional trip to the bank or library. Sometimes
there'll be a phone call or two.
I don't even have anything interesting to say about the people at work.
So sad. Well, I could say that Dina, the owner's wife, is a real prize.
Just being near her makes me feel like I have a thin layer of puke
coating the side of me that's facing her. Not that she's gross. Oh, no.
She's actually quite easy on the eyes. It's the other senses that recoil
in horror. That's not true either. But I do like being there better when
she's not. The owner sort of affects me that way, too, but not as bad.
He's just always worried he's paying me when I'm not actually doing
anything. He's Armenian, you see.
& there's Kristi. Kristi's a nice girl. Cute, too. She's the one who
trained me, so I feel kind of close to her. Plus she works next to me a
lot of the time. Then there's Stephanie, who I rarely see because she's
upstairs & I only am when I'm going to the restroom or looking for
answers. Then I see her when I come home. I'd rather see Kristi when I
come home, but she's got someone else to go home to. Plus she listens to
some pretty horrible music sometimes, like Cypress Hill. & there's Sean,
who is a moron. I'll wait & give you some examples of him.
It is nice that a lot of the time I'm at work, I'm alone in the basement
with a cd player & whatever discs I decide to bring, plus I can bring
food & drinks & there's a fridge & a water cooler, & I don't have to deal
with any customers. I have my little box-cutter & some shelves & pens & a
UPS book & a roll of tape, & every day I'm getting more boxes from
various publishers & vendors.
Somebody told me that if I'm diagnosed as epileptic, I can't get a
driver's license. Then someone else told me different. Any Californians
with a clue? I figure I'll just lie anyway, but how inconvenient to have
that to deal with.
If I can start driving again, I'll probably get in some bands & work some
more hours & get myself a girlfriend & I won't have any more time than I
do now, but I'll be doing a lot more in what I have. Maybe I'll even have
something worth talking about.
sorry to let you all down like this.