Some Days Are Easier Than Others...
and today isn't one of the easy days. I think I must have Seasonal Affective Disorder. Grey days get me down. And it's grey today--again. That Nor'easter that blew through here this past weekend is still clouding the skies, sending intermittent sprinkles. I know April Showers bring May flowers and all that shit, but must it be so cold?
My underwear fits better today but my tights suck. It's too cold to go bare-legged.
Yesterday, still struggling against the grey I had the thought that I miss Sex, Drugs and RocknRoll. Though I was never really into drugs that much, I have to say. I grew up watching the old school heroin junkies that would gather in the local pizza parlours on -TwoFive, consuming large quantities of hot chocolate and donuts while they either waited on or rode out their next fix. Jaws slack, reality would suspend as they slid into a slow nod, scratching absently on swollen arms, never falling. I once watched as a woman slowed her steps and nodded out, almost doubling over but never dropping the infant she held in her arms. Junkies were always peaceful when they were high.
I was there in Harlem when first the Angel Dust epidemic hit, which brought a whole new wave of deranged addicts, but the DustHeads mainly harmed themselves, jumping off of roofs to fly like Superman, or tearing off their clothes and running through traffic. If you got hurt by them it was mainly cuz you were in the way.
Then the Crackheads came. That was like being in a horror movie--"Night of the Living Dead". The crackheads were extremely violent, and the dealers even more so. They were making more money than God, and fighting over territory was fierce and bloody. And it seemed as if no one was immune; dealers themselves the most prone to succumb. They'd start out "fly" draped in gold and jewels and driving fancy cars, but within months they'd look just like any other crackhead; hair uncombed and dry, skin grey and ashy, clothes ratty and smelly. And skinny. Whenever people dropped body-weight in a hurry you knew they were lost. It was horrible.
So watching all this I was never tempted to try drugs... other than ganja. I smoked a lot in my teens but got tired of corraling paranoid kids who couldn't handle it, probably cuz they mixed it with something else. I also discovered that my natural dislike of people intensified when I smoked, so eventually I stopped. But I love me some booze.
Rum was first, then I discovered Tequila. Tequila rocks cuz it acts like a drug. In my late '20's I was introduced to Absolut Martinis, extra dry. I drank those until I stopped pretending they were Martinis, and just drank straight up Vodka, interspersed with occasional bouts of Jack Daniels. Recently I rediscovered Tequila... I have a bottle of Corazon Anejo stashed behind the microwave but I hardly touch it. I don't drink to get high, you see. I drink to oblivion. I see no point in it otherwise. But shining eight-year-olds don't mix well with oblivion.
And rock concerts---*sigh* how I miss them. The cute little (and I do mean little--he was shorter than me) Dominican DirectTV installer came again yesterday to install my DVR, and when he left the Sun and I flipped through channels. Any hey, waddayaknow, DirectTV was broadcasting a Nine Inch Nails concert, so we watched until the The Sun dropped from exhaustion. He went to sleep just in time for me to watch "Head Like A Hole" by myself. Boy do I miss rock concerts. Most of my current friends aren't really into the crazy music I like, and the ones that do--like me--have kids. So it's hard to get out. I can't wait for the Sun to be old enough to be dragged to concerts. Poor thing. I'm lucky that he's kind of "retro". He loves Queen and AC-DC and Nirvana. We're going to have a lot of fun.
So anyway. All my usual outlets are sort of blocked, and I'm guessing I'm in for another 5 years of no sex (yes, it was that long). So Tattoo it is! I decided yesterday it's time to go under the needle again. My bear, the one you see at the top of this page, will probably go on my back, at the base of my spine. Not sure if I'll go for color or not. Maybe. But I want to do it in the next few weeks, before it's summer so I'll be healed when I hit the beach.
See, I feel better already. And I'm listening to Gogol Bordello. That helps a little.
Well, I'm off to look busy. Waiting for The Regime to give us copy to format for the new Hospital Newsletter, but I've a feeling we won't be the ones to do it. We're being frozen out. Luckily, I was able to reach HR at the other hospital, so hopefully I'll interview Monday. I can't handle all the bad vibes over here. Maybe if it was sunnier or I was drinking or... but since I'm not, I gotta go.
My underwear fits better today but my tights suck. It's too cold to go bare-legged.
Yesterday, still struggling against the grey I had the thought that I miss Sex, Drugs and RocknRoll. Though I was never really into drugs that much, I have to say. I grew up watching the old school heroin junkies that would gather in the local pizza parlours on -TwoFive, consuming large quantities of hot chocolate and donuts while they either waited on or rode out their next fix. Jaws slack, reality would suspend as they slid into a slow nod, scratching absently on swollen arms, never falling. I once watched as a woman slowed her steps and nodded out, almost doubling over but never dropping the infant she held in her arms. Junkies were always peaceful when they were high.
I was there in Harlem when first the Angel Dust epidemic hit, which brought a whole new wave of deranged addicts, but the DustHeads mainly harmed themselves, jumping off of roofs to fly like Superman, or tearing off their clothes and running through traffic. If you got hurt by them it was mainly cuz you were in the way.
Then the Crackheads came. That was like being in a horror movie--"Night of the Living Dead". The crackheads were extremely violent, and the dealers even more so. They were making more money than God, and fighting over territory was fierce and bloody. And it seemed as if no one was immune; dealers themselves the most prone to succumb. They'd start out "fly" draped in gold and jewels and driving fancy cars, but within months they'd look just like any other crackhead; hair uncombed and dry, skin grey and ashy, clothes ratty and smelly. And skinny. Whenever people dropped body-weight in a hurry you knew they were lost. It was horrible.
So watching all this I was never tempted to try drugs... other than ganja. I smoked a lot in my teens but got tired of corraling paranoid kids who couldn't handle it, probably cuz they mixed it with something else. I also discovered that my natural dislike of people intensified when I smoked, so eventually I stopped. But I love me some booze.
Rum was first, then I discovered Tequila. Tequila rocks cuz it acts like a drug. In my late '20's I was introduced to Absolut Martinis, extra dry. I drank those until I stopped pretending they were Martinis, and just drank straight up Vodka, interspersed with occasional bouts of Jack Daniels. Recently I rediscovered Tequila... I have a bottle of Corazon Anejo stashed behind the microwave but I hardly touch it. I don't drink to get high, you see. I drink to oblivion. I see no point in it otherwise. But shining eight-year-olds don't mix well with oblivion.
And rock concerts---*sigh* how I miss them. The cute little (and I do mean little--he was shorter than me) Dominican DirectTV installer came again yesterday to install my DVR, and when he left the Sun and I flipped through channels. Any hey, waddayaknow, DirectTV was broadcasting a Nine Inch Nails concert, so we watched until the The Sun dropped from exhaustion. He went to sleep just in time for me to watch "Head Like A Hole" by myself. Boy do I miss rock concerts. Most of my current friends aren't really into the crazy music I like, and the ones that do--like me--have kids. So it's hard to get out. I can't wait for the Sun to be old enough to be dragged to concerts. Poor thing. I'm lucky that he's kind of "retro". He loves Queen and AC-DC and Nirvana. We're going to have a lot of fun.
So anyway. All my usual outlets are sort of blocked, and I'm guessing I'm in for another 5 years of no sex (yes, it was that long). So Tattoo it is! I decided yesterday it's time to go under the needle again. My bear, the one you see at the top of this page, will probably go on my back, at the base of my spine. Not sure if I'll go for color or not. Maybe. But I want to do it in the next few weeks, before it's summer so I'll be healed when I hit the beach.
See, I feel better already. And I'm listening to Gogol Bordello. That helps a little.
Well, I'm off to look busy. Waiting for The Regime to give us copy to format for the new Hospital Newsletter, but I've a feeling we won't be the ones to do it. We're being frozen out. Luckily, I was able to reach HR at the other hospital, so hopefully I'll interview Monday. I can't handle all the bad vibes over here. Maybe if it was sunnier or I was drinking or... but since I'm not, I gotta go.
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