Stories from the city, stories from the sea

11 10 2008

Quick hit: Some time ago, C. told me about this write-a-novel-in-a-month craziness. November, she said.

I forgot.

Then she brought it up again the other day. Oo, no, can’t. Nope, can’t do it. Still finishing edits on novel two. Have three jobs. Grading. Nope. Nope.

I have three jobs, she said. I’m doin’ it.

Dammit. Can’t use the 3-jobs gambit. (Really, people workin’ 3 jobs is sadly usual in this city.)

So at the bar last night, I said, ‘K. Tell me more.

Your turn, C. Tell me more. I’ll broadcast it to me tens of readers.

And getchyer freakin’ blog up, already! If I can write the damned novel, you can write the damned blog.

Gauntlet picked up, rethrown.


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On a rooftop in Brooklyn

9 10 2008

What the fuck am I doing in New York City?

Really. I’m in the middle of my life and I have a. . . ROOMMATE! Not a lover, companion, partner, whatever. A roommate. With whom I don’t quite get along.

I pay too much to live here.

I’m working three jobs and still not making enough money to live on my own.

I have no lover (of the quick-toss or long-term variety).

City and state politics are a cesspool.

Cockroaches. Rats. Bedbugs. (No verbs necessary.)

JFK is a nightmare and LaGuardia is a nightmare to get to.

Too godDAMNED many people.

Sitting on the train and trying to avoid the crotch of the person standing over me. (But hey, at least I got a seat, right?)

Thinking that any beer less than 7 bucks a pint is cheap.

PissMoanPissMoanPissMoan.

Where the hell else am I going to live?

God. Dammit. I can’t live anyplace else. Where else would make me this crazy without actually making me crazy?

And tall buildings. I likes de tall buildings.

Dammit.


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