About me
subject appears to be a white male, early 50's, pathologically tall/skinny. brain patterns show evidence of a life in alcohol - first swimming in it then running from it. fingers show wear from years of guitar playing. heart presents slow repair, through writing, from being broken by rock and roll.
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Dead Mouse Farina Blues
The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated and probably srated by me in the first place. so let me just state that it's great to be back (in print) and describe the absence.
It'd been snowing like a madman every weekend for 6 weeks since xmas, so part of my houseboundedness was a reaction to nature, pure and simple. Exceppt for walking Buster me and the cats wisely stayed inside where it was warm.
On the few occassions where I'd venture out for cat food and cigarettes our local, volunteer-run library where I type this crap was closed. As I alluded to in an earlier post, the ex and I had decided to p[ut off my moving back - something about me having to get my act together a little more before I show up at her place ('cause it is now, truly, her place) w/no money and boxes of cats. Unfinished business; something shaped like growing up. And that was my side of the argument.
So w/my unemployment rapidly running out and having rrecently declined rescue from the woman that I love, I hunkered in my bunker as the snow piled higher and higher outside my window telling myself that it'd be alright, that something would work out. Though, as usual, I had no idea what.
Only this time I didn't let it freak me out. Oh yeah, I was severley dpressed and scared. Still am and probably anyone would be, but what's changed and is still changing is my refusal to panic, to give in to fear, to rant and rave about suicide and the unfairness of it all and to simply have faith that this, too, shall pass. Small potatos to ye readers of faith out there, but trust me - for a still dead atheist (as oppossed to born again xian, although in my case the proper term is probably 'recovering catholic') this was a major deal.
I watched a LOT of tv (I hope to post 'essays' on the New York Dolls performance on Soundstage and Dawson's Creek in the near future, but I got to get this personal crap out first 'cause that's how I roll, baby), did some minor repair work around the apartments to pay toward my rent. Ourlittle (10 unit) apartment 'complex' is really a small town w/in a small town. Throughout my stretch of unemployment various neighbors would leave 'care packages' of canned food, powdered milk and (Bless you, Kay) the occaisional cigarette. There was not one day that Buster or the cats went hungry - and I'm counting the outside cats, too.
There was, however, the Day of the Farina. It was one day before my last unemployment check came and we were out of EVERYTHING except Ramen Noodeles and farina, which is like oatmeal, only evil. I crumbled up som raw Ramen Noodles to go along w/the cooked for the cats and cooked up a pot of farina. I glopped (and that's what it sounded like, kids) a ladleful on everyones plate and took a bowl for myself.
MacDougal X. Cheese stepped up to the plate first, being the brave King Cat tha he be, and sniffed once, blinked twice, sniffed again, turned his orange head toward me and said "What the fuck is this?" in clear and perfect English. Well, not really but, trust me, that's what he meant. I muscled down my share of farina and decided I didn't blame the cats for not eating it. Buster, being after all a dog, ate just about everybody's share and spent the night under my bed, his stomach producing sounds that'd make Anthony Braxton proud (look him up).
Anyway, I let a very disgruntled MacDougal out that night while the girls (I still have Camille, Bottlebrush and the 3 kittens I've sinced named Suzy Jacuzzi, Seabiscuit Smith and Grumpy the Cat. As of this writing Bleeker Street Kitten remains again among the missing, gone almost a month now but hope springs eternal) stayed in, eating Ramen Noodles and making the ugly face at what remained of the farina. Upon waking the next morning I made cofee, put out more noodles while promising that once my check came that afternoon there'd be hot dogs and cat food for everybody and put my coat on to walk Buster in the snow. As I was putting my faithful companion's leash on I heard the unmistakeable meow of MacDougal on the other side of the door. Opening the door, MacDougal hopped over Buster into the kitchen whereupon he spoke to me what sounded like a compund sentence in cat language. I petted him 'cause I love him and steered him towards the noodles, again promising a future feast featuring MEAT!!!
That;s when I stepped out to find the dead mouse on my doorstep. MacDougal had brought me breakfast!! I had to laugh even as my eyes teared up.
I've neglected to mention that while all of this had been going on thee convenience store I worked at until it unceremoniously closed last September had been bought and remodeled by a new company and was due to open the day of the dead mouse. I had faxed my worthy of a Hugo Award resume to their Denver office weeks earlier and had stopped in to harangue the new manager about employment every day for the previous week. Since I'd heard nothing by 'opening day' I assumed someone else got the gig.
Anyhow, I snuck the dead mose out to Speedy Firbank (our head 'outside cat') after thanking MacDougal profusely and sat down to wait for the mail. 2 O'clock finally rolls around so I reboot (which out here in farm country means I put my boots back on) and trudged through the snow to the mailbox.
The check wasn't there. Now, I knew it's be there tomorrow and that the snow just made it late, but not knowing how I was gonna feed the kids that day, combined w.the weight of the last 4 months almost got me. I went back into the house for a minute, but realized if I just sat there all I'd get done was feeling bad and I'd had enough of that lately.
So I trudge out again, no real destination other than 'out into the world' when passing the new convenience store the manager waved me in and hired me for the fraveyard shift starting that night. That was February 8th and I've had but 2 nights off since then - I'm not complaining, just explaining why I haven't been posting since the snow stopped. Life is, once again and as always, good.
So, al's well that ends well - not that anything ever ends - but I fell like I've ridden out a pretty rough storm here w/something resembling style and a renewed belief that faith can work wonders.
Stop congratulating yrself, Muglia, I mean faith in yrself.
peace and noise, I've missed y'all,
tb
Posted by: timbyrnes at 16:46 |
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