Cold.
It strikes me that when it gets cold, it doesn’t really sneak up on you anymore. One day it’s nice and sunny and the perfect temperature - summer easing into fall - and the next motherfuckin’ day it is cold. Bitter cold.
Such is the way with the fickle New York City weather, and such is the way with life.
I’d forgotten about New York City and it’s many changing seasons. I’d finally grown accustomed to the year-round warmth in Florida, when I went and settled in to two years in Maine, where snow was a part of your every day life for sometimes half the damn year.
But New York ... it’s different here. The seasons come and go, in full force, but New Yorkers remain the same. They don’t slow down to panic about the chilly temperatures, they throw on a scarf, grab their metrocard and go on with their lives.
It was such a warm summer... an even warmer September. I had job security (with the exception of a little month here) and I was just doin’ everything I could to really meld the person I thought I’d become with the New York City life I once had.
Wednesday, I made the decision that (with the exception of pot) it's time for me to give up on the other drugs for a while. They stopped being fun when I found using a substance to be a way of actually looking for substance...
I say this not as an addict, or as recovered party boy (Oh no, this boy WILL party again!), but I say this as somebody who for the past few months has been hanging with "Tina" and "Gina" and sometimes the occasional CRACK a little more then nescesarry ... Yup, that’s right boys and girls. I’ve smoked my fair share of crack in the past few weeks too... And yet still, somehow not a crackhead? Hmm... puzzling when I should so easily be able to place myself into a stereotype, or a character or at least a fucking demographic. But no ... that would just be too simple.
Why!? Why am I doing all these things, and spending so much money on them, when I could be having fun in so many other ways? When I could be instead trying to build a path towards my next goal. I’ve not done too poorly at achieving them... why am I going to stop now and rest on my baggies?
I don’t know still... In the past few days since I’ve lost my job (I called in too many times, cause I was sick ... both physically and mentally) I’ve had a lot of time to reflect...
But fuck that right? I didn’t chose to reflect. I chose to sleep. I chose to dream.
And dreaming is something right? No, not too much when the only dreams you have take place in the same 8X6 room you’re calling "home" as you debate where you not only SHOULD be in your life, but in fact where you actually WANT to be?
The truth is, that sitting here on the steps of my building (I’m now technically a resident, I guess that’s something) I remember the past few months, the tenants would gather late at night and chit chat, gossip and maybe have a smoke or two. I remember the months behind me, and how I had a piece of a puzzle, but had just stopped looking for the other pieces.
It’s time to step forward and show some character. It’s time to start doing things for me.
Surviving will be the first order of business, since I’ll need to fight the depression that’s taking hold, and get out there and find another job. One that I won’t screw up this time.
And there are lots of thoughts of screwing up ... of playing when I should be sleeping... of partying when I could be writing ... Enough memories and stories to write 10 plays, novels or screenplays with. There’s at least a full television series in there all about the afterhours scene in Florida. I started envisioning that even back then.
I’ve got the experiences... and I’ll have plenty more to come... but right now it’s time to work. To work for money, to work for sanity.
To take all the experiences that life has given me and to make my mark in the world, so that the REAL experiences I have left, are colored with achievement and success, not sex and drugs.
Luck has played a huge part in my life over the years. Good and bad... many of the things that happen to me in life seem so chance that luck (or that Bitchy Lady Fate) seem to be the driving force in causing them to happen.
In terms of my strength and longitude though, life has been pretty good to me. My body somehow recovers from all the "goodies" I’ve ingested over the years. The stronger nature in me always wins out in the end. The verdict’s never guilty. The test always comes back negative. And I always end up on my feet again. Luck I guess. But it does run out eventually, and maybe it’s time to stop hoping there’s just one more tissue in the box.
I noticed some of the other tenants in my building getting supplies together while summer was still here. Preparing for a winter that was coming ... Me, I chose to enjoy the warmth while it lasted, and now I find myself paying the piper. Scrambling to get ready for a winter that’s on an express train to here. The cold weather is here ... and the cold city is embracing it. And me?
What of me?
Well, I’ve just got to throw on my scarf, grab my metrocard and go on with my life.
Such is the way with the fickle New York City weather, and such is the way with life.
I’d forgotten about New York City and it’s many changing seasons. I’d finally grown accustomed to the year-round warmth in Florida, when I went and settled in to two years in Maine, where snow was a part of your every day life for sometimes half the damn year.
But New York ... it’s different here. The seasons come and go, in full force, but New Yorkers remain the same. They don’t slow down to panic about the chilly temperatures, they throw on a scarf, grab their metrocard and go on with their lives.
It was such a warm summer... an even warmer September. I had job security (with the exception of a little month here) and I was just doin’ everything I could to really meld the person I thought I’d become with the New York City life I once had.
Wednesday, I made the decision that (with the exception of pot) it's time for me to give up on the other drugs for a while. They stopped being fun when I found using a substance to be a way of actually looking for substance...
I say this not as an addict, or as recovered party boy (Oh no, this boy WILL party again!), but I say this as somebody who for the past few months has been hanging with "Tina" and "Gina" and sometimes the occasional CRACK a little more then nescesarry ... Yup, that’s right boys and girls. I’ve smoked my fair share of crack in the past few weeks too... And yet still, somehow not a crackhead? Hmm... puzzling when I should so easily be able to place myself into a stereotype, or a character or at least a fucking demographic. But no ... that would just be too simple.
Why!? Why am I doing all these things, and spending so much money on them, when I could be having fun in so many other ways? When I could be instead trying to build a path towards my next goal. I’ve not done too poorly at achieving them... why am I going to stop now and rest on my baggies?
I don’t know still... In the past few days since I’ve lost my job (I called in too many times, cause I was sick ... both physically and mentally) I’ve had a lot of time to reflect...
But fuck that right? I didn’t chose to reflect. I chose to sleep. I chose to dream.
And dreaming is something right? No, not too much when the only dreams you have take place in the same 8X6 room you’re calling "home" as you debate where you not only SHOULD be in your life, but in fact where you actually WANT to be?
The truth is, that sitting here on the steps of my building (I’m now technically a resident, I guess that’s something) I remember the past few months, the tenants would gather late at night and chit chat, gossip and maybe have a smoke or two. I remember the months behind me, and how I had a piece of a puzzle, but had just stopped looking for the other pieces.
It’s time to step forward and show some character. It’s time to start doing things for me.
Surviving will be the first order of business, since I’ll need to fight the depression that’s taking hold, and get out there and find another job. One that I won’t screw up this time.
And there are lots of thoughts of screwing up ... of playing when I should be sleeping... of partying when I could be writing ... Enough memories and stories to write 10 plays, novels or screenplays with. There’s at least a full television series in there all about the afterhours scene in Florida. I started envisioning that even back then.
I’ve got the experiences... and I’ll have plenty more to come... but right now it’s time to work. To work for money, to work for sanity.
To take all the experiences that life has given me and to make my mark in the world, so that the REAL experiences I have left, are colored with achievement and success, not sex and drugs.
Luck has played a huge part in my life over the years. Good and bad... many of the things that happen to me in life seem so chance that luck (or that Bitchy Lady Fate) seem to be the driving force in causing them to happen.
In terms of my strength and longitude though, life has been pretty good to me. My body somehow recovers from all the "goodies" I’ve ingested over the years. The stronger nature in me always wins out in the end. The verdict’s never guilty. The test always comes back negative. And I always end up on my feet again. Luck I guess. But it does run out eventually, and maybe it’s time to stop hoping there’s just one more tissue in the box.
I noticed some of the other tenants in my building getting supplies together while summer was still here. Preparing for a winter that was coming ... Me, I chose to enjoy the warmth while it lasted, and now I find myself paying the piper. Scrambling to get ready for a winter that’s on an express train to here. The cold weather is here ... and the cold city is embracing it. And me?
What of me?
Well, I’ve just got to throw on my scarf, grab my metrocard and go on with my life.
posted by Kevin at 10:57 PM
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