[276] Screed City
[276]
02/02/2024 Friday. Papers Box. CRISIS INC HQ. Ridgewood, New York.
Okay, now that January is over I can maybe relax a little. Not that I have been going hard or something. I worked a total of five man hours the entire month. Five fucking hours, the month of January. I was supposed to have a week of work around the corner and a week of work up in Troy, but both of those jobs fell through, and because I thought for sure they were going to happen, I turned down a total of 15 days of work. Like an idiot, but I really did think I was going to do the jobs and the money disparity was 50% more per hour. You tell me what you would have done? $3,360 guaranteed or $6,300 probably. I mean, sure, in retrospect I made the wrong decision, but when I was offered the other work, I didn't know that I was making the choice I was making, such is the awesome life of freelance.
It hasn't been a total wash though. I've been editing. I took a few tests to help me decide what career path I should get on. Either an astronomer or a librarian. 6-8 years of schooling. Which, yeah, okay, thanks. I looked into getting a job at the airport loading and directing planes, $18 an hour. I looked into joining the MTA as a carpenter. Just applying for that job is a full time job itself. I looked into being a mailman. Also $18 an hour. Honestly, at this point I should just walk down to Broadway and apply at the Taco Bell, at least I would get free food. I would make manager by next spring. I could work my way up to franchising. I'm serious. I know the work. I doubt much has changed in the taco slinging business since 1999. Aside from the invention of the chalupa. However, there are benefits to working at the airport or the MTA or the USPS. Literally benefits. Like healthcare and vacation and stuff.
But January. Every year. From the middle of December to the end of January, every year. Every single year. I need to write it down somewhere as a reminder. My January is most peoples July or August. There aint shit to do, so just plan on not doing shit.
It's been rough though, doing nothing. Watching my savings leak out of your bank account. Not being able to plan for the future. There was supposed to be a book launch and an audiobook launch. I was supposed to hand over this edit of one of the new ones to Jess, but without any new income I can't afford it. Luckily I paid Agustin last year to do this edit of this other one, so we are making progress, but being a part-time artist is brutal. I was doing so good, too. Changing my habits, making use of daylight hours, taking my art seriously, but the further away from the job me and Scott did in Georgia in December, the more and more time started losing all meaning. I know that I like to wake up at 9:00a now. I like to go to bed by midnight. I know that walking six miles every day is the best amount of walking. Not too long that your body gets wonky, but not too little that your brain doesn't run the gamut as the bridesmaids say. Which is a funny thing to know. For me. That the natural length of thoughts that go through my mind is almost exactly two hours. That my fishbowl is basically one hour one way and one hour the other way. That I like to eat a breakfast of a bowl of rabbit pellets and a bean and cheese taco with lettuce. That I like to eat a late afternoon early dinner of two tacos with some sort of meat. That twice a day I spend about 20 minutes dealing with my teeth. Water pick for 3-4 mins. Floss. 3 mins of outside teeth with the electric TB. 3 mins of inside teeth with the electric TB. 3-4 minutes of special mouthwash. Don't know if it's helping, but it makes me feel better, like I am fighting back.
It's funny, is my point. Having absolutely nothing to do all day. Not today or tomorrow or the next day. Professor Curly keeps leaving town. Either up to Vom or over to LA or across the pond to merry old England. Here I sit watering cactuses in Queens. I'm getting pretty good at SCRABBLE. I can listen to the lesbian neighbors dog bark for hours if I want to. I bought a shirt the other day that said: WORK is a four-letter word! Every Thursday I sit in Junior Mint from 11:00a-12:30p so I don't get a ticket. I have started baking meats. Even chicken. Which I really don't like. Which I have learned why. I'll spare you the details, but it has something to do with how dry the damn bird is. It is either a rollercoaster of bacteria or a clogged drain if you catch my drift. A shotgun or a damp musket. A sluice or a dam. Etcetera, et al.
I don't know. Things are looking up. Paxawhani Phil didn't see his shadow. Not only that, but it is a leap year this year. And extra day, everyone! To do what you please! Like get up at 9a, eat rabbit pellets, listen to your lesbian neighbor's dog barking! What them being lesbian has to do with anything, I don't know, but it adds a little comic styling because that damn dog can bark for hours and hours. I can only assume they aren't home when it's doing it, or not. Which, the, 'or not' is why I personally find it funny. "Just let him bark it out." "He is never going to bark it out!" "We'll see." "No! We won't see! We know how this ends! He just keeps barking!" "Pepper Corn, c'mon!" The dog stops barking. "See?" The dog starts barking. "See!"
[insert work is a four letter word shirt photo]