(no subject)
I read over the last words of post script to Diane Di Prima's autobiography half a minute or so before our plane from Chicago skidded to a halt. I sat at the aisle, between them, and he sat beside me, snoring lightly. We were back at La Guardia, where we had departed five days previous, and I sighed probably a little too loudly as I concluded a story that had stirred my imagination for the past month as I seemingly followed the narrator's footsteps through New York's downtown Villages and mythic underground passageways. I had borrowed her courage when I stomped around town and savored every lesson she offered about living (surviving) in this city- I glanced at the dozing coworker beside me and sighed again.
I called in sick this morning to work, leisurely dressed, and glided down Bedford Avenue, past the North 7th station, to Black Bird coffee shop. I dispensed my last $2.00 (a $2.00 bill found in a pocket of my great grandmother's camel coat, a forgotten lucky charm gifted to me two years ago by my grandfather) for a coffee served by a Williamsburg-handsome barista dude, then set up at a cafe table with a view to get down to business. I had been procastinating filling out my annual self-evaluation, especially since my four month review had happened not so long ago. Perhaps as a throw-back to my thesis-days, I find that the most unsettling mental tasks are best approached at a brightly-lit, semi-public yet favorably anonymous place with a cup of stimulants in hand. Too bad Waffle Houses don't exist around the City. Where is Tom and his specialty pancakes when I need them? Anyway, writing my self-evaluation was worse than grueling, and in the end, despite my efforts, it all sounded a little bullshitty. I imagine self-flagellation might have been more comfortable. I arrived to work at noon and looked up to catch the sun setting over the highrise panorama at 5:15 pm. Sigh.
It's getting late, and I have to sleep. Am afraid that I'm plucking random thoughts from those stewing in my head, but they are none the less related, as reoccuring themes in accidental metanarratives tend to become. Characters of him and them, images of city streets, desire for myth, imagination, and... stimulants? Hmm. Fear of... oh lord. I'll stop. For now I'll give it a rest. Concede that I am not actually sick (like everyone else in the office), but only a little heartsick that the days are growing shorter and I miss the sunshine. Looking forward to upcoming holidays when I will return Home to collect my stuff (sweaters! legwarmers!) and myself.
I called in sick this morning to work, leisurely dressed, and glided down Bedford Avenue, past the North 7th station, to Black Bird coffee shop. I dispensed my last $2.00 (a $2.00 bill found in a pocket of my great grandmother's camel coat, a forgotten lucky charm gifted to me two years ago by my grandfather) for a coffee served by a Williamsburg-handsome barista dude, then set up at a cafe table with a view to get down to business. I had been procastinating filling out my annual self-evaluation, especially since my four month review had happened not so long ago. Perhaps as a throw-back to my thesis-days, I find that the most unsettling mental tasks are best approached at a brightly-lit, semi-public yet favorably anonymous place with a cup of stimulants in hand. Too bad Waffle Houses don't exist around the City. Where is Tom and his specialty pancakes when I need them? Anyway, writing my self-evaluation was worse than grueling, and in the end, despite my efforts, it all sounded a little bullshitty. I imagine self-flagellation might have been more comfortable. I arrived to work at noon and looked up to catch the sun setting over the highrise panorama at 5:15 pm. Sigh.
It's getting late, and I have to sleep. Am afraid that I'm plucking random thoughts from those stewing in my head, but they are none the less related, as reoccuring themes in accidental metanarratives tend to become. Characters of him and them, images of city streets, desire for myth, imagination, and... stimulants? Hmm. Fear of... oh lord. I'll stop. For now I'll give it a rest. Concede that I am not actually sick (like everyone else in the office), but only a little heartsick that the days are growing shorter and I miss the sunshine. Looking forward to upcoming holidays when I will return Home to collect my stuff (sweaters! legwarmers!) and myself.