Moving to NYC at a glacial pace
I was there & back again..this time with too many irons in the fire to fuck about.. I was consulting, like I've never consulted before. Thankfully all I really did is hold a baby in Timesquare & that was enough. The whole trip was worth it, sunlight spilled from the heavens, trumpets blared & shit, EVERYTHING worked out..actually, this time I almost didn't catch my flight. I mean, I totally missed my flight, but after being torn from my sleep with 53 minutes to make it from Sunnyside to wheels-up at JFK, throwing a handful of my & someone else's belongings into a case made of suits, I came to a halt, standing over my hatbox & thought, "Fuck it." There is a rock gym in Long Island City, there is a yoga studio across the street & a Chinese herb shop further on. I can pour boiling water over quick-oats and throw a handful of slivered almonds & berries at it in any pocket of this nook. The server girl at Cafe Aubergine already fancies me enough to bring a glass of their finest boxed shiraz, & what more does any old goat need in this world? Oh, my car. I should have to do something about my car. & that was it. I don't mind leaving it upstate in New Paltz, but to leave it in California..it would just suck to have to fly 6 hours & then drive it 48 hours consecutive just so I can take myself on a stoned tour of New England.. You almost had me this time NYC! ALMOST! * insert quarter-hearted fist-shake here *
A halt & pausing for just that minute, probably cost me my first flight..& the series of interesting interactions thereafter, of which I'm still tallying the cost..I'm not sure if it was worth the very disorderly minute-long daydream I mustered over my continued musings on doffing my west coast ski-cap & getting lost in that sea of fools they call NYsea. I'm already disillusioned with people. & meeting people in airports & on planes..I could write heaps of books about the garbage people I've met. Some jewels there too. Just the crazy is bred so thick in the few & far between, they do disservice to those others who aren't quite as cockeyed & off kilter.
A nice unremarkable 20 something year old girl named Becca, off to a job fair in SF. Good luck finishing school back in Boston. (She only talked to me in the first place because she thought I was her age. How foolish she felt when I told her I was 10 years older than her.) But honestly, what are you ageist!? & Jeelan, who does dry style at the blow dry bar across from that nitrous ice-cream place in Lafayette..Smitten..the ice cream place..it's called Smitten.. She was nice, too-- rather, for a hoodrat from Berkeley living in her Gramma's basement. (Like I'm one to talk..nestled in the foothills of My. Diablo like a kept boy..if only!) She was my seat-mate for what turned out to be the first 45 minutes of the flight, until at the appropriate moment, a cuckoo bird-- whom I offered help to during boarding, as her arms were full with a dog in a basket, & slung with overly-full totes-- seat-to-seat chatted me to kick that girl out & have her come sit up in her seat for the cost of a protein box & some alcohol! NOW WE'RE TALKIN'! The verbosity was staggering.
Amy Lott talked more than anyone I have ever talked to, & I talk to me all fucking day. & I TALK A FUCKING LOT. Seriously, sometimes it's all I can do to sedate that little voice in my head. Alcohol used to work. Pot still does sometimes. Lack of sleep is harder to keep going. Exercise is great..3 hours of yoga, a core class, lifting, climbing & running in between & at either end makes that little voice so stupid he's fun to talk to..but that just makes me want to write. But then he doesn't want to stay up anymore, or rather, he's just gotten fucking lazy. Layzeeeboy.
It wouldn't be so bad if I could hear the music over the sound of myself thinking, but Jesus, sometimes it just goes on & on. But Amy though..Amy (talkeda) Lott! We had 12 rare minutes of exceedingly sane & interesting dialogue in which she simultaneously asked if I would move to NY & be her 2nd in command for an corporate events planning business called Tiny Party Collective.
I took her card, & my seat; had just enough time to blanche carrots, look up her shit on linkedin & facebook (because anyone can proffer a card they printed at home, make a job offer & have you tied up in their trunk before you can even shake the face mites you've exchanged in cheek kissing--) After legitimizing her to whatever degree is possible by means of something possible to counterfeit faster than actually blanching carrots, I decided it was a come up when she messaged me to get my seat mate to vacate. Poor Jeelan, at least she got dinner & drinks out of it-- I simply feel like she could have really enjoyed our time together; she just watched episodes of friends. I MADE friends. Whatever enjoy being a glam squad girl.
For me, I know it was the right thing to do. I know it was more than just an episode of social mania to balance my months & months of intense hermetic isolation. I know for me that it is an especially special thing that I get to do when I interact with someone I sense is positively crazier than I am. It humbles me. It dampens the white-hot-heat that is existing absolutely full of energy-- of positive creative force so thick with emotive volatility that it must be poured into some other vessel..ohhh to be welded by the bond of sheer insanity, & quenched in the atmosphere of a steel box with it's phallic shape, gliding through the actual atmosphere. It's lovely, it's bizzare. It's just what I wanted & just what I never needed, ever again. But it's what I got.
It was fine until she offered me K..& after buying us the 5th round of double bloody mary's..I was afraid for her..synergy girl, synergy.. You got a dog in your lap named Bjork. BJORK! What?
Another pig in a poke. Whatever, I'm off to the library.