It came back. The ipod, I mean. No explanation came with it, though. A couple days later, it simply reappeared on top of my keyboard where it is sleeping as I'm typing this, nested against the "F1/2 etc." keys. I let it there for a few more days, untouched, hesitating between putting it back in the trash myself as a matter of principle, or just put it in my pocket and use it.
I have no shame. I kept it.
And FYI: No, it doesn't even smell like garbage. Thank you.
Now stop worrying about that and show some concern about me! My beautiful self! No kidding, someone trashes an ipod, and all of a sudden I have 4 comments. 4! And at once, on the same post!!!! It's unheard of. What are you guys doing the rest of the time, hm?
Don't mind me. I'm all crabby and cranky these days. Too much work, not enough sleep.
The week has been strange, too. Took an unexpected turn. Also, I think I started smoking again. Ok: I did start smoking again. And contrary to most people, I'm cranky when I start smoking again, not when I quit. Go figure.
I caved in yesterday. I had tried to fool myself for a few days with that very old pack of dried out Winston, literally killing myself with every drag, thinking that I can kick the habit before it's over. Then I said fuck it, threw away the cigs that were left and went to a pharmacy to buy a pack of FRESH cigarettes.
They hardly taste better.
Don't worry. It won't last.
What else?...
Charlie will be reading at 7:30, Monday 23 @ Junno's Bar (64 Downing, between Varick and Bedford.)
I usually say that December is my favorite month of the year. It might have something to do with the fact that it's my birthday month. Maybe not. This particular December month sucked, though. Maybe it's because I had no time to stop and feel it.
For one week, I had an ipod. I became addicted to it. Especially since I don't have a CD burner and most of my music is on my computer. Today, I lost the ipod. The way I lost it is the person who gave it to me as a birthday present took it back and, as far as I know, threw it in the trash. When I came back from the laundry, the trash bag was there, on the sidewalk. At least she's taken out the trash -- it's gonna rain frogs or the East River is going to be all blood or something.
In the past, I've spent New Year's Eve in weird places. But a Laundromat is a first.
I remember spending New Year's Eve 2000 with a girl and my friend Bruno on a forlorn train platform in a ghost train station in the middle of nowhere between Lyon and Grenoble. We were on the train, at first. We were probably drunk and high on something. I have very few memories of being with Bruno without either being high, or scoring. So we were on that train, after a fairly disappointing evening in Lyon. The train makes an unexpected stop at a train station and panic creeps in. "Aren't we supposed to get off here?" "Nah, where are we anyway?." And then, for some reason, we are running out of the train just in time before the doors close and the train leaves. As we look at the train pulling out of the empty, dark station, we realize that we really have nothing to do there -- whatever there was.
I can't remember how we made it back to our town. I remember that we were stuck between the rails and the highway, that the houses of this small village were dark and silent. That we didn't learn much from the old timetables posted against the wall of the station. I remember we though we could walk it out. I remember we tried to hitchhike. But I have no recollection of how we actually made it back to Grenoble and our student dorm.
Mind you, it's a good one, the Laundromat. Even if you don't compare it to a ghost town in the middle of nowhere. 24/7, with cable, video games, ice cream/soda/candy machines. Almost like home. Only better. Because there, there's no drama queen throwing ipods into trash cans. So I grabbed my book, my passport and all the cash I have in the house because you can never tell what kind of psycho-shit a bitch is gonna do just because she doesn't feel spoiled enough and went to shoot the shit with my friends who run the burger place, then I went to the laundry and read there till one o'clock. When I came back, the trash bag was on the sidewalk and might or might not make a bum happy in the near future, and there was nobody in my room. Nothing had been slashed, broken, stolen, smashed or even thrown out the window. Which I took as a good sign.
I went into the bathroom and scrubbed the bathtub because there's just nobody to punch. Then I took a shower. Very hot. Then cold. Then I opened Blogger. Found a good reason to procrastinate, then opened it again and logged in. The trick that already works is: "Just write it and don't worry about it, you'll edit it later." Which of course never happens.
So, I had an ipod for a week but that was long enough for it to made it on the list of the things I'd take with me on an island if I were to rot there forever. It was enough for it to be my best friend. I miss him already.
The thing about the Jamaican coin is that I put coins in a video game at the Laundromat and of course it was fucked up and just ate my quarters without giving me any credit. So I called the guy at the desk and I thought he was gonna come with a key and open the box and give me my dollar back. Instead, this black dude who seemed to have just come straight from Jamaica, put a long iron thread into the slot and shook it until the coins dropped. The first one to come was a strangely shaped $10 Jamaican coin. I asked the guy if I could keep it as a souvenir.
