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  1. MY JUNK

    Wednesday, October 24, 2012

    By Helene "I GOT THINGS TO DO" Gresser


    I am smoking a cigarette and then am going to eat. I've had coffee brought to me by my guy (yeah, I know it's sickening to constantly chirp about how great my guy is, but it's been a LONG time, a LOOOONG dry spell, so suck it up and let me chirp), a hand-rolled ciggie made from spare tobaccy sitting around in butts and rolled in ciggie paper - yes, we're that poor and desperate in the wee hours - and a jelly doughnut. And I've gulped my Adderall and Pristiq and Abilfy, so I won't freak out or cry or space about how much stuff I need to get done in the next few days. It works. It all works. And now I am shaky and need to mangia, so I will go to Subway and get a tuna sub and then probably have no time to write more bloggy blog before I need to get on the train and do a set tonight at 6.

    I will attend to writing duties later. Forgive my sporadic entries today. I did get a lot done - arranged for movers to move my hastily stored crap from an expensive storage unit in Da Bronx to a less expensive storage unit in Queens next to my guy's shop. I paid for the new unit, called the Bronx place and told them I'm coming for my junk, and my Guy (now he's capitalized) agreed to let me use his spare shop space to sell whatever crap I don't need, so I will lighten my load and live more simply and move into some room I rent, hopefully not from some loud, drunken roommate who eats my peanut butter.

    My Guy is talking to me right now, telling me happy stories, and I cannot concentrate. I'm going to get off the computer and eat lunch with him. More to come, later. Likely much later. Life is happening right now. I need to attend to that.


    -hmg

    Addendum: It's now 2:25 a.m. I am smoking, just scrubbed a tub that will not yield its scum to my orange-scented cleaner, and I am mulling over my rambly set earlier tonight whilst watching Body Heat on the boob tube. I am also wondering why I did not buy TWO packs of ciggies from the cheap underground ciggie guy in Queens. My smoking disgusts me, but I am not stopping. I cannot stand the smell of stale smoke on my clothes and hair and fingers. I am coughing a weird phlegmy cough lately. Maybe I will stop soon. For some reason, I am finding the chain-smoking oddly comforting, despite all the medical issues I know it can cause. I cannot drink to excess because I get killer hangovers, I don't like getting stoned too often, nor do I view my Adderall as something to be taken for a fun high. I split my tablets in half to make it last longer because it cost so damn much without insurance. So the smoking is my vice of choice. I feel the need to be a little naughty, a little self-destructive, to soothe the constant panic thrumming through my nerves. I suppose it is childish and stupid, as well as repulsive to many, but I don't give a damn. Not right now.

    I haven't yet cried about being suddenly without my safe little apartment, have not lost my stoic resolve to get my shit together and find a cruddy room to live with my cats, and with a stranger making funny smells in the kitchen. New York hasn't kicked my ass so hard that I am ready to leave town, though I had contemplated moving to another city for other reasons not so long ago. This town likes to play hardball, and I can continue to be a player as long as I can steal bases and bunt. I like the freedom that I have, but am well aware of the weight that debt and lack of security adds to my hunched shoulders. I walk past Madison Avenue windows and see my curved back and furrowed brow in the reflection as I glance at sparkly Louboutin shoes and Dennis Basso furs. I contemplate Botox and massages and Pilates and know I cannot afford any of these luxuries. Fuck it, I might as well smoke, I think. At least for now. Just let me be a little bad. I've been so damn good all my life, so very careful to please others, so very self-conscious, so very accomodating. I kind of enjoy the occasional look of disgust and the lady who HOLDS HER NOSE as she passes by my little cloud of stank. That's right, I think, hold your damn nose. I am fouling the October air with my pollution stick. Deal. 'Cause I can deal with the city spitting in my face. For now, at least.

    -hmg
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  2. 2 comments:

    1. enjoy your re-rolled butts, jelly doughnut, and Guy. you're entitled. chirp away. :-)

    2. Spleen said...

      Thanks Mindy, and thanks for reading!

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