Mood Today

I am in a mood today, not sure what kind yet because I am only half way through my first cup of Black Beard's Blend organic, fair-trade coffee, but I think it is going to be a good one. My spirit is optimistic. One drawback: I am at my favorite coffee shop, where I am the only person, it seems, without a little white or pastel or silver, sticker covered Air Mac. I need some stickers for my laptop. Not looking rebellious enough, and the heater in here must be set on sweat lodge. the coffee and atmosphere are excellent as always, though.

Some things I have been noticing lately:

Wasn't I excited to find out I was released from prison in the middle of a full-blown tight pants epidemic! They are everywhere. Soccer-moms, tiny Asian girls, yuppies, red-necks, punk rocker chicks, hipsters, cheerleader types, big girls, skinny girls, bag ladies, women going to church, women going to hell, women in the coffee shop, women at the bus stop, lawyers, Wendy's register workers, black girls, white girls, all the shades in between girls, every woman, it seems, is in the tightest pants she can squeeze into. Black stretchy pants, multi-colored stretchy pants, jeans, cords. Nine out of ten pairs of pants are skin tight. Some of them uncomfortably so, it looks. Ladies, I am totally on board. This is the greatest idea since man decided to climb down from the trees and give cave dwelling a go. (creationists, please no evolutionary debates) I'm with you when you ladies on this one. Not too often we find something we 100% agree on, but maybe this is the start of a new trend.

Speaking of women, the red head who works at the school I walk by every morning hasn't been there all week. Perhaps she is on vacation? Perhaps she is conveniently busy at the same time I walk by each morning? I am not a stalker. I walk by, keeping the same pace, glance and admire, and continue on. I believe the statutes require more than a once daily passing to show Intent to Stalk. If there is such a law, which I am sure there is. Maybe Conspiracy to Stalk?

My chore this morning was to clean the bathroom. The suspicious pile of toilet paper was in its usual spot, wadded up next to the toilet. The bathroom closes at 7:30 cleaning. This is the time most of the residents remember they have to take a shit or brush their teeth or take a shower or masturbate or shoot their dope. Everyone wants to bitch that the bathroom is always dirty, but no one wants to stay the fuck out of it for five minutes so it can get cleaned. Communal living is so much fun! Is your family like this? Insanity and addiction makes for the funnest mornings.

Yesterday, I am at the library. There is an Asian girl passed out on the desk she is sitting at, drooling on her Air Mac. Even snoring gently. Three security guards walk by. Two library employees are helping someone find a book five feet away from the sleeping lotus flower. Nobody says a thing. I have seen homeless, or what you would associate as homeless-- dirty clothes, lots of them, bag of scavenged cigarette butts hanging out of pocket, given up, hopeless look in their bloodshot eyes --person close their eyes for thirty seconds, and no less than two employees will be hovering over them saying, "If you close your eyes again we're calling the police." Maybe the homeless should start disguising themselves as beautiful, young lotus flowers.

There is a proportional equation which can be drawn up to calculate the link between the dropping temperatures and the dropping numbers of the bible and dead fetus picture waving people outside of the Planned Parenthood location here in Bloomington. I guess the lesson here is, if you want to have a slightly less stressful abortion have it in the winter.

I spoke to my childhood best friend, Tristan, last night. I sent him a message with my number a couple weeks ago, and hadn't heard from him, so I imagined I wouldn't. He is not on Facebook much, was the reason. We talked for two hours. I have had my phone for a month now, and haven't talked a total of two hours. Texted yes, talked no. It was awesome. It was like the years of separation hadn't occurred. It blows me away that the bond that was formed thirty years ago, over BMX bikes and Duran Duran posters, is as strong as ever. This has been happening to me fairly regularly lately. This is the one benefit to Facebook for me. (Other than posting my worst moments for all to read, pissing people off, making fun of Joe Hollywood, flirting with Taco Person, etc.)

I have an address now. A homeless person who has a home. It is on seventh street in North Tonawanda. I have a parole meeting today at 2:15, and hope to get this mess moving in the direction of me going to my home. I will not tell you the address, because I sometimes say inappropriate things to people's wives. I am sorry. I can't help it. I am sure she still loves you and her late night texts to me mean nothing. Husbands, please don't beat me up. God made me this way.

I feel loved, which is something I haven't had to deal with in a long time. I forgot what a pain in the ass it is. Seriously, I have had so many people-- relatives, old friends, ex-loves, people I barely remember-- writing me to offer their support. It is getting hard on this old skeptic to remain a skeptic.

But there will be madness, don't worry. I am in a reflective spot in my life right now, and mood affects my what I write about. I wish I hadn't sent my prison journals back to Buffalo with my sister, sure there are some fun tales in there for your reading enjoyment. I feel like I am pussing out on you guys, but bear with me. Things will get back to their normal insanity inspired ways. Hopefully I will find something out today, which will be a big relief.

For now, there is beauty and reflection everywhere. On the B-Line trail this morning saw a breathtaking red head walking two Dalmatians and wanted to cry. The woman who manages this coffee shop-- long, dark hair, pristine, milky skin, nerdy glasses --is so terrifyingly special to look at that I fumble for my money and say, "Mug, please." I can barely look her in her quicksand, blue eyes, for fear I'll never look away.

It is 10:00 am and the coffee on an empty stomach is getting to me. I need to go eat. Once this parole meeting is over, and I am hopefully feeling optimistic, I may have to write some insanity. My sister has sent me a dohicky to get on the internet back at the Funny Farm (have any of you readers ever wondered where I would be without my sister? I have.), so I will be able to observe the insanity and write about it in real time.

I'm out of here.