Uh-oh...... Really, Don't Read This... Booooooring.....

Well, I supposed it was bound to happen, although I didn't expect it quite so soon.  And really, I've been working -- honest!  Hours and hours, scouring over typescripts, deleting words right and left, expunging gratuitous adjectives, rearranging whole paragraphs...

But no -- no matter how hard I've tried today, I arrive at 10:21 pm, and aside from a few mangled, partly finished things, I Have Nothing To Post.

Well, in my own defense, it has been an unusually busy day, for a guy like me, who tries to avoid doing anything unless it's strictly necessary.  For instance, instead of an afternoon composed mostly of unstructured time (my favorite kind), I had a doctor's appointment.  Nothing serious, I was thinking -- I've been having some dizzy spells, and it was recommended that I see a neurologist, in case my carotid arteries were about to explode or something.  Actually, I kind of wrote off the first doctor's suggestion, until I heard something about carotid artery problems, in some police show on TV.  Oh my God, I thought -- if it's on TV, it must be serious.  Even if it's only in one of the few episodes of Law and Order I can't literally lip-synch.

So I made an appointment.  My wonderful doctor has her practice in Jersey City, which used to be a long walk, or a brutal bus ride from our apartment over on Kensington Avenue, down the street from the Catholic girls' school, where they threw out all that chemistry equipment one time, and I found an old blue suitcase, probably used by one of the nuns, and in one of the little inside pockets, made of lots of fabric all crinkled up, I found two little glass vials of perfume -- one smelling of rose, and the other of something indistinct.  There was also a set of old earbuds.  They were, appropriately, black.  I had the strangest realization, as I held this suitcase, that I was glimpsing the temptations and sins of some poor nun, who spent her life in Jersey City, at the intersection of Kennedy Boulevard and Kensington Avenue, teaching sullen, uniformed girls things they didn't care about -- when all the while, she dreamed of smelling like a rose.

Now, though, since we've moved to South Orange, I have a much longer commute -- a drive through East Orange (I think), and then out onto some brutal highways that tip wrong, so all the cars are kind of forced off the road.  Then I dip down into the swamplands that always flood when there's a serious rain, and where the Post Office is located (who would think that a Post Office might need to worry about water damage, anyway?); just past that, I zoom as fast as I can, heading for those two black drawbridges across the sorry river between Kearny and Jersey City.  Today, there was a terrible back-up, due to a three-car fender-bender, I discovered, as I finally snaked past the unfortunate drivers, and got myself up into Jersey City proper, and to the parking garage on Magnolia St.  There was a ticket jam in the dispenser at the entry gate, and a very affable Arab guy who works there came over and fixed it.  I asked him if he gets a lot of reading done, as his job involves a lot of sitting around, but he said he spends most of his time with his cell phone, on Facebook.  I told him I'd been without electricity for a whole week, and cable for two, and he said he would go crazy if he had to be without his computer for even one day.

I actually got to the doctor's office exactly on time, but of course I always have to wait.  I'd brought a crossword puzzle and a drawing pad, but was distracted by some of the people around me.  I get like that sometimes.  Snotty and judgmental.  Well, they were kissing and stuff.  I had the most stinging exchange with them, in my head of course.  I was afraid to say anything to them, in real life.  They looked a little dangerous, and careless too.

Anyway, after about an hour, my name was called, and I had to get weighed -- I've lost maybe 12 or 13 pounds, which isn't all that surprising to me, as I've had difficulty eating lately -- can't tell the difference between nausea and hunger.  (Well, that's not strictly true -- I also feel angry and helpless and not worth much, and about the only thing I can think of, to help keep our household on something like an even financial keel, is to restrict my eating.  I told my psychiatrist about this, and he just waved his hand and said, 'Oh, you don't need to eat too much'.  Then he told me to focus on fruits and vegetables, and drink lots of water.  But he's from Nigeria originally, where the average daily caloric intake is probably a tithe of what we expect to eat -- I'm sure, to him, all of us Americans look swollen and unhealthy)  Then I got to see the doctor -- I've always liked her (hence my willingness to drive through a slice of unheated hell to get to her office), and I think we have a good rapport.  I need to see a neurologist, about that carotid thing.  I need to have an MRI, because my right knee still isn't good -- although the doctor said she didn't see any physical evidence of something wrong.  And, because it's almost a year since my last physical, I have an appointment for a blood test in two weeks.

All of this was nice, but it put me on my return trip to South Orange at the precise leading edge of rush hour.  I got stuck on some new overpass, and contemplated going home via Hoboken, but then decided just to sit there like everyone else (even though, because I was driving John's car, I knew there was no food in it, and that was a little alarming.  I prefer to have food around, even if I'm not going to eat it.  Don't ask, please), until the traffic started moving again.  By the time I got back home, I had just an hour to work on finishing my newest 'real' post, but that clearly wasn't long enough.  (It's a kind of gruesome piece, actually, and I'm not sure I'll ever really feel sure about it)

Then, I had to get ready to drive to New Brunswick, for choir rehearsal at John's church -- I sing with a group called Canticum Novum, and I really enjoy the other singers.  But to get there, I usually take the 31 bus, from Dover St. and South Orange Ave., about four miles into downtown Newark, and at last to Newark Penn Station.  Often, on the 31, I am the only one on the bus who looks at all like... me.  It should happen to everyone at least once, I think.  At Newark Penn, I take NJT to New Brunswick.  $4, one way (because I'm so ooooooooooold).  The commute takes about an hour and a half, or sometimes a week, depending on how I feel.   In New Brunswick, John and I reluctantly have dinner at someplace neither of us is thrilled about, and back at the church, right before everyone arrives, I sharpen pencils for us to use (how Little House on the Prairie.  Which I have never ever seen even one minute of, ever, by the way.  Hmmm -- that makes me think -- maybe I could do an entry on all the cultural icons that I've missed throughout my life?)

But today, instead of taking the train, I drove, using first the Garden State, and then the Turnpike.  As I drove, I thought about something I could write, here, as a legitimate post, for you -- but I couldn't quite keep my mind on it, because of all the stopping and starting, the hypnotic stream of red lights ahead of me, and the sheer volume of weaving traffic.  In spite of all that (and because I drive like a maniac), I got to the church in 45 minutes -- leaving me just enough time to run to Starbux for bracing coffee and a starchy bagel.  We worked for just over an hour -- it seemed to be a difficult rehearsal for John somehow -- I think he's just bone tired -- and then we drove back home.  Stopped, as usual, at Stop'n'Shop (I think) in Union (I think -- it's always dark when we go there), so he could get some tortilla wrappers for lunch, some chocolate ice cream, and two cans of cat food -- we're thinking of weaning the cats off their dry food; I think we'll start it tomorrow.  (We also joked, grimly, about the possible eventuality of selecting cat food flavors... for ourselves.  So funny)

Outside, just beyond the supermarket parking lot, and at the intersection of two roads whose names I probably should know, but don't, as to me they both look identical, there was a dramatic scene, reminding me of a dystopian nightmare -- my favorite genre.   Road work taking over the whole intersection.  Huge glaring lights shone down on earth-moving equipment lumbering in the narrow space,  Pavement had been pulled up and thrust aside.  Concrete had been split and piled everywhere.   Police vehicles sat with their warning lights whirling, casting lurid red and blue shadows over what was still, and what was moving.  There were a few men with hard hats, looking like toys.  Lots of deep grinding, and heavy things pushing other heavy things.  All that was missing was a school bus full of unusually well-behaved kids, and an army of extra-hungry zombies.  As we left the parking lot, I mentioned to John that perhaps I should have been more ambitious in my art -- maybe I should have gone into some kind of mass-destruction aesthetic, where, on a semi-regular basis, I eliminate small towns.  He didn't think it was such a good idea.  Although he's probably right, I think he's really just worried that I would make an even bigger mess than I already do.

But now, I think I'm going to have some of that chocolate ice cream we bought (it's their store brand, and is surprisingly good), and get ready for bed.

By the way -- this isn't what I consider a legitimate 'blogue' experience, but maybe only the truly bored or desperate will actually read this.  Lifers with wi-fi.  Then tomorrow, when I should have some of that unstructured time I love so much, I can either go back over this, or (as is more likely) erase it all, and post something else.  Although I do like the idea of the sinning nun, and the blanks in my cultural experience, and anything involving weak children outnumbered by zombies.

Sorry about this.  Don't you have a television or something?

© 2011 Walter Zimmerman