There aren't enough drugs to make me feel better.



4/18/01

I begin my workday at 11:30 pm. The day has been filled with phone calls about car accidents, insurance companies, bad health, cat scans and bones scans, things that don't work, more things that don't work, special deals on vinyl windows, democratic parties needing money, home equity loans, and even some friendly calls. By eleven, the phone calls stop. The wrong numbers on my cell phone stop. [I'm sorry about all of those screwed up drug deals. Sorry. I'm just a guy working at his computer. Definitely not the man.]

It's almost my dinner time as well, so I head out to the local Pavilion's. I trigger the security lights on the paparazzi's house. I wait for the streetlights to change because everyone driving now is in a hurry. Or too high to be in one.

I'm in luck. There's still a Greek sandwich left over from the day. And even though I've quit drinking, I grab a Kirin big boy. I look for a greeting card to convey some of my thoughts to my family. But nothing fits my life. Where are the "what-am-I-going-to-do-when-you're-gone" cards? The cat scan calls have got me thinking about mortality. Not mine. Not yet, I only think in short terms. Short term memory loss and short term future vision. It keeps my world very much in the present. No, that's wrong. I force the present, but I seem to dwell on the past, barely able to contemplate the future. And this is a life?

There's only one checkout lane open. Nine people in line at midnight. Who knew? The woman in front of me has a twenty-five pound bag of cat food in her cart. She asks if I want to put my things down while we wait. I say no, I'm practicing my balance. She tells me the food is for some cats in the valley. Years ago she was in a bingo game in the valley and started feeding some wild cats. Bingo ended, but she feels an obligation to the cats. They depend on her. And it's not good for any living thing to be hungry. So she's driving out to the valley from Hollywood, tonight, to feed some wild cats. I look at my beer and feta cheese sandwich and my raisinettes and think maybe cat food would be a more nutritious meal. She wishes me a good night when she leaves. The cashier doesn't even look up as my purchases are processed.

I get home and nothing is resolved. No fix-everything e-mails or phone messages. sonofabitch




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