Through Rain Or Snow, Sleet Or Hail
It looks like I'm going to have to use some kind of "Priority" mail to perhaps get the Christmas card to my mom by Saturday.
I had my alarm set for 1:11 PM.
I never set the thing to go off at conventional times, like right on the hour, or fifteen minutes before. That reminds me too much of societal conventions, I guess. Like the court date when you have to be there at 8 AM sharp or they will issue a failure to appear warrant and, of course, regular "9 to 5" jobs.
I only had about 4 hours of sleep in, when it went off, which made me hit snooze repeatedly. This was something that I had thought about as I sat up reading the night before.
Eventually, after a snooze alarm had failed to stir me, I woke up with only a half hour to make it to the Post office before it closed at 4:30 PM, sharp. Again.
Fishing For The "Merry Christmas" Tip
I guess it is incumbent upon me to go out and busk on this Wednesday night when it is forecast to be in the 50's and to make enough to render the extra postage for "priority" mail insignificant.
I am happy that the shortest day and the longest night of the year has arrived, and am looking forward to two minutes of extra light each of the coming days. In the doldrums of winter, a man clings to anything positive and uplifting.
This is my third day without smoking any weed.
Last night I was feeling the focus of mental energy that comes with being free of certain substances.
Jail Story: 1992
I was reminded of when I was in jail (one of the first times) and some of the other inmates, who had been out on the streets getting high on one thing or another 24/7 since they were old enough to reach an ashtray on a coffee table or unscrew a gas cap, were having epiphanies and revelations, after maybe the first couple weeks of their lives when they were getting three meals a day, eight hours of sleep and not being high on one thing or another 24/7.
There is kind of a false bravado and an over reaching of sorts that goes on.
There was a young black kid a couple cells down from me who I heard one night, telling the guard who was making his rounds at about two in the morning, "You know, I think when I get out of here I'm gonna become a record producer!"
And then, to underscore the seriousness of his intentions, added: "It's gonna be hard..."
He had gotten hold of a little FM radio and a set of headphones of the kind sold through the commissary, by trading his upcoming breakfast tray to another inmate, perhaps.
He was feeling the rush of mental clarity and focused energy that comes on day x of sobriety, and which has a counterpart on day x of a water fast.
People who actually do achieve things like becoming record producers are fueled by this, which is almost one and the same with a "passion" for what they are doing.
It's a kind of false sense in that, given the extremes of having what it takes to build skyscrapers or produce records and having what it takes to become high on one thing or another 24/7, most people's nature falls somewhere between. It is a worthwhile goal to be "predominately" the former.
The kid was just hearing how sweet music sounds after the absence of it for a couple weeks (outside of whatever was playing on the radio in the van that took him to the courthouse and back to the jail) and was over reacting.
Sure, he could very well become a record producer if he were to continue sober and getting eight hours of sleep each night and good nutrition.
"Uh huh," grunted the guard who was making his rounds and who had probably seen his share of record producer hopefuls leave the jail only to return a few months later, a little more strung out and maybe just a bit less grandiose in their visions of "when I get out of here" once they reach that point of detox: "I'm gonna go stay with my sister on the other side of town so I won't be around the same people all the time and I'll work out of the labor pool until I get my G.E.D., then I'll try to get hired on with the Parks Department, that way I can be there for my kids..." That's more like it.
"Do you even know the first thing about how records are produced?" I thought to myself from my own cell before replacing my own headphones.
So, last night, I sat reading on my bed.
I read for a lot longer than I would have had my attention been drifting on weed.
You know, I could quit smoking altogether and have my whole library read in a couple months, then start a regular working schedule until my novel is done.. I thought to myself as I closed the book. Then, realizing what was going on in my brain after three days off pot, I caught myself before going on to think: ..and then see about becoming a record producer...
 |
| Card has "snowballs chance in hell" of arriving on time |
I had my alarm set for 1:11 PM.
I never set the thing to go off at conventional times, like right on the hour, or fifteen minutes before. That reminds me too much of societal conventions, I guess. Like the court date when you have to be there at 8 AM sharp or they will issue a failure to appear warrant and, of course, regular "9 to 5" jobs.
I only had about 4 hours of sleep in, when it went off, which made me hit snooze repeatedly. This was something that I had thought about as I sat up reading the night before.
Eventually, after a snooze alarm had failed to stir me, I woke up with only a half hour to make it to the Post office before it closed at 4:30 PM, sharp. Again.
Fishing For The "Merry Christmas" Tip
 |
| "I enjoyed that song..." |
I am happy that the shortest day and the longest night of the year has arrived, and am looking forward to two minutes of extra light each of the coming days. In the doldrums of winter, a man clings to anything positive and uplifting.
This is my third day without smoking any weed.
Last night I was feeling the focus of mental energy that comes with being free of certain substances.
Jail Story: 1992
I was reminded of when I was in jail (one of the first times) and some of the other inmates, who had been out on the streets getting high on one thing or another 24/7 since they were old enough to reach an ashtray on a coffee table or unscrew a gas cap, were having epiphanies and revelations, after maybe the first couple weeks of their lives when they were getting three meals a day, eight hours of sleep and not being high on one thing or another 24/7.
There is kind of a false bravado and an over reaching of sorts that goes on.
There was a young black kid a couple cells down from me who I heard one night, telling the guard who was making his rounds at about two in the morning, "You know, I think when I get out of here I'm gonna become a record producer!"
And then, to underscore the seriousness of his intentions, added: "It's gonna be hard..."
He had gotten hold of a little FM radio and a set of headphones of the kind sold through the commissary, by trading his upcoming breakfast tray to another inmate, perhaps.
He was feeling the rush of mental clarity and focused energy that comes on day x of sobriety, and which has a counterpart on day x of a water fast.
People who actually do achieve things like becoming record producers are fueled by this, which is almost one and the same with a "passion" for what they are doing.
It's a kind of false sense in that, given the extremes of having what it takes to build skyscrapers or produce records and having what it takes to become high on one thing or another 24/7, most people's nature falls somewhere between. It is a worthwhile goal to be "predominately" the former.
The kid was just hearing how sweet music sounds after the absence of it for a couple weeks (outside of whatever was playing on the radio in the van that took him to the courthouse and back to the jail) and was over reacting.
 |
| The sound you're referring to? That's a pencil raked across jail cell bars!! |
Sure, he could very well become a record producer if he were to continue sober and getting eight hours of sleep each night and good nutrition.
"Uh huh," grunted the guard who was making his rounds and who had probably seen his share of record producer hopefuls leave the jail only to return a few months later, a little more strung out and maybe just a bit less grandiose in their visions of "when I get out of here" once they reach that point of detox: "I'm gonna go stay with my sister on the other side of town so I won't be around the same people all the time and I'll work out of the labor pool until I get my G.E.D., then I'll try to get hired on with the Parks Department, that way I can be there for my kids..." That's more like it.
"Do you even know the first thing about how records are produced?" I thought to myself from my own cell before replacing my own headphones.
So, last night, I sat reading on my bed.
I read for a lot longer than I would have had my attention been drifting on weed.
You know, I could quit smoking altogether and have my whole library read in a couple months, then start a regular working schedule until my novel is done.. I thought to myself as I closed the book. Then, realizing what was going on in my brain after three days off pot, I caught myself before going on to think: ..and then see about becoming a record producer...
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