Waiter, May I Have Some Crackers With My Whine?

A friend of mine in the journal world said recently that New York had kicked her butt. I felt badly for her….and went on my merry way, savouring this fine city that has become my home, feeling my usual smugness over my perfect time here.

The smug fairy, who lives in Alphabet City, decided it was payback time...and this weekend, New York kicked my butt.

Hard.

I am scrambling to find a new home, my current abode will be expelling me like the banks did the Joads from their farm on Tuesday…. I vacillate between sharing with yet another unknown roommate, or forking out the same amount of rent for a postage stamp of an apartment. The upside is, I’ll have my privacy. The downside is, I’ll have to sell someone’s kidney and be willing to live with Lilliputian furniture in order to have such privacy.

I went so far as to ask a friend who flies to this end of the world on occasion to buy something and let me sub-let and I’d leave them remarkable food in return for my small amount of affordable rent.

Since I’ve yet to hear a response, I think they are still laughing..

My roommate yelled at me. He yelled at my dog for chasing his cats. This is after I had to spend from 8P onwards Saturday night in my room because he had ‘company’. Excuse me? I pay rent, and I can’t use the communal living space? And the company was l-o-u-d.

Yes, indeed.

I was ill over the weekend….my heart hurt. Not in the “Why isn’t the person I’ve come out into the world ready to be part of life for not ready yet?” hurt…I’m okay with that delay. Not “My son is going to Iraq, fucking idiots who start wars and send our sweet young souls to fight it for them.”, hurt, although that weighs on my mind daily. Not even, “Where in the hell am I going to live after Tuesday??”, hurt. I mean, hurt, hurt. Physical pain along with my hands and feet tingling like mad….causing me distress, exhaustion and the knowledge I’m not taking care of myself in post cancer time. I've been smug and not been taking care of that issue, either... pleased with my good health and putting my 'pre-existing health condition' to the back of my mind.

Paid for that little maneuver too.

It’s calcium causing these symptoms. Well, lack of it, to be honest. I don’t retain calcium, and with the whole little gland that can being gone and the doctors trying to treat me 1100 miles from where they are and me being the worst patient in the world…my calcium levels are bottoming out. I’m now eating those horrid calcium pills you chew, that proclaim they taste just like chocolate.

No they don’t…they taste awful. If they tasted like chocolate, I’d eat the damn things every day like I’m supposed to do.

I’ve guzzled a quart of milk this evening to wash down the gritty bits from my teeth, and I still hurt.

I imagine if I ate more than once every two or three days, that would help. Oh! You think so, self?

Problem is, I’m saving my money….see the first paragraph. I won’t eat hot dogs every day, I’m down to my last few rides on my Metro Card, and my last $10 in the bank. Yesterday, when I went to look at a flat, and realised I’d left my never ending card at work, I walked the 1.5 miles both ways to save $4.

I can use the exercise. Besides, where else would I have met JoJo and his dog, Ricki. Yes, Ricki with an ‘I’. He made sure to tell me the spellings of both their names. We chatted while Ricki and Douglas smelled each other. JoJo squealed when I told him I walked a pit bull. He and Ricki were terrified of pit bulls, he said. They were just too butch for him. He was surprised someone that didn’t look that big (I almost kissed him on that one) would walk a pit bull. He invited us to go to the dog park, but, I had that apartment that was that big to look at, so, we declined.

The walk down to Broadway and 159^th turned out to be a nice one, the weather was smooth, the music there put a bounce in your step. The flat was only a two floor walk-up! Hurrah! Sadly, I wasn’t impressed with it’s spacious beauty nor the 87 locks on the door.

Go figure.

I did, however, leave my keys to the apartment there....which means I had to get up and travel out to 68th in Brooklyn this morning...the A to the N to the R, then the R to the N to my stop to work...where I didn't get the poodle out in time.. and then missed an appointment to see a good place in the Village and...

For the first time, every person who saw me with the terrier told me I was supposed to have her in a carrier. Everyone. People on the train, a janitor, even an engineer came back to have me squeeze her into my computer bag with the computer. A cop at 42^nd had me do the same, rest her on top. He didn’t give me a ticket, but, did tell me how to sneak her past the next cop. I think most of the cops in New York are in my age bracket. It keeps me from getting tickets.

It can only get better, right?

Tonight, I go back to craigslist. I’ve rested, consumed calcium, will call my doctor in the am, refuse to go to hospital, and life will carry on.

Maybe I can find a van down by a river at a decent price….