I went to bed at 7pm yesterday. Slept for maybe 6 or 7 hours. Quickly losing all capacity for logical thought. Tried to get through the subway turnstile without swiping my card. Seriously didn’t know what I was doing wrong for a second. Feh! At least there’s not a Cubs game that people are trying to get to. If I had to stand up, well… I’d probably fall down.
Reminds me of the one morning I got on the bus to go to work without realizing I had a fever and was rapidly becoming ill. I had to stand, of course. Those were the days when, like an idiot, I worked at 9:00am, so I always had to stand. I mean, I live at what, the third stop on the route? So, obviously. Anyway, I started feeling lightheaded, and wound up on the floor of that bus with my head between my knees, trying to stay conscious. Guess how many people asked me if I was okay or offered me a seat.
Yeah, whatevs. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, rambling in some sort of inane manner, I think. Got mistaken for an art student again today. But see, I only went to art school long enough to fake being arty before I dropped out. Which is really all you need, because art is bullshit, and bullshitting is an art. The only art, if you ask me (which you didn’t, but fuck you).
I got my passport stamped with temporary proof of permanent residency status today. Once again, I am a number! That kinda stinks, but it’s a step up from being nothing at all, like I was yesterday.
I think my A-number is the only number that identifies me without every second digit being a 7. Okay, and my phone number. There’s no pattern. A few of them are just similar, and I’m probably mildly dyslexic (or retarded).
I don’t want to go home, because there are responsibilities there. But I don’t have any money, so I can’t avoid it buying shoes. I’ve bought a lot of shoes lately.
This is the point of my train ride where I usually check whether there will be a northbound bus at the station south of my apartment, or a southbound bus at the station north of my apartment.
I’m too busy writing this right now to do that. So I figure I’ll take the option that involves encountering less hobos, and maybe I’ll get lucky.
Unfortunately, the non-hobo station is populated by frat boys. There’s no winning. The station before that…. tourists and cubs fans. Before that, hipsters. I like to guess where people are going to get off.
I’m pretty sure I look like I should have gotten off two stops ago, coming home from art school.
Okay, I’m at the station.