The afternoon is leaning on toward suppertime already. We’ll all have to go thru the familiar motions of eating again in this very plush crazyhouse, before we, and I mean any of us, ever get the least bit hungry, as usual. I’ve got things to do, but I’m rebelling against the tide. I don’t want to be bothered with attending someone else’s schedule. The air conditioner feels too cold here in my apartment, but with the heat of my laptop is keeping me warm. I hate to turn the darned thing down.
There’s just no comfortable way to procrastinate against writing checks that need to be written. I’m letting them hang over my head, and it doesn’t give me any peace.
There’s the usual trouble in the hallway, with that family who are always having hard words with each other publicly. I don’t want any parts of that business. It’s none of my affair. In fact, I regret ever having had anything to do with any of them, in the first place. I just got sucked into it, like everyone else. They fight with each other publicly, way too much. There’s always a random issue that makes them say harsh things to each other. You’d think there’s some kind of elder abuse going on there, the way they carry on. Who knows? Then they go around treating all the rest of us who live here as if we’re specially welcome new members of their family. Where’s that at? How soon will they be yelling at me? They’re always interacting with all of us as if we’re all old friends. I’m not their old friend. They don’t know me at all, really. I think it’s all so completely inappropriate.
Now I’m wondering whether I should have ever begun writing at all, because it’s so late toward suppertime, but then it’s only just before three in the afternoon. I can get a good jump on a story if I work at it hard enough. I can even leave it for when I get back from the program, or for tomorrow. Put it into my laptop, and walk away from it. I end up feeling relieved that I’ve gotten something begun on my work desk for later on when I feel like writing again.
The phone keeps ringing, and I’ve been interrupted from my work often enough. I’ve answered the phone often enough by now. From now on, whoever the callers may be, they may leave a message for later. I’m busy.
There now. I’ve taken the time and written the check that was hanging over my head. I feel much better already. It’s bad enough to have to owe somebody money in the first place. There’s no sense in making them wait too long to get paid. Specially when it’s someone I want to keep in my corner. That only makes them feel like I’m wasting their time.
Well, I’ve been so completely rewarded that I was on my way to supper, with the envelope with the check in it, in my hand to take it to the mailbox, that I encountered the mailman in the hallway. That gives some dispatch to my payment, right there. My obligation is on it’s way.
Then, I went thru the motions of getting a little food to eat, and really the most of what I had was some milk, some sausage, and a little ice cream. But now the evening is getting on, and I’ve been out to my meeting of the program with a couple of guys in a car. I’m not the least bit hungry, though I suppose I should be, having skipped most of lunch and supper today.
I guess you’re wondering what the point is to all of this, and frankly, so am I. Seinfeld was no less pointless than this writing is, and how long was that show popular on the boob tube? That’s right. I’m writing about nothing, because this is what is coming to my mind. This is a free country. I don’t have to have any deeply significant things to say, in order to write everyday. The point is to write everyday, whether it’s focused, or significant, or not.