My Occupation

My pillow, my blanket, my toolbox and
my car...

I woke up this morning without the aid of being nudged by Sue.
She had already left her spot, on the other side of a hill which is barely visible in the upper left of this photo. I had chosen not to sleep next to her, for the second consequetive night. She is safe enough with the people whom she has around her. I kind of feel like "the devil she knows" when I sleep by her. She is only slightly more afraid of being alone than of my trying to touch her.
In the mornings, she disappears to somewhere that I am never privy to, and I only randomly run into her.
Yesterday, I saw her only briefly in the afternoon.
She wanted me to get her some fries at Brother's Market after I (unwittingly?) told her that I was going to run there to get a hard lemonade. She seemed to already know that I had money.
I thought about our mutual "friend," a guy from St. Louis whom Sue hangs around with sometimes, a panhandler, he is, who holds a sign which reads something about a "homeless Vietnam vet," and he also bums unashamedly by the Westin Hotel. It bothers me when the guy brags about the money that he manages to beg off of tourists, especially the joy he conveys when talking about the "clever" strategies that he uses. He told me that he was asking people for "two cents," the other night, and that the people thought that that was amusing. "What are you going to do with two cents?" asked one incredulous lady.
"Well, then, how about a dollar?" countered the guy from St. Louis, whereupon the lady gave him 6 dollars.
"You got to use humor!" he told me. There was an enthusiasm in his voice, as if he was chomping at the bit to get out there and beg some more, and get drunk once again. He seems very content with his occupation of panhandling. Meanwhile, I would have to play about an hour on some nights to get 6 dollars.
I thought about how I had seen him that morning and he told me that he saw me playing on Iberville Street and "It looked like you were doing pretty good; you had some money in your case."
Then I thought about the probability that he had encountered Sue and related to her the information that I had made money the night before, thus prompting her to ask me to get her fries.
It is not so much the dollar and a half that I spent, but the personal dynamics involved that bothered me and reenforced my decision to sleep in a different spot than her.
She seems to expect me to take care of her the way a boyfriend would; be there for her, support her and her cat; but to never touch her.
I think she is afflicted with a syndrome that women, who were once beautiful, and who learned how to interact socially during that phase of life, but who are now pushing 50 years of age, often succumb to. They continue to be flirtatious expecting their youth and beauty to open doors for them; but not realising that they are running out of ammunition, in their fight to be pampered.
I'm not saying that Sue isn't attractive, but, there are different "kinds" of beauty. I would imagine she could have "stopped a clock" when she was 17..
Except for that one evening on Canal Street, when she told me that I could kiss her, (even though I had never even touched her or held her hand out of an instinctive feeling that she would scratch my eyes out like a cat) she has become jumpy and skittish and hard to figure out.

My worldly posessions, half can of beer included...

Monday night found me standing on a sidewalk watching the Dolphins lose to the Jets, with me running to the beer store at halftime, during time-outs and commercials.
Some guy was tearing open bags out of a trash can in the alley between the beer store and the sports bar. He gave me three of the several peirs of sunglasses which he had uncovered.
After waking up and taking the picture of myself in one of the pairs of shades, I went to the Rebuild Center for a shower, during which I washed most of the clothes tht I have in my pack.
I now will go and throw them in a dryer for a few quarters worth of time, before going to find a spot to play at, on this not-so-promising Tuesday night.

Utilization of time continues to be an issue.
Walking through the library makes me realize that there are several areas of study that I am trying to tend to.
I am studying Latin, Spanish, Music, chess, World History, as well as attempting to become "well read" in the classics as well as contemporary writings.
It feels like I have only 10 minutes to devote to each discipline; not to mention my efforts to make this the most interesting (not long or boring) blog that I can muster.

It seems that the study of The Holocaust is being put in my way, perhaps by some divine Hand.

One of the ten best
books that I have ever
read in my life (96 pts.)

I took a picture of the Holocaust Memorial on the Riverwalk a couple weeks ago. Shortly thereafter, the novel I was reading (Beach Music, by Pat Conroy) turned its subject matter to The Holocaust when some of the main characters relived their horrific experiences of it.
The characters were Jewish, by the way...
Then, yesterday morning, there was sitting on the ground nearby where I slept, a book called "The Drowned and the Saved" (or something similar) which is about; you guessed it: The Holocaust, from a perspective of 40 years after.
So, for some cosmic reason, I am learning all about The Holocaust. Maybe there will be cattle car references in an upcoming song.
I am developing the ability to skim pages and absorb only the main points; a habit I never formed when reading Dickens.