Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Tuesday's Gone

$13 Tuesday
Tuesday night, I went out and made about 12 bucks in a couple hours, after having run into Tim the violinist for the first time in at least a month, who handed me 5 of the 100 dollars that he still owes me on the amp.
There is rain in the area, but I might go to Starbucks with the gift card and the pack of cigarettes that I bought (Friday the new tax goes onto cigarettes in Louisiana and the price will jump from $6.50 to God knows what).
Well, I have about 24 minutes and a steaming cup of joe, here at Starbucks to try to brainstorm.
A lot of things are on my mind, and I'm starting to suspect that the weed that I have been smoking pretty regularly lately is causing me to dissociate from everyday problems and concerns.
Yesterday, I was down to the crucial stage of make money busking or don't eat. Sort of.
I had a box of macaroni in my cupboard, which I wound up pouring a can of black beans ($1.72) into and eating after having had a 13 dollar night.
One truly appreciates 13 dollars when it represents a ride home on the trolley and a hot meal waiting at the end of it; and of course no static from Harold the cat, who will have his nose in a can of Friskies (chicken feast with gravy this time) cat food.
The correlation between these nights when I make enough money to meet my immediate needs, with some left over to put in my savings jar, unless I spend that surplus on cigarettes and/or weed keeps rearing its head.
Yes, I could take a 2 week vacation to go and see family and friends every year on what I spend on the above.
It would have been nice if quitting drinking alone, with the saving that have come with that, (93 days at the end of tonight, now) were enough to have me rolling in cash. Instead I'm rolling weed in rice paper, using coffee like a drug and, maybe the saving grace; eating some good food, thrice as much as a "stomach bomb" at Mickey Dee's every night would set me back.
So, I got on the trolley, laden with my backpack with the laptop in it, which I would only get to use for 24 minutes (I have 10 minutes left).
Note: My apartment is the only one on my floor which doesn't have a deadbolt installed in the door. Tim, my caseworker pointed that out to me. "I don't know why they didn't give you a deadbolt; everyone else got one..."
Maybe the maintenance workers are in cahoots with the burglars.
Tonight would be a prime night to return to find my door jimmied open, now that I have my laptop and guitar on my back. I can't think of what else they might steal out of the place.
I need to either write a letter to Tanya Huang through Facebook messaging or plan to meet her at her spot some morning.
It has bothered me more than it should that she seems to have developed a distaste for me at this time when she is playing solo, having lost her partner of 12 years to cancer.
Does she think that I should have come around as soon as I heard the news, offering to help in any way I could?
Does it seem like I have shown my "true colors" by not having at least offered sympathy?
Are the dirty looks that she has been giving me meant to convey: "Don't come around here like a vulture with your guitar on your back, trying to worm your way into a gig with me?"
Or, does she hardly give me any thought at all?
All this,  I need to put in a letter.
It is too tempting to return my own scorn for her apparent contempt, and walk by and cuss her out. But that wouldn't be a genuine thing.
Maybe she is just a wreak now, trying to figure out what to do with her life; and probably wonders if I would be any help at all.

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