"...And I Was Actually Considering Not Going Out..."

• Lost Wallet
• Ruin Brought Upon Myself

Losing my wallet yesterday afternoon could be seen as evidence of "everything going wrong," or could be seen as a chance for a new beginning, of sorts.

I have one pair of jeans that allow the cushy seat on my Trek Calypso cruiser to work the wallet out of the back pocket as I pedal, depositing it on the road about a half mile from where I started riding. It has happened twice and both times I have doubled back and found it. Once, it was halfway between the Lilly Pad and home. How it hadn't fallen out on the way there is a mystery.
But, I knew about the jeans, and had planned upon marking them somehow or even throwing them away, but

My ID had expired a couple months ago. I never liked the picture on it, because I had been instructed to remove whatever head covering I was wearing at the time, and it wound up being a hat-head photo from hell. The address on it will be little help to any do-good-er who might want to return it, one more reason to want a new one. 

The $149 will be on the new food stamp card, when it arrives in 7 to 10 days with 7 to 10 days less in the month to spend it.

A new keypad card to access the Sacred Heart building will be 6 dollars, payable only by money order.

The American Express Serveᶜ card, I will figure out how to replace, either through a "Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line" holding session, or through the website that I will go to shortly.

The plasma card was another thing. I could not bring myself to go sell plasma for the fifteen bucks that I won't see for 7 to 10 days.

I would have had to have spent a couple of my precious dollars and would have come back facing the prospect of busking in a weakened state.

It is cold. Winter has arrived and it is a blustery 57 degrees, but feels like 53.

Last night, I got to the Lilly Pad at 11:39 PM.

I made it a point to look at the time that I was starting, because I was anticipating dividing the money I made by the time spent, because there was a part of me that wanted verification that busking is bullshit and I should turn my attention to the bars on Frenchmen Street that pay under the table.

But there was another part of me that remembered all of the times that I really dreaded going out for one reason or another, but had still dragged myself there, mechanically packing my stuff and doggedly pedaling my bike to the spot, and wound up having a great night.

A lot of my best nights ended with me placing, say, 58 bucks on my coffee table, after having met and conversed with interesting people, who perhaps friended me on social media, maybe shot a video that might go on Youtube, and me uttering something like: "...and I was actually considering not going out...wow..."

I made 8 dollars, and then checked the time. An hour had passed, though it had felt like a couple. Bobby had given me a small bud of weed out of the kindness of his heart. He is another one whom I owe money to. But part of that was for a grow light that he had foisted upon me when he was paranoid and wanted to get it out of his apartment. He gave me a great deal on it, and I have always wanted one, since my windows face northeast, not necessarily to grow pot, but to grow anything well. But I owe him for it.

I had sat on my couch, not wanting to move, after returning from not wanting to move off of Howard's couch.

I made strong coffee.

The hit of THC that I had taken that afternoon, before riding in oblivion, minus my wallet, towards Howard's had worn off.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, will be to make a drawing of Erin, as a going away present to her, as she is leaving the Uxi Duxi as soon as they stop asking her to cover shifts vacated by other employees....

It was worn off by the time I found myself comfortably dozing in front of Howard's TV. I had to wake him up after the Pittsburgh Steelers took a 14 point lead, to tell him that I was leaving. It was early enough for me to make it to the Lilly Pad by 9:30 PM, were I to make a beeline for it. But that was on the other side of the river, seemingly a world away.

But, there I was sipping coffee at 9 PM.

Common sense would indicate that if I am determined to go out, then it should be done as early as possible.

The ride back and forth is pretty much a fixed amount of tedium, which has to be weighed against the night's result, and is the same whether I play for a half hour and make cigarette money, or if I go for three hours and make enough to pay back Jacob the money I owe him, Bobby, the money I owe him, order new strings, maybe a new harmonica, etc...

It is barely busking weather right now, though. A bit of drizzle is blowing around in a breeze strong enough to blow tips out of a basket and down the street. People don't seem to want to stand and listen to a busker as much when it's windy, for some reason. Maybe the wind in their ears is distracting...

If I bundle up and go out, though, it is going to be an easy pedal on the way there, I had to lean into the wind on my way here to the Uxi Duxi, which is in the opposite direction.


Things could be worse. It seems like a good time to embark upon a 7 to 10 day fast and cleanse, with the emphasis on the latter.

If it wasn't for weed, I might have noticed that I was putting on the one pair of jeans that my wallet had fallen twice already out of. And, there is a reason why Jay Leno referred to weed as: "ambition-be-gone." This phenomenon varies between individuals.

And the kratom, while making me more productive, can make me more machine-like and more out of touch with the reason behind the productivity

I got in this mess by forsaking my everyday responsibilities in order to carouse with Jacob and his friends, who are not burdened by the same requirements to go out and produce a living every night. They can sing and dance all day and then just go the the refrigerator whenever they are hungry.

But, it always boiled down to me giving the recording of music a higher priority than anything else I might have done. I think these priorities are in order, but where I messed up was by continuing to buy cigarettes. Quitting all vices would be the appropriate sacrifice to make in order to be able to spend a whole weekend in the studio and not wind up in arrears.

Then, getting the toothache, being rained out of playing outside the Superdome, getting the rash on my plasma donating arm, losing the wallet, all occurred. But I brought it all upon myself, except for the rain.

In a little while, I will ride back to the apartment, find a few replacement strings to throw in my pack because the ones on the guitar are ready to break, be thankful that I bought a 20 pack of batteries the last time I had a good night busking, about 3 weeks ago now, and then just go out to the Lilly Pad.

87% of success in life is in just showing up.