The Oyster Bar at Grand Central is nothing like I expected. I thought it was a hoity-toity expensive place but it’s more like a bunch of places in one. Its layout is like the spaces that set the scene for some of my more elaborate dreams, which starts at an indoor swimming pool until I walk a few feet to the right and find myself in a shopping center, which in turn becomes a 7th grade classroom until I enter the coat closet, which leads to an enormous unlocked combination safe. The Oyster Bar was neat, and I could make it a regular pit stop, even though I do not like oysters. There is a huge menu and a saloon in the back. I don’t think I’ve actually been excited about a dining establishment like this in a long time — but it’s nothing to do with the food, just the space. Mayb it won’t be so enchanting on a return visit.
To my joy and delight I found a couple of abandoned Verizon payphones in the bathrooms, which an employee humorously directed me to by saying &Bathrooms are under the fish.& There is a big fish over the door leading to the bathrooms.
I spotted the payphone in the mens room and figured there had to be one in the womens room as well. I actually had the cojones to slightly open the door just enough to see that yes, indeed, there was a payphone in there. I might have entered furhter for a closeup photo but I heard woman’s voices from within. I’m sure they would have been welcoming, and they would have swooned with delight had I told them I entered their womanly space solely to inspect the payphone. I would have been a HERO.
I am trying a new text editor tonight, unsure if it will work to my stellar expectations.
Off booze again for another spell. I fucked up last week. I don’t know that another drink would not have killed me. I took one of those benzo anxiety pills and just forgot about this, imbibing a typical amount of booze before even 24 hours had elapsed. I think the rule is 72 hours after you take one of those before you can drink again but I give it 5 days. I don’t know how or why I let that slip my fucking mind. David’s response to this anecdote: “Don’t die on me.” I’m not planning to but that’s not what worries me. it’s fucking up, like I think Sandra might have done, if she didn’t off herself on purpose. Going to the doc next week to see if these benzo pills are even appropriate for me any more. What I think I need is something more broadly able to lower my BP, not target it on an as-needed basis. Or maybe I need something else, or a lack of something else. I think I just like the buzz of booze too much for that to be my first option. Goal has been to drink twice a week sans benzos. If I felt better about things, better about my life, if I felt less depressed and unhappy with who and what I am, then I might think that going totally without booze was a promising thing. But it makes no difference. I feel the same about my life with or without. If anything I feel worse about myself when I see what I am through sober eyes.
I showed someone the Links today. It was surprisingly fun. I should work for the company. I’ve engaged in some anarchistic pursuits. There are these really tawdry, racially charged chat lines I listen to once in a while. They are pretty harsh in a lot of ways. It’s mostly projects people who have nothing else to do but sit on the phone all day chatting with others in their ‘hood. A lot of seething anger but good communication, too. I call those lines from the Links and broadcast the content onto Third Avenue. People hear it. it’s intense.
