I was admitted to the Inner Sanctum of the 181 today. Ms. Adams, who has commented to others that I am one of the only nice customers she encounters at the Rockefeller Center Post Office, was processing my payment for another year of the 181 when, to my surprise, she opened the door to the area where the mail is sorted and said “Come on back here, sign the receipt.” I commented that I had never seen this space before. She said “Neither have I.” I was not sure what that meant I laughed anyway. She added something about “I might not see this place before I retire.”

She said that the credit card reader by the door where I usually get packages and certified mail was not working. If I were some random person she did not know or trust she would have just told me to go to the other side, to the main post office, to renew my PO Box. Or, more likely, I might have just done it online or at an Automated Postal Center. I chose not to do it that way because I like the human element, even when it is not always certain what level of tranquility or consternation I will face from whoever opens the door.

I’ve had a few pleasant encounters at that office, It took years for those pleasantries to occur but they happen. I realized today that it will be 25 years since I rented the 181 for the first time. It was on my birthday in 1991. I remember at the time I deliberated between getting a PO box and a safe deposit box. My choices came down to the 181 at Rockefeller Center or a safe deposit box at the Twin Towers, World Trade Center. Guess I got lucky on that decision.

I had a eureka moment today. More to come but I intend to give this moment of inspiration a requisite cooling off period of 72 hours to see if I find it as inspiring and focus-forming as it seemed earlier today. In a nutshell, someone called me a “flaneur”, adding that the very word “defines the Mark Thomas experience.”

I believe it was my mother who first called me a flaneur, and it was my friend Joe (now in Chicago) who buttressed the comment by saying that his favorite definition for the term was “CONSPICUOUS IDLER.” His comment is why I list as my Facebook “Occupation” the words “Conspicuous Idler at Flaneur.” Sure wish I could do the carat over the a on this keyboard. I probably can just don’t like looking for instructions.

My eureka moment came a minute after this exchange today with the “Mark Thomas experience” comment, and was further fueled when an e-mail from another friend commenting on my “flaneurizing” arrived 10 minutes later. I think I could build a business on this eureka moment… if I knew what the hell I was doing.

I slept well enough last night, begrudgingly taking a benzo just for gits and shiggles. My BP was almost perfect at bedtimes, 133/80. But the last time that happened the BP blasted off to 160+/90 the moment I lay down in bed. So I didn’t risk it this time, and will probably stick with the benzo a couple more nights just to be real about it.

Joe said he quit drinking, too, though he was never what anyone would call a drunk. He had an interesting angle on the matter, though. He spent some time at Standing Rock in North Dakota and saw up close what alcohol does to the Native Americans there. He didn’t go into detail about this, and his observation may be gratuitously shared, but it’s a point of view coming from no one else I know.

I’ve found that the anxiety and near panic attacks are still present, booze or no. I looked into calling a psychiatrist, the kind that can prescribe drugs. There are none in Astoria who take MetroPlus.