Sleeping so late will probably make sleeping well tonight all the more difficult, should I follow through with sobriety. I think I will. I have no booze, not much at least, and my body has been yelling at me to lay off again.

I just saw the woman I recognize from Avon, who I met in the course of buying a microwave oven from her back in 1994 or 1995. She was indescribably mean to her husband when I was at her place for those few minutes spent performing the transaction of my purchase and of being cordial enough to sit down for a few minutes and have a glass of lemonade.

Today I came as close as ever to asking her if she had worked at Avon. But I said nothing, remembering how nasty she was all those years ago, and not desiring to enter into a conversation which might rehash 20+ year old office gossip, making such rehashments obligatory should our paths inevitably cross again.

She was among those got fired after the great Corporate Redesign that went horribly wrong. For all I know she remains bitter about that, as she might. She was the one who presaged the process of getting fired. She mockingly said that they no longer allowed you to clear out your desk, or if they did then it was only allowed under the supervision of a security guard. Generally speaking they escort you from the building and ship your personal possessions back to your home. She repeatedly said that “They escort you from the building.” She punctuated the words with a two-handed shooing-away gesture, like it was a cruel joke.

…

That was yesterday. Today is Sunday. I slept better than expected on zero booze, but only with the help of 2 Lorazapams. I honestly felt like I was having a heart attack for a while yesterday. It was very uncomfortable. I think I am just getting used to the back and forth of the Benzos and the booze. If/when I go back to liquor I think I will be a Rummy. Beer and Rum.

I just bought a monkey in a barrel puppet. It was $1 at the thrift shop I visit almost every day.

I recently left 7 years worth of old music magazines at that store. 7 years is not a lot given “The Etude”’s 60-something year run. But they were heavy. I had to make 3 trips to get them there. And now they have barely moved. They remained on the spot where I left them for several days. Then they were moved to a counter across the foyer, evidently to make way for a couch.

These stores are but treadmills for the derelict possessions of the dead. Most of the windfalls that come pouring in are from estates of those who left no other instructions, if any, save to dump their shit at the thrift shop.

I bought the monkey in a barrel puppet because it reminded me of the fancy French monkey puppet my mother so often said was such a valuable collectible. I can never remember the brand name.

Hah, just looked up on eBay the barrel monkey puppet I bought today. It sells new for ˜$25, and I found a monkey puppet that looks like the one I had already. If it is worth something as a collectible then this thing I just bought today is a freakin’ gold mine. The French monkey puppet is going for $15 on eBay.

Oh but I see now. The monkey I’ve had since birth is a Steiff Jocko brand. It can go for $250, or at least it can linger on sale for years under that asking price. What it actually sells for I do not know. Not enough for me to surrender it. Instead I shall introduce it to its new friend, the monkey in a barrel puppet. Good times. Good monkey times.

…

Had an idea for the chapel monologue. I was eating a sandwich today and feeling the chewing noises in my mouth and skull. Incidental collisions between top and bottom teeth felt like stones smashed with hammers, the shattered parts pounded and scrubbed together like chalk board erasers. The occasional scratching of teeth was like being shoved down onto a waterslide lined with razors. The chewing caused a mucous-like feeling to fill my head, which was wringed of its juices, or kneaded as a masseuse would rub and pound upon my back.

Was thinking I could say that this phenomenon occurred at the chapel, where the silence is such that one can hear every trickling of liquid proceed through their body, every instant of high blood pressure punishing you for your abuses, and every malconstructed thought that is yet to rise from the sewer of your mental bowels. That is how quiet it gets at the chapel. It is like sitting in a sea of shit, except for those who can get God to come through to them.

…

Aw man it’s already 6pm. Should go home and play with the new monkey puppet. Yay. A fine way to spend a night of sobriety.