Going .MOBI from the kitchen. The rain has passed and I’ve been out among the fireflies and the rustling calm after the storm. It was not major but it was worth staying inside for.
Listening to BBC 4 Extra, which sometimes features breathlessly enthusiastic coverage of subject matter that is as boring as sticks to most. Last night it was botany, and Darwin in particular. Tonight it is accounts of immigrants coming into Ellis Island. The latter is not so boring but botany?
Third night sans booze. Not driving me too crazy, really. I am staying dry in advance of scheduling a doctor’s appointment next week. I have not scheduled it yet. But I want to get my blood pressure back down to earth so as to trick the doctor into thinking I am taking care of myself. Yeah, right. Last time I had my checkup I was dry for 3 weeks, and my BP at the office was catatonically low. Blood work also was bullseye perfect. That was about a year ago, and my body still feels like it wants to be healthy, and can be healthy. I’ll stop drinking when things stop feeling that way. Or else I will just die.
Not taking a panic pill tonight but probably will chug a Unisom and sleep for 17 hours. I had intended to go sit in Times Square again today but the heat and threat of rain turned me off. Will walk there tomorrow as I did yesterday.
Talking to The Wild Thing about the future, the past, and what it would be like to not have either. He says he has all that, and nothing. He’s a deep thinker.
The abused woman who said she was in New York but is in exile from her ex-husband in Florida has contacted me again. I almost did not respond but figured what the hell, who else am I going to talk to? She is being annoyingly vague, and even showing chatbot tendencies. She says someone from Facebook named David has been bugging her. I asked if he was harassing her and she said no, just texting her every day even though she never responds. She went on to say that she wants me to be the one doing what this guy David is doing. She wants me to be the one sending her messages that she wakes up to every day.
The last message I sent her was a picture of my kitchen, sent around 11pm. A few nights ago. She never responded. Today I asked if she ever got that picture. She said yeah. I asked if she liked it. She said yeah. I asked why she never responded to it or said anything about it. No answer. This is a lot of fun. Actually you know what? No. No it is not. About a week into conversation with someone (with a couple days lapse) and I have no idea who I am talking to. If the pictures she sent are real than I can at least say with some assumption of certainty that she is black and beautiful. Letting it go on because what the hell else am I going to do?
I spent part of the day editing a video excerpt from a 1920 movie which included an amusing phone booth scene. I posted it to the mighty PP website. It’s a holiday weekend and it probably got zero views, which is fine with me. I put stuff like that out there for the record, or whatever, not because anybody really cares. I do it to make my coverage of the subject matter look comprehensive in the context of the payphone’s place in American culture. I cannot gather every example of the phone booth in film or TV but the one found today was pretty good. If only I was more of a film critic.
And the posting about the Times Square phone booths got some attention, which is cool.
Barely left this place today. Feels OK for once.
Too tired to say the other things I had in mind, whatever they were.
