It’s new to my breakfast. Typically I get a few spoonfuls of yogurt, maybe a slice of cheese, and that’s it for at-home breaking of the fast. I’d been spending 6 or 7 bucks a day on scrambled eggs, sausage links, and a banana; and 3 or 4 bucks a day on afternoon coffee. Before cutting a daily slab of pizza out of my routine I was spending more on coffee and pizza than I spend on beer and vodka. The coffee around here is all gross and the pizza isn’t much better.

I ate the contents of a container of blackberries. They looked intimidating at first. Too many of them, I thought. Minutes later all were gone, making their way through my digestive interstate. I thought I’d nosh through the morning on a second container but here I am attacking it already. I will turn into a blackberry myself before long. They are slightly messy and not a good choice for noshing while on the job.

The 6oz containers were 2 for $4 in Astoria. Stores around here charge $6 for one.

Are these blackberries better for me than the eggs and sausage links? Do I even care? I remember a comment made by an ex about how eating a salad was her way to detox. She was not a horrible drunkard but she drank daily, and the idea that a salad would clear her of those toxins was kind of cute. Will these blackberries and a generous quantity of water wash away the toxins I imbibed last night, last week, last year? I think I’d heard or read that blackberries were part of a detox regimen, along with blueberries and some kind of juice I can’t think of the name of right now. Do these things make the toxins evaporate? Am I cleaner now, with 12 ounces of blackberries in me, than I was before without 12 ounces of blackberries in me?

I got here early today so I could talk a little to the woman I think is into me, and who I might be interested in. She does not seem to be here yet. She’s been out sick here or there so I hope it’s not that again. She’s cute, and funny, and out of character for me is the fact that she’s close to my age. I don’t know what anyone was seeing in me but for a few years I had a seemingly endless quantity of women half my age coming after me. OK, it was hardly “endless” but it was enough for me to look in the mirror and ask “Why?” I guess I didn’t want to go down the daddy rabbithole (I was two years older than one woman’s father) but then what does it matter anyway. Numbers. Age is a vital unit of currency on dating apps and algorithmic matchmaking but in human-led reality it’s just a number. But this woman is nice. She was late a couple of weeks ago when someone suicided by jumping into the path of the train she was on. Unfortunately she is accused of lying about this because the MTA’s reportage said there was no delay on the 4 or 5 train from the Bronx that day. So many ways to get screwed in life.

It is 60+ degrees today. There’s a number for you. The temperature. I thought the radio announcer misspoke when he said it was 58 degrees at sunrise. This is February in New York. Where has been the bone-chilling cold and cataclysmic snow blasts? They have been raging in my heart, in the cackles and crackles of my brain.

I processed a bunch of hours of video of myself showering and masturbating yesterday and the days before. I like my shower time. It’s as close as I come to meditating, which I’ve never been able to do. Too many mental tics, and twitches. I feel innocent in the shower. As I’ve no doubt said elsewhere, the best fundamental change I made to my diurnal routine was to sit down while showering. It changed my day, without adding to the length of time I spend with that ablution. Watching the video is not something I intend to make a habit of, but something in me finds an archive of that stuff comforting. And the camera will be there for evidence-gathering should I make a mortal mistake.

The first body part I wash is my hair. I always start with shampoo. I read somewhere that this signals I am glorious, flawless, inspirational specimen of humanity. It was an article that claimed to determine personality types by what body part you wash first. I don’t think it actually said glorious or any of that. It said something about discipline and order, which only characterizes me in certain contexts.

Sitting in the shower certainly has safety implications at night, after a couple of stiff IPAs. I did one time fall in the shower, suffering what was probably a worse concussion than I knew. It was never evaluated by a doctor but I knew. It was bad. One can still stumble from the shower when getting up to leave it but it seems safer to just sit on my bare ass.

I have to go.