I guess you can credit it to being a holiday? I don’t know but the MTA app lied. I was promised a 4 train at I don’t remember what time. THe MTA app said the train was scheduled, approaching, arriving. It was a ghost train. FOr once the signs an dannouncements in the station took pride over the app, although it’s never certain which will prevail. The two do not seem to speak to each other, though. SO I’m here 2- minutes later than expected, which matters today because it is day 1 of my new schedule, my new regimen, my new life. THis new format might actually let me have a life outside of work. I’m toked up on meds enough that I’m not worried too much about anxiety or the white. I’m also not drinking, which always seems like it is going to be such a big deal but in fact it never is. You (or I) read about DTs and how quitting booze cold turkey is the only substance withdrawal that can kill you. Quitting smoking, cocke, heroin, everything like that it sucks bad but it’s not going to kill you. Quitting drinking can do that, though I need to read more about who actually dies that way. I saw a piece about a woman who died from withdrawal after drinking 12 bottles of win a day and living as a complete recluse. Others were similarly drowning in booze and living lives of isolation or lacking any medical or pharmaceutical relief. I am on a newly supplemented regimen of medsand after almost a week I feel nothing. But then I don’t drink all that much anymore. In the past I was trying to kill myself with today. These days I just booze it to get to sleep, and even there I find it’s not as necessary as I tend to assume. Sleep off booze is kind of bouncy, bumpy advernture, littered with half-started dreams and crazy mental electrocutions. I already look forward to sleeping long hours tonight.
An intriguing window has opened up since last I wrote about the starlet of yore. Firstly, much of my fascination with her has evaporated. The place of honor she held in my timeline of peoples’ lives passing without touching sorta kinda remains. But she reveals herself to be less and less of substance, which is what I thought I saw in her. But the window of intrigue that has opened is where she is selling her baubles and expensive apparel through one of the countless platforms where one can sell shit. SHe is doing it by posing with the shoes and the jackets but in ways that disguise that it is she doing the posing. This creates windows not so much onto her but into her apartment, where I see her rolls of paper towels and pans left on the stove. She has a gas stove. Wood floors. Cabinets similar to mine. It’s a small apartment in which this starlet has lived for I don’t quite know how many years.