Gerald Ford has apparently checked out, a day after James Brown, perhaps because he couldn't stand the thought of a world without that man shimmying and squealing, aware as we are all are of the brilliance of that man and the absence of any comparable genius, soul, on the horizon.
It is approaching four thirty in the am and I am not in the least tired, and this is a problem because I am supposed to work in two hours or so. Perhaps I should mention that I am wide awake and feeling pretty awesome and catching myself chewing my gums, because someone, this, your narrator, has a total absence of what is alternately referred to as common sense or self control. But Al Green is playing right now as I try to calm my metabolism and lullaby myself to sleep, but really all I am doing is grinding my lap into the laptop as I type, wanting to dance, wanting the night and life to continue indefinitely, sleep be damned.
A future note to myself (which, given my lack of self control or common sense, I will probably at some point in the (hopefully) not too distant future fail to heed): Next time you feel like chipping in to buy some coke, make sure it is with a friend, or even better a group of friends, rather than with that boy that you have normally awkward interactions with. Also good to note would be purchasing said product either before two in the morning, or, even better, on a night when you don't have to be at work the next morning. And so now I am weighing my options and deciding whether it would be any use of trying to sleep when I am this wired, feeling this damn good, or whether I should try to stay awake and go into work without sleep, even though I did wake up at six this morning to leave New Jersey. All very good questions, all questions that I cannot ponder for more than ten seconds, other than to fret about them, because there is that aforementioned awesome feeling (which surely will crash in a major fashion shortly) and the also previously mentioned Al Green playing on my stereo singing, "Let's - let's stay together - whether times are good or bad, happy or sad," and assuming you know Al Green's body of work and you are a human being, you shall and hopefully do know how terribly affecting his voice is.
I stayed until the bar closed with a non-coked out Bri, that boy having left with several boys. I tried to convince Bri to stay up with me, but, needless to say, he was not excited about this. And again, why did I give money to that boy for some coke when I had come with someone else, a friend who I never question whether or not he hates me? All very good questions, and all questions with pretty much the same answer, which if you are a long time reader of this diary, you know the answers to, knowing how much I like that boy when drunk (why qualify that with "when drunk" when most of you know very well that is a fib?), and how I would jump at the chance to spend time with him. But, it probably could have been anyone, truth be told, because there is that lack of adultness (which might be a good thing?), where I will say, "So what? Work at 9? Whatever! Rock n' roll! No sleep till the city I now reside in, that city, of course, the Brooklyn that the Beastie Boys sang about so long ago now." So long ago because we are approaching the year 2007 and that occasionally will scare the fuck out of me when I seriously ponder the implications of that number, the forward march of time, and my eventual falling out of line with that march - the army not stopping for any soldiers that can't keep up, as it keeps marching on and on.
I met a nice boy who sang one of my favorite Morrissey songs, "The More You Ignore Me," and who's writing this script? Such a cliche to play that song at this point in the movie, but life tends to pile those cliches on. And I am not sure what the boy's name is anymore. I also met a boy with tattoos, being a little chatty Cathy for very obvious reasons, and now, because of silly choices, I am alone here in my living room (aside from Al Green), way too awake, way to eager to converse for my own good. And God, God, what a day. I rode on the bus at seven this morning with my sister through a fog covered New Jersey, falling in and out of sleep, leaveless trees poking through the fog. A blowjob from a man uptown, and then work at one job. And then this bar, this powder, this cheeseburger from La Bonita, and Al Green, singing as melodic and beautiful as might very well be humanly possible.