"Hey Nick, whats up?"
"Hey Danny, can you get a hold of Dave at all?"
"Yeah hold up, he just came in for his shift. Why whats up?"
"I'm sick as a dog, I found some old Tahi food in my fridge. It was older than I thought."
"You are one sick pup," I can hear the smirk spreading across his face,"Want me to ask him if he can do a double?"
"Yeah thanks, if you could" Danny moves the phone away from his face and hear him speaking with Dave.
"He said he'll do it, he left his phone in a taxi last night. The dumb ass. He also says you owe him for taking your shift."
"All right, I'm going to move back to my post. Catch you later"
"Keep the throne warm! Lemme know if you need more time. I could use some time away from the old battle ax"
"Camilla will kill you if she ever head you saying that."
Chuckles and goodbyes ensue, I hang up my phone. A red, corded, bake-o-lite my grandfather stole from Bell Atlantic (What Verizon was formerly known as for those of you not up on telecom history). I roll back over. I'm not sick, well, physically any way. There's nothing particular that sets me off, but someday's I wake up and this feeling of dread as if lead was poured down my throat and settled into the pit of my stomach. It's honestly crippling, I should see someone but I'm not a share-er. I clear my day and then prep for my self therapy.
It starts with me cleaning. My apartment isn't anything special. Its a one bedroom studio deal. The best description of my decor I believe would be "Eclectically spartan." Meaning I don't have so much but what I have is what I like, and most often a little odd. It's not like what you would imagine for a twenty-two year old single male. There is an astonishing lack of milk crate constructions, framed movie posters of something with Bruce Willis gazing off and to the right holding a gun, and no leaning tower of pizza boxes.
I zip through my cleaning and proceed to step two.
I pick a comfort food and make a shit ton of it. Preferably something with lots of cheese and carbohydrates. Today is was cornbread casserole and baked mac 'n' cheese with potato chip crust. Cheese? Check. Carbs? Check. Delicious and artery stopping-ness?? Double Check.
I crash on my couch with my food and a bottle of Jim Bean. I eat half of each and get through a fifth of the good stuff and watch The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou then continued my process.
Step three is a half hour nap in a lawn chair on the roof, the stairwell in my building is right next to my front door. I can get into it and jog the three flights of stairs fast enough to not get caught staring at the door to the floor above me. I gently "persuade" the door open and look at the scratch marks on the door jam that clues into how often I've done this. I open up the rubber tub where I stash my things and settle in to my chair and my sleeping bag. It's a little cold to be doing this but still nice, I can see big portion of the city from here and I love feeling so alone but totally surrounded. I doze off with a full belly and fuzzy head.
I wake up and put my stuff away then head down stairs to prep for step four.
I back up my back pack with everything that I might want for the rest of the day. My cell, iPod, extra battery pack, journal, pens, thermos of coffee, flask of whiskey, cigarettes, wallet, keys and shades. I grab my over coat and docs throw them on sling my back pack on and head out.
This is going to sound like I'm going off on some cheesy tangent on "the freedom of the road." And the reason for that is that I am. I won't say much here because everything that's really worth saying has all ready been said and definitely better than anything I can scribble out. But it sure as hell puts me back together. After a day of going where ever the wind blows me step four is complete. Wandering is good for the soul. I also periodically stop and scribble on a park bench and take swigs from both coffee and whiskey.
The fifth and final step is pretty easy, I just go home and hope tomorrow is better.