Internal Conversations (or maybe..."Til You Opened my Eyes):

"...there were three of them on one side of the long oval conference desk; whereas I sat alone at the opposite end in my suit and tie..."


w/ Todd Rundgren this past Tuesday:

I haven’t done any writing in awhile. My mind’s been unfocused and a bit lazy these last few days as the heat’s suddenly returned to New York. A certain sickly, heat-laden humidity that encourages mold in my A/C and behind the walls. It grows within the sills of my small bedroom and I snort the spores up my nose in my sleep. Deep into my dreams where they usually morph into a sinus infection.

I’d stopped smoking weed for awhile this summer, and when I did my dreams became really vivid. I’d laid-off weed once before in my life, so I was prepared for the very intense REM sleep. Still, even a nice dream can leave you emotionally wrecked when you awake. Its disturbing to be in one state so intensely, and then another. Especially when the direction is from dream to consciousness.

Because I’ve been smoking weed for so long (so consistently); it was kind of a perception change to go a week without it. Time played out differently. I followed people’s words in a different way and was more cognizant of the energy I projected.

The first day I stopped smoking weed was...awhile ago. I don’t keep track of the days, but I know it was around mid-July. I had a job interview at what turned out to be a really big company. The position was listed as a Paralegal on the internet; but actually proved to be something very different. More of an investigator's position of the kind I’ve been doing this past decade. Not that I’d have any problem going back to that, but I was surprised as I listened to the employer’s questions. And the types of questions. After short while a voice in my head said, I’m getting a drug-test vibe here.

Course I’m pretty sure they’re going to test. Not entirely sure. How do you bring that subject up at an interview? Instead I waited for one of them to bring it up--which I think they’re supposed to do; but they never did. And we went over a lot.

After the interview I sat on the train home and ran it back in my mind. Their questions, my answers. It was stressful. There had been three of them on one side of the long oval conference desk; whereas I sat at the opposite end in a suit and tie that had hung in my closet for a year without use. They asked a lot of anatomy-related questions and a lot of personal background questions from way back in my resume. Only a bit of legal stuff as it related to court procedures and vocabulary. I’m fairly certain I answered a few of the anatomy questions wrong. Or a lot of ‘em. I know I was anxious when I walked through my front door, threw off the suit and tie; grabbed the old one-hitter, prepared to turn the flint-wheel of my Bic when...

Hey!--You can’t smoke any weed, a voice told me before the lighter achieved a flame.

What? I asked myself, though I already knew.

If you get that job they’re gonna drug test you. You gotta stay clean ‘til that test.

...Well how long is that gonna be?

How long indeed.

The first time I smoked weed after that interview was about 10 days later. I wanted to see Rise of the Planet of The Apes, but knew I had to burn a bit of herb to do that properly. So I called my Human Resource contact where I’d interviewed and asked him if he had any news for me.

“You the guy who needed two more credits to get his degree?” he asked me over the phone.

“No, I’ve got my degree. And a paralegal degree. Grdzak. G-R-D-Z-A-K.”

“Ah yeah, here it is. I I must have got you confused with the other guy. Naw, man, you’re still in the running. Its you and three other guys. I’ll call you either way when they make a decision.”

Okay, so they hadn’t reached a decision. The day I saw the movie was a Thursday,

...so if I stay clean Friday, Saturday, Sunday...they won’t call ‘til Monday at the earliest and they’re not gonna make me piss in a cup first thing. Hell that’d just be a 2nd interview. Drink a lot of water. Sweat it out.

I got high as hell for Rise of the Planet of the Apes, which was definitely the right call. The apes could have talked more--and I’d have liked to have seen them kill a few more people; but in the end you can tell the human race is gonna die-off, so it’s nice.

After the movie I stayed clean. Again! I don’t know for how many days--it wasn’t about days. All I know is that eventually Hurricane Irene came around and you didn’t know if the world was gonna end or if you’d ever get high or fuck again or anything. A whole bunch of stuff happened to me that night, that I don’t want to get into now. My point being only that I smoked again on Hurricane Irene night. And the day after.

After Hurricane Irene came Labor Day Weekend. I forget the exact time frame, but I called that Human Resource guy again, and again he told me I was still in the running.

“Like I said, I promise I’ll call you and let you know either way,” he told me over the phone.

“I appreciate that,” I responded. “Obviously I don’t want to irritate you, but...you know, I wanna demonstrate that I’m enthusiastic about the job. I want it.”

“I see that,” he said with a laugh, “I’ll call you or email you either way.”

Okay, cool. Except that yesterday--September 13th, my man Vintage and I were comped tickets for Todd Rundgren over at BB Kings. You know I wanted to catch a buzz for that show, and the reality was that September 13th is a long time past Labor Day. And way past mid-July when I’d done my sole interview. They’d told me they wanted someone right away, so...

But that damn Human Resources guy still never called.

So let me ask you--what would you do reader? Would you have called that Human Resources guy again? Or left him alone?

Well, I called him and was sent straight to his voicemail. So I immediately felt I’d made a mistake. Then I left a message on his machine and can’t help but feel that was a mistake. Not that I’d left a bad message, but in retrospect I feel I should have just hung up. But worst of all, I didn’t get high before Todd Rundgren--which was so damn stupid cause he was freaking great! And a really nice guy to Vintage and me.

Anyway, this morning, I woke-up hungover with nothing to post. No writing anyway, which is how its gone for the past two weeks or so. Maybe its cause I’m not working; or perhaps my experiences have simply become redundant. Whatever it is, I’ve been somewhat uninspired of late; and when you have no wife, no kids, no house, and no job, you’d better be popping-off in the inspiration department or life ain’t much.

How come you don’t want to write?

What’s to write about?

But I know myself well--after all, I am a blogger. Like a morning commuter knows they need their cup of coffee or that corporate exec instinctually heads to the gym before work; I knew enough to reach into the cupboard,

pull down my one-hitter,

thumb the flint wheel of my Bic,

take a big pull...

And wait. ...Until suddenly I heard:

You dumbass, you never wrote about that Indian kid you met over Labor Day. Or finished your Russian Streams series. And every post over at Stays Put needs at least one re-write. What about that night where you watched the massage parlor? Or the story of how you and Jake made Tough Brothers? Don’t forget that soap opera star you banged. Or that night when your car got stolen. What about that crack whore out on Coney Island? Or that building superintendent up in the Bronx? Don’t forget when the cops thought you...





* NOTE: I'm sure readers know that Planet of The Apes is copyrighted.