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This is a post? May I suggest you focus on quality over quantity.
"Happy New Year, Steve! Welcome back."
"I never left."
The company gave us last Thursday and Friday off, but I came in anyhow because that's the kind of person I am, the kind of person I've always beena bit obsessed, very dedicated, and always with the nagging feeling that I haven't done enough, that I'm forgetting something. What am I forgetting?
Last night, I crashed over Isaac and Anne-Marie's place and got some good sleep, far from the noise of Jersey City: barrel-chested men hollering at one another as they spill from the old Barge Inn and the hooded boys caught in verbal battle, freestyling for hours over the size of their cocks, punctuating every line with bigger and nigger and triggerand I dreamed I had a little house in the suburbs with the space for my very own listening room, and the toughest question was where to place the loudspeakers.
I remember this dream as I stand at the Edison station, surrounded by so many strangers, feeling more out of place than usual, just inches behind the faded yellow line as a colossal silver trainimpossibly loud and fast and so very closescreams on by. So close. So close that my coat flies open and I almost lose my hat. It's one of those new, double-decker affairs, and I choose the lower level since there are more open seats and I have never been very ambitious. I try to think of how it might feel to live this suburban lifedead lawns in the winter, two cars in the drive, large green trash cans lined up neatly along the curb: "It's nice," I think to myself.
As the train approaches the Metuchen station, I notice a large old cemetery and I see the commuters filing passed with their backpacks and their laptops, as if it's nothing at all. If I had to pass a cemetery on my way to work each morning, would I still make it in on time? Would I still be 15, 20, 30 minutes early?
You do sound a little blue. My advice, go to a music store and buy the cheapest harmonica and in the place and play until you get your soul sorted out.My brother lives Down, downtown Minneapolis. My sister lives in 1950's Minneapolis suburbs. I live 30 minutes outside of downtown Minneapolis. It's funny how we gravitate to what we feel comfortable with.