Can't send it, part 1

I wrote this last night when I got home. I know better than to send it out to the intended recipient, but I have to send it somewhere, so you get it.

Mr.,

Late tonight I dined on Bergen Street for the Feast of the Fatted Salmon. Raw salmon. It was ordered when I showed up at 10:55 pm. I felt cool. We talked about 2006. I didn't finish. After, we went to Freddy's. It was such a watershed moment for me; the beginning of my real friendship with DZ, Tom G., the precursor to me and Tim, the never ending video art from which I could not tear my gaze. All of it was still there, waiting for me since March 1999, the last time I was in that bar.

Earlier today, after my internet burger, cyberwandering and hipster scriptwriting, I admitted the place had bad service and walked up to the counter myself. Asked for a coffee (devil-may-care attitude in tact) and noticed a postcard laying casually on the bar. As I turned it over, 2 things blew my eyes open. 1) Friday, December 29th, 7 pm (TODAY!) 2) Tara Foley (friend from the woods, as she puts it). I went, we exchanged stories, numbers and jokes. Her mom has cancer. I am friend number 5 in NY. She is moving back. Her hot boyfriend from before turned out to be a dud. She's here until the end of January. Her mom's gonna beat it. I hope so.

Yesterday was long. I finished up in the 161 living room eating Thai food and drinking seltzer and the iced tea my favorite cook from there sported me for free, no asking. I spent 4 hours on 125 waiting to see the chocolate dead man, hoping he could breathe some life into my crushed up heart. It turns out I didn't need him or his body. My heart can resuscitate itself, given enough space, time and love. Or no space. I was smashed in with all those black people and it felt great. There have been times in my life I have been a white girl around a lot of black people and now isn't one of those times. I miss it sometimes; I am from Oakland, remember. Being up there made me feel good and happy. I kept my mouth shut. I listened, I smiled. I thought about James Brown. I thought about you.

The day began at 8:30 on my corner in Greenpoint, at the doctor. For $20, I could get my toe fixed up. I could also re-activate my quest for free health insurance provided by the city. Three hours in, a hissy-fit forced its way out and I saw the doctor. She couldn't do anything for me without a liver test. The nice asian guy drew my blood. He must have seen the small tears in the corners of my eyes because he asked me if I was OK. I thought about you, shooting drugs. I thought about the words courage and bravery. I wanted nothing to do with them, the words. I wanted a hug.

I got a call from Jessica at Bellevue. She wanted me to come in and sign more papers. I kinda yelled at her. I was frustrated. No one was listening to me. I am out of practice with bureaucracies. I went to the L train. No service. I took the bus to LIC. Made it to Bellevue, more hissy-fitting. Finally, Norma told me she'd look into my case personally, as if that is supposed to make me feel better. I have enough experience with bureaucratic BS to know that is fairly meaningless. But I was glad for the kindness. I left and went to my office, did one stitch of work.

I should have gone much earlier, because by the time I got up there, it was too late. But we didn't know that yet. I looked for the chaos and stood next to it until they put up the metal barriers next to me; I was in. I emailed and texted from the line. It was fun. They all laughed at the hobo asking for a steak sandwich. He didn't want no muffin. I laughed and smiled at the guy selling dried fruit and bottles of water for a dollar. No one was interested. We all laughed at the guy selling a McDonald's hamburger. It was fun.

Now it is now and I am listening to my soundtrack. Tomorrow is the fast and I clean my house to get ready for 2007. The computer will fun out of juice any minute now. I'll read Madame Bovary until I fall asleep. Salacious!

Ms.