Today’s soundtrack: I'm a county lineman on the high line
Today at 8:42am: packed into the 6-train like sardines


It feels awkward to be running, for blocks and blocks, when no one’s chasing me and I’m not late for something. I’m not a runner so it feels like I’m running down the streets, not through them. I can’t tell you how it’s different but it is.

The gym ain’t far from my house and it seemed silly to take a subway there, then run on a treadmill to warm up before working out. Figured I’d save myself a step and run to the gym, which was a good idea for the first two blocks. Three blocks out I start running out of air--maybe living my life as a smoker wasn’t such a great idea--but it’s too pathetic to stop so soon, so I just keep going. At the crosswalks I have to do that stupid thing joggers do where they keep running in place.

It’s freezing out and I’m underdressed, but running a linear mile has a way of heating you up. By the time I make the gym fifteen minutes and most of the air sacs in my lungs have expired.

My First Workout (sounds like a product by Microsoft) went okay. I’ll spare you the boring details but I basically did four sets of four exercises in the weight room, then squeezed out some dips. By the end my arms were trembling. One of the trainers saw me trembling then came over and held me tight until the trembling stopped. (Yeah, I’m making that last part up.)

Afterwards I ran home, all hopped up on endorphins. I sprinted the last block full-tilt. Climbing the stairs to my apartment, my legs were burning but I felt good. I took a hot shower, then suddenly felt certain I was going to pass out, so I went down to the diner and ate a bacon cheeseburger.

Back in the apartment I cleaned up one of my tables, then Lisa, my writing partner, came by. We’re both terrible procrastinators so now we meet up once a week to work on our projects. When you set an appointment and are sitting there at a table with someone else, you have no choice but to write.

For those of you new to this blog, I basically wrote a book and it sucks, so now I’m fixing it, chapter by chapter. I have six months to get it over to a potential agent at a certain talent agency in town.

Me and Lisa’s sessions usually last only an hour but it is always the most productive hour I have all week. Today’s was no different. Except that afterwards we went straight to a bar on Avenue B where I had whiskey and half a chicken sandwich. It feels weird to be drinking when the sun is up, but we stayed at the bar ‘til after the sun went down, so that was okay.

In some ways, today was the perfect day. I worked and made a little money, sprinted to the bank before they closed to pay my phone bill a day before they were going to shut it off, lifted weights, fixed my book some, drank, saw some friends.

A good buddy of mine is getting married next weekend. I’m happy he’s found the perfect woman for him but I don’t even have a date for the wedding, nor any contenders.

I worked at The Corporation this morning, and I’m going back tomorrow.

I haven’t had much sleep lately and I feel kind of disoriented.

Sometimes I really feel like I know what I’m doing. Other times, not so much.


TRAINER: There, there, now. Stop your trembling.

ME: Dude, get the fuck off of me! Let go.

TRAINER: It’ll be okay.

ME: Jesus--stop--can’t breathe--

TRAINER: Shhhh, little one, shhhhh.

ME: I--I’m blacking out!

TRAINER: Shhhhhh.