Piper free. No thuggish representatives from Local 154. I was good yesterday. Laid low then, laid low today. The only contact with the outside world was this morning, getting some bagels and the papers. After that, indoors all day. I chatted online with some people but does that really count?
Too damn cold out to do anything either. Just read the papers and watched crap on TV. Not much else. No offers to do anything anyhow. So far, so good. The essence of chilling out I suppose. I am not complaining and no one else should be either. Now the sun has gone down, the sky in the west getting fainter, in the east getting darker.
Bill returns from Detroit tomorrow and then we have our Monday session with Philip Beansprout. There ought to be a buy back, but who am I kidding? There no buy backs on Thursday night either. Buy backs seem so few and far between. No big deal.
Finally hooked up one of the lamps that Billie sent for the holidays from DC. This one is a beautiful lamp, I hope he didn’t put himself out when he sent it. Nice desk lamp with a funky glass shade. I called him on Thursday while in the smoker’s lounge but haven’t heard from him. The plan to go visit over the Easter holiday is still in place up here in Hoboken, need to get Billie’s input on whether or not he can do it then.
Just reading the Sunday papers, and Uncut magazine. A music magazine. A lazy Sunday in Hoboken. Most Sundays this year have been lazy. Oh let’s face it, every Sunday in my life since I moved out of Lodi 22 years ago has been lazy. The days of sitting around the house waiting for my father to get his shit together so we can do whatever chores he had in mind are in the past.
He would usually announce on Friday night that my brother Brian and I would have to be around all weekend to help him out on whatever project he had in mind. Sometimes he wouldn’t get out of bed until late, everyone else in the house walking on eggshells so as not to disturb him, because if he was bothered and awoken before he wanted to, oh there would be hell to pay, sometimes paid out of one’s hide.
After he decided to get out of bed, he’d eat then sit around for an hour or two before finally putting clothes on and setting about whatever he wanted us to do. Of course Brian and I would’ve been up and ready for hours. And a few times when he finally got it together, the sun would be setting and we’d have to try again for the next day.
Brian would almost always get into an argument with my father and storm off. That would leave me holding the bag, both literally and figuratively. Dinner would be fraught with tension and resentment. More often than not, my parents would drive off to the VFW and spend hours drinking with their friends.
Which would make my father sleep late again. It was an endless cycle. And so I don’t do much at all on Sundays.
The news is on, and it’s the usual bad news.