Making it One Gig at a Time


I had my first of the long baby sitting shifts today.

I actually got done 45 minutes early, which was a relief, even though I ended up hitting the Metro commute traffic twice in one day.

There was commuter traffic on the trains this morning, but mostly coming in from the Periphery, not so much heading out.

I got up at 6 am

I did the deal.

I wrote my three pages long hand.

I ate a good breakfast and had two cups of coffee before scooting out the door.

It was still dark when I left this morning and it was dark upon my return.

I soon must to be in bed as well.

I am not fond of the hours, but I am fond of the fact that I just put 100 Euro towards February rent, which was due four days ago.  My roommate knows that the money is coming, I expect my tax return any moment now.  But it is still really nice to just fork it over, in good faith.

I bought some groceries and I will get paid for tomorrow and I have another gig starting on Wednesday.

I actually have a really full week.

Twelve hours tomorrow, nine hours on Wednesday, meet up with a friend from San Francisco in the evening–he’s coming in via Thailand and I have not see in him in years it feels like, he’ll be in Paris for a couple of months doing work, it will be good to get a little San Francisco flavor here.  Then meet with a ladybug Thursday morning, do the deal at noon, then off to the suburbs on the other side of town to see Corinne and the new baby.

Friday brings a distinct repeat of Thursday with a different lady and then a meet up at Shakespeare and Company with a new friend who may be interested in starting a writers group.  We were supposed to meet last Friday but her husband had to have an emergency root canal.

That shit scares me.

I have nice teeth.

I would like to keep them.

Small aside, really what is the deal with dental floss and why isn’t there any in the store?  I found one, ONE, container of dental floss in the toothpaste aisle.  Flossing, Frenchies, it is important, especially with all the coffee and cigarettes and red wine being imbibed.

I have stellar, rock star teeth in comparison to a lot of the folks I see.

Even on the television today I noticed that.

What is it with a certain economic status, the couch is shite, the flooring scary, there is not any wall decorations pantings or posters hanging on the walls, but my God, there is a state of the art, huge, flat screen television with cable and dvd player and speakers and God only knows how many remotes.

Poverty equals huge television apparently.

I remember a movie that Spike Lee did that I don’t think got paid much attention and it probably should have, called “Bamboozled,” and one of the scenes shows a bunch of squatters in a tenement in with a miraculous amount of cables and wires and McGyvering of extension cords bundled to a television.

I always think of that, checking out through the television and how strapped to the television the impoverished are.

I have not owned one in about fifteen years.

I do watch some television, I won’t lie, I like to down load stuff, but I cannot remember the last time I watched a commercial all the way through.

The French television stations were interesting as I flipped through, the enumerations of MTV channels, the sports shows, the cooking shows, the fashion show channel.

Now I was down with that.

The Paris Spring runways are happening and it was just beautiful clothes gliding down runways with designer disco music playing in the background.

It was like watching Project Runway with none of the drama.  In fact, it was rather soothing.  I watched for a while, but mostly I just read.

Baby sitting equals getting paid to read while naps are happening.

I finished the David Sedaris book, and I started in on The White Review I had gotten from the boy with the Irish eyes.

Said eyes, I noticed yesterday are not actually blue, but more like a sea glass green.


He loaned me The White Review, a collection of essays, poems, articles, and interviews–with the interview of Will Self that we had discussed last week, and I swapped him the newest Will Self-Umbrella.

I will most likely finish the Review tomorrow and I will get started on the Chuck Pahalniuk I picked up last week.  I think, if I do end up going to Shakespeare and Company Friday I am also going to pick up Irvine Welsh’s Skag and if I can nail down a copy of it, finally, Stephen King’s book On Writing.

What I appreciate reading, and why I am just now getting it I don’t know, but….thank God I am allowing myself the ‘pleasure’ of the work, is Will Self reiterating what I have been hearing more and more of, to be a good writer you have to read.

I just used to think I was copping out, checking out, losing myself in words.

And while there is some, possibly a great deal, of validity in this, there is also just the pure joy I get from reading and I know that when I read a good book, Faulkner’s The Sound and The Fury was a huge inspiration when I was writing the last full length manuscript I wrote.

John Updike’s complete works carried me through the rough draft of Baby Girl.

John Irving’s oeuvre brought me through the rough draft of The Iowa Waltz.

Self used a word I had not seen in print in some time “pernicious”.

I fucking love it.

I love words.

I get off on words.

I have two solid hours tomorrow to get my read on.

Ready for it.

And now I basically have to get ready for bed.

So I can get up and write again.

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