You Never Know

Who could be reading this blog.

Or who follows this blog.

I don’t.

Except, every once in a while someone I know will say, “I read your blog!”

Or, “I know that already, I read that on your blog,” and I can get a little prickly pearish.

I have a friend who once asked, “what didn’t you write about,” in regards to my time in Paris.

Smart man.

There were indeed things I did not write about.

Right about now I am missing the upcoming reading for The Bastille.

I got an e-mail from the editor in regards to how they were doing the reading, who will be there, and did I have last-minute thoughts about going.

Well, yeah, I would love to be there, you know, in Paris, reading a short story that I wrote, inspired by a trip on the Metro (although having absolutely nothing to tie the Metro to the story), out loud, outside, on the terrace to the Shakespeare & Company store.

Sounds like something out of a movie, you know.

Speaking of short stories, flattered today, to be asked to read a friend’s short.

It was good.

Not great, but good, and the potential for great was there.

I have to say, aside from getting text messages from folks thanking me for what I wrote, people asking me to read there work and critique it is also flattering.

I feel like I have something to offer.

And the ease of doing it is sort of astounding.

I chalk it up to reading a lot.

Writing a lot.

And thinking about writing a lot.

I have way with words, have I.

Sometimes.

The majority of folks that follow my blog are not folks I know, but when I get personal responses from my friends and community it is validating and makes me feel that every blog is worth while, that no matter what I think I am getting somewhere with this exercise.

It is also a way to keep tabs on me.

Who knows I am in East Oakland?

You do!

Who know when I have down time?

You do!

Speaking of down time, that dreaded commodity, I put it out to facecrack that I had down time and I will see if anything shakes out from that.  Whether work, recreation, or dating.

Not that I have ever gotten a date on facecrack.

There was a guy once, but I told him he had to actually ask me out, not just message me about having coffee.

That was a long time ago, though, I haven’t really gone on a date in a while.

Well, the mister, but he’s busy, or just not all that into me, despite the contradictory statements he has spoken, “I am attracted to you,” sounds like you’re attracted to me.

But the hasn’t sent a message, called, or asked on date in three weeks, says something entirely different.

Not that dating is going to fix me or make me different, better, or good.

I am just tossing out ideas to the Universe as to what I should fill my schedule with.

I thought about riding my bicycle out to Ocean Beach and to the nanny gig in Cole Valley, to see how long my commute would be.

Writing.

Submitting some more work.

Bugging my friend who has the manuscript to sit down and talk with me about it.

Reading.

I am going to be in the city tomorrow for nanny gig, but it is only three hours, 11a.m. to 2p.m. and I will have the afternoon until 6p.m. to wander around.

I shall meander to a book store or two.

I am assuming that by the time my two weeks roll around I will have actually filled them full.  And as though to prepare for the two weeks they will be gone, I do have a fuller nanny week then normal next week.

I bet the two weeks of quiet will be nice.

I am not cringing as much at the thought as I was.

I could take out my camera and do some down and dirty photographs of the ship yards.

I have been thinking about that for a few minutes now.

Every time I go on the BART and it passes over the freeways and the penned up shipping container yards, I see photographs.  I don’t relish the idea of riding my bicycle through the neighborhoods, but I do the thought of what photographs I could take.

I want to take portraits of the prostitutes I see on International too, but I don’t think my camera would be welcomed.

There was a triumvirate of girls this evening working 18th and International, including one girl who had square cleavage.

I did a double take as I was riding my bicycle by and realized that she did not have pointy cleavage, rather that there were phones stuck in the cups of her bra.

I could also ride over to Alameda, I know from having ridden over there many years ago, that there are some very pretty avenues and areas.  It feels quite different from the East Oakland hood I am sequestered in.

I could see the movie Fruitvale.

I mean, I use the Fruitvale BART all the time, it would be interesting to see how the movie is.  I may have some direct experience with the local flora and fauna.

So many things to do.

I am sure my calendar will get booked up and until then, the best thing I can do is just focus on the next action in front of me and that looks like a fresh cup of tea.

And some proofreading.

Tags: BART, bicycling, blogging, container ship yards, friends, fruitvale bart, International Avenue, Oakland, postaday, prostitutes