Anyway, back to home. I have spent the majority of my time here since I got laid off. The irony of the layoff and the timing of the neighborhood, albeit, a new one, Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, was not the street. It was an exhaust fan which faced my backyard. It was the most frustrating noise I can ever imagine hearing. I spoke to the owner of the restaurant where it was coming from. Called him. Sent him letters. Nothing. Finally, the DEP came and within an hour of their reading, the noise disappeared. Amazing. Yet, while at home, I wonder why it has to be that way. Why didn't the guy believe me? Why would I waste so much time even trying to make it better if it didn't really disturb me and the neighborhood?
On a lighter note, Kumo, the cat now sits on my lap. I'm not missing any baseball games at all. Yet, it is so lonely. You know that the rest of the world is at work. Your colleagues are at work. You know that the block feels some weird feeling that I see everything that goes on during the day. I hear it all. It just feels like the days go by and I don't have the balls to go to a temp agency because I don't want to work in an office again. It is not part of my pedigree. I'm a classroom guy, or at least some sort of man who can't wear good pants and a nice shirt to work every day.
Home. Home is numbing. It makes you buy music you wouldn't normally buy. It makes you check your credit. It makes you feel like you were really good at something and then wonder why you aren't doing it. It makes you sleep too late.
So now for the end of the night haiku:
Jerk chicken, Leigh Fox,
off to Chicago, my dear.
Sleeping on the couch.