Sunday July 10 2011

DREAM: I’m a little black kid and they call me “The Flyboy”. Maybe it’s because I can fly? I’m not sure. Just outside the side of the church (Freedom Fellowship). I’ve kidnapped somebody—trying to be discreet about it but it feels like everybody knows already. With a rag in hand I wipe the inside of this metallic canister filled with purple vitamin waters. It’s after 2 o’clock and church just let out. There’s some kind of potluck lunch happening in the building in the back. I walk around to find tables and tables displaying a plethora of cakes and desserts. I’m particularly interested in the yellow cake with white frosting. One of my friends asks, “Do we have to pay for this?” Without responding I just grab a plate and fill it with cake. Sitting down with friends eating. A bulky black man is moving around beside us as if he’s looking for someone—He’s a secret agent or an officer. He’s looking for me of course. I stay focused on stuffing my face with this delicious cake. He confronts the table and starts asking questions—pulling out this photo that only slightly resembles my face and says, “This is Flyboy’s brother.”

Waking up around 11:30 a.m.

Breakfast: Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic. Orange Juice. Zinc.

All day shift at China Wok.

Snapping the snow peas—eating Watermelon.

SLOOOOOOWWW AFTERNOOON.

Quick stop at the house—Lauren, our nanny is cleaning up the oats spread out all over the place caused from a battle between Skippy and Kevin the night before.

Rachel’s sound asleep on the black leather couch—The Fifth Element playing on the TV tower.

Rachel: “Told them thay in trouble when u make the house into oatmeal!”

Short poem by Rachel:

“1435 oatless

slept on the couch

woke up to robert eatin a sandwhich over my head with and the 5th element on.

multi pass.”

Lunch: Peanut Butter Sandwich. Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Honey Green Tea.

Margot rides around with me on a few deliveries again…

She “knife-feeds” me slivers of avocado and chips while I drive.

We stop into the Verizon store next door and she reveals her plan to get me a smart phone for my birthday. I’m not even sure I want one. I’ve grown accustomed to my simple call/text phone and it’s qwerty keyboard. I really would like to regulate my attachment to technology by not owning any sort of multi-task phone such as an iphone or a droid. But it has obvious convenience.

The orders come and they go via my car.

Strawberry Yogurt and Belgium Milk Chocolate.

Feeling the crunch towards the end of my shift—getting impatient because the stoplight’s performance is significantly slower after hours, the revolutions are longer. My irritation is at a high. I wish I could just calm down. It will all be over soon enough. I take a quick right at the intersection of Birdneck and Laskin, only yielding to the red light rather than stopping as to beat the cars across from me. And of course, a cop pulls me over and I receive a ticket for disregarding a red light on a right turn. I should’ve learned by now that impatience gets you nowhere, if anything, it can push you two steps backwards. It’s probably gonna cost me about a hundred dollars. There’s about a day’s earnings out the window. I suck.

Dinner: Cod Fillets with Tartar Sauce. Brown Rice and Broccoli.

“In the Catcher in the Rye sense I like being sexy…”

“If you want to be realized, look at the moon.”

Going over to my baby’s place with one goal in mind: Get some lovin. I mean, we both complained earlier today about the fact that we didn’t have sex the past two nights we slept with each other. As soon as I arrive, I slip my shirt off, turn off the lights and TV, and embrace her beauty. And it was good.

Back home. I need milk. And I found a used Oberweis milk bottle that’s been sitting in our hallway for a week. And so begins the eager quest for milk. I grab Anthony and we drive to Kmart only to realize I left the used bottle at the house. Anthony knows a shortcut back home so we walk and talk and piss in the soccer field behind Arbor Trace where Raven lives. Gillian’s home and she joins us on our trek back to Kmart. She’s dancing around like a ballerina, high on something, maybe life, maybe the night. Taking the back alley. I get angsty and kick a moist cardboard box.

Anthony: “Be careful!”

Me: “With what?”

Anthony: “With everything!”

Finally, I grab a fresh glass bottle Oberweis but the lady at the register says the old one has to be clean in order for us to return it. And it’s definitely not clean—chunks of chocolate milk curd sticking to the sides. Anthony rushes it into the bathroom and we clean it the best we can. The lady eventually gives in and accepts it, but only this once.

Riding home…

Me: “That was a big adventure all for just milk.”

Anthony: “Yeah, I was gonna say that.”

Me: “That’s how it should be.”

Enjoying a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Best milk ever.

Albert Einstein once said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” But what happens when imagination is not imagined at all, or maybe I mean that imagination becomes reality. Is that okay to indulge in? Is that okay? Is the imagination sacred? But isn’t reality sacred? Can I not just enjoy a pleasurable moment without worrying about these things?

Sleep sometime after 4:30 a.m.