3:09. I feel awful. Dried out. Heavy. Tired. Dizzy. Walking wounded. A "bog monster" I think is how Kerouac put it. Waste of a day. Got up at 10. Had a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Though what I really wanted was a sausage egg and cheese sandwich dripping in grease. But I blew my cash last night and there's not an ATM in throwing distance and nobody takes credit cards in this godforsaken part of Kings County.
A friend's birthday party last night. Though "party" might be the wrong word as there were no pointy hats and no candles. First time I'd been "out" in months. Don't have the money for it anymore. Or the inclination. And my body can no longer endure the punishment. Alas, I'm not the young buck I once was.
We were at Union Hall in Park Slope. We played a few rounds of boccie and rehashed the old times with a few old friends from work. Or former work, as I left the office when I got it in my head to go to grad school. She's decided she wants to go back herself for a degree in History. Maybe teach someday. Good for her.
Getting home was a trek. Left around 1 or so and trudged up Union Ave. to Smith St. and walked down to Bergen, smack in the heart of the old neighborhood. My first place in Brooklyn. Cobble Hill. Someone once told me a real estate investor made that up. Sounded quaint. Seems to have worked. I used to walk that street all the time and it still felt familiar. Like I'd never left. And for a while, it was just like it used to be. I remembered the bars, the restaurants, the laundromat, the coffee shop, the air of privilege everywhere. Good work if you can get it. I wanted more than anything to take a left and walk up the half block to the old place and wander up the stairs to my cozy little room and crash hard on the cool sheets. High thread count. Thanks for those, Mom. Instead, I went into the sweaty subway station and suffered for thirty minutes until a G finally came and took me back to Greenpoint.
It's 3:52. My thoughts are coming very slowly. Time to give it a rest.
Comments (4)
I've heard the same thing about Cobble Hill-- and Boerum Hill. I'm not sure what the borders are, but the latter used to be called "Gowanus."
Anyway, you do a nice job of capturing something interesting about memory-- in a less than fully controlled state of mind, the past can sometimes intrude on the present more vividly than it generally does.
One last thing: Have you ever read Jonathan Lethem's Fortress of Solitude. It's set in the same area in the late 70s and early 80s. It's a great novel, and if you used to live over there, I bet it'd be interesting.
Posted by Jason Tougaw | September 9, 2007 9:14 AM
Posted on September 9, 2007 09:14
Hi, Andrew. I lived in Greenpoint many, many years ago. I love that neighborhood. I hear it's a lot more shee-shee now.
Transitions are hard, but change often brings lovely surprises. --Maryellen
Posted by Maryellen | September 9, 2007 1:24 PM
Posted on September 9, 2007 13:24
I hear you on this: It's been awhile since I've been out too.
I get memories like those, except they occur in my dreams more than anything else. They're reoccurring too, like something is going to happen to me there.
Who knows. Maybe my mind is so scattered that it's trying to regain control through the past.
Posted by Rebecca | September 9, 2007 4:39 PM
Posted on September 9, 2007 16:39
Also went to a friend's bday in Brooklyn this week end, 45's at 45 Those who could had to bring our small round vinyls to spin for the night. ending up some how being a "dirty stay out" as I hadn't seen these folks, some of my oldest friends
Much recovery needed the next day, understand the old buck feeling
Posted by john | September 10, 2007 11:39 AM
Posted on September 10, 2007 11:39