4:11 am and I’m at my desk.
I woke up at 3:33 am and I tried to go back to bed but couldn’t. I have a sore throat and I’m awake!
This fucking schedule is killing me. And I keep falling for it. Over. And over. And over again.
I wake up super early and then I pass out at eight fucking thirty pm.
Seriously. I came home during half of the NFL game that I was watching at Nelson. Watched Jeopardy and started to pass out. Put Archer on Netflix and barely watched an episode and started sleeping. I looked at the time and I forced myself to be awake for a bit longer.
Fell asleep before 9 pm.
So now it’s early as fuck. And I haven’t worked or felt like working. Nothing is new.
This was my girlfriend’s old schedule.
But yeah. This early she would be getting ready to get out the door. Full make-up and ready like a Godinez to suffer early work so she can be out by 1 or 2 pm. And then start drinking with a meal.
Life has gone in a really odd direction.
I sent a hail mary email to City Pages, the magazine in Minneapolis, to see if they run the story that already got published by the Reader. They are probably going to ignore it. But hey. First time I send something to another place.
At the beginning of the year, I met with an acclaimed journalist so she can give me advice on how to further my career. Her advice was to write more and send to more editors. Just keep knocking doors.
That week I decided to write to Esquire, Playboy, The Christian Science Monitor, and more.
I never sent one email.
I never knocked in any doors.
I didn’t really follow her advice.
She also told me that the articles that pay $50 or so, like food reviews and others, should take me less than an hour to write. So I started doing that. It was really taking me around three to four hours to write. But I was trying to do a couple a day.
And that was disastrous because I couldn’t get along with the food editor and my quality dropped simply because I was reviewing everything that stood in my path.
And I stopped.
Now I think I’m sick.
I’m making tea.
And my fat ass cat is already begging for food. I ran out of his food. Need to buy some. I have backup food for him. Yep. I have backup food for my fatass cat.
My new landlord was here last night.
I paid him rent and showed him the things that are wrong with the apartment. Been living here for more than a couple of years now and suddenly I don’t have the same landlord. It is now the brother of my previous landlord. Family drama. I wonder what happened. And I wonder what will happen.
But for now. I have signed a contract for a year in this place and I already showed more than an interest in living in the penthouse.
Let’s see what happens.
That’s all that happened yesterday.
Sent a hail mary pass to a magazine that has never published me.
Then crossed the border to get cash for rent.
And on my way back I was sweating so I stopped at Nelson’s. No shit there. I got hungry and I ate four tacos de cabeza. Got back to Nelson and my previous seat was occupied and the whole bar was busy. Fuck it. I should go home.
And home I did.
Debating on my way if I should poke my head in Zona Norte. I haven’t in forever.
And I didn’t.
Not with rent money in my pocket.
My eyes feel like they are going to come out of their socket and I have plenty of mucus, but of course when I blow my nose, not much comes out. And it’s constantly there.
I flel asleep after being awake all morning through dawn. And my fat cat woke me up again.
Tomorrow I have a photo gig. Today I should finish some writing gigs. And I should really behave and stay in because yep. Sick.
Shit. It’s the middle of the month and I haven’t accomplished much. Just that week that I worked that paid nicely. And since then I’ve been lazy as fuck.
Another cover of mine comes out tomorrow… I think.
And another one after that.
And I believe another one after that…
All pictures, no text. I should write a cover.
This is what it looked at dawn.
There was a weird hazy smokey fog. It didn’t smell right.
Then Bisho started running like crazy. I think the catnip hits him at dawn because he was acting really weird.
Shit got boring, huh?!
What did I use to blog before meeting my girlfriend/ex?
I think I just used to be more opinionated about stupid stuff. I remember talking about Trump a bunch of times. Other silly shit. Celebrities as well. Like all the stupid shit that is going on in Hollywood.
I haven’t even mentioned that.
About Kevin Spacey.
I knew since years ago. No. He never touched me. And no. I never saw him. But I’ll tell the story about how I knew on the next post if I remember.
And yeah. Sad. I love House of Cards.
Now we’re never going to see his movie. Why didn’t the NewYorkTimes just waited after that? You know.. ruin him but still let us watch his movies. Separate the art from the artist from the artwork… if possible. I think Heidegger said it was possible. Or I think he said exactly the opposite.
Philosophy 101. That was years ago.
My teacher couldn’t swim and he related everything to the experience of going to swimming lessons. Dude was the only Jewish person on my super Catholic campus. And he wasn’t very good of a teacher. Just alright.
I didn’t learn about Heidegger then.
That was in Philosophy and Art which I’m pretty sure was a senior course. I forgot the name of the teacher, but he was a monk. And boy was he great!
Ten years is a long time ago. Ten years ago right now I would be living in West Hollywood. Paying ten times what I pay for rent right now. With a new GTI sitting in my garage. Collecting fucking parking dick tickets because of street sweeping or some bullshit.