From The Dish Pit

I think this blog would be ninety percent more interesting if I were drinking. Just because I’ve been going to AA doesn’t mean I’ve quit. I actually anticipate, fantasize, about drinking. But I can’t go to prison. So I’m planning on staying sober until I’m done with probation. I have profound nostalgia from drinking alone, riding the bus to Interlochen or Sutton’s Bay or Portland or Los Angeles. It probably looks sad from the outside, and indeed it is, but I love creating my own Hell. It probably comes from self-loathing, loneliness, fear, and defeat. I hope someday I can settle down somewhere and really be content with a somewhat normal life and accept it for what it is.

The sun is out and it’s about fifty degrees.

I stopped in WNMC, the college radio station at Northwestern Michigan College. I deejayed there before. I talked to Eric Hyme, the supervisor there. I was surprised that he remembered me. He said someone would have to update me on the process as they’ve gotten new equipment. He said they’d contact me next week.

In an earlier post I mentioned getting a new pair of headphones– how I liked a model that I bought at a store in Telluride. Well, I thought I’d look around downtown today before I go ahead and get something off Amazon. I asked my sister if they sold anything at the outdoor store she works at. There doesn’t seem to be any local stores that sell them, which is actually incredible to me. Maybe they do at the guitar store. They have to at the record store over by Family Fare.

I stopped by The Camera Shop to see if my film had been developed. It has. I said I’d be picking it up on Thursday.

I’m writing this from the dish pit at Sparks BBQ. I usually type out my daily post on my laptop, at night, but I think today I’m going to type out a post from work.

The first bird I found, I ripped a piece of a free tourist map and picked it up by the foot and dropped it in the river. The next one I found as I was walking back away from the river. I found three Cedar Waxwings on the sidewalk under some berry trees. These dead birds remind me of a dying bird I found on a sidewalk near the library in Durango, Colorado. It was too weak to fly. I didn’t want the poor thing to die on a slab of concrete so I got a foam cup, scooped him up, and walked him down to the river where he could die in the soft grass.

One of the managers is outside washing the windows with a long wand. There’s a little boy delighted by the site, cheering on the sudsy spectacle.

I listened to the short story Head Down on the audiobook Nightmares & Dreamscapes by Stephen King.