Here come the warm jets

 293rd day sober. I practiced before going to bed last night (more like this morning around 9AM) and went through most of the exercises while watching a bunch of stuff about Japan and noticed that it's really easy to play "Here Come The Warm Jets" by Brian Eno in-key on a 1.8 shakuhachi. There's only one note that needs to be half-holed. That's a neat thing to find out. 

I was very productive because I took all the boxes that had lab glassware in them and put them in the office here. Then I dug out the pieces I needed for a big combination order and packed that, and packed another order that's just a couple glass pieces. Then I organized everything by type, for instance, instead of a given graduated cylinder being possibly in any one of 6 boxes, now it will be found in the one box where all the graduated cylinders are. 

Then I listed 18 pieces of mostly oddball/custom lab glass I'd gotten in, and had logical places for everything to go. It even freed up enough room to get 4 rather bulky chart recorders out of the office. So I was pretty happy with myself. This week I've shipped 40 things and listed 58. 

I woke up a bit after 4. Not great news, as I wanted to be out the door at 5. I fixed up coffee and aspirin and was out the door at about 10 after with the combination order to take to FedEx. 

I ran up there no problem, and since I'd not gone there last night, I went to the dumpster that appears to serve a computer place. This is the enclosure I'm working on cleaning up, so I pulled lots of cut-up cardboard out of the dumpster, then dug out a fair number of neat little boxes for shipping things in, and other packing stuff like foam. I put some old wood in and put the cardboard back in, and got a big bag out of the bike bag and was putting my boxes in it when I heard a "Hey!" from a car nearby. 

Maybe I should not have answered but I thought it might be a security person or an employee. I said I was "Cleaning up" which in fact I actually was doing. This ... person ... ended up driving up in a generic gold-painted sedan with the usual bum accents like the odd dent, I believe one body panel a different color, and junk piled inside. I think this person, a fat middle-aged female, may have been the illustrious "Crazy Chrissie" who I had a run-in with about 3 years ago.

She went on about how I "Can't" get stuff out of there and I said I'd bought stuff from the guy - meaning the lab equipment guy - and she continued to say I "Can't" and got on her phone to call who-knows-who. While talking I kept busy packing the boxes up and Ziptie-ing the bag and putting it on the bike trailer. By this time Fatso was out of her car and on the phone and I think this helped me. 

I sped off and I imagine now she had to take some time wedging herself back into her long-suffering car to give chase. I figured, since she ranted that I can't leave, that if I at least got out onto public property there'd not be much she could do. I sped across Brokaw and crossed Junction and 'round the corner to Tom's place. I knew he was there with his homeless buddy, Roy. 

I almost felt like saying, "Hide me" but instead I gave a quick run-down of what had just happened, and he said he and "Roy" were just heading out to eat, and we put my bike and trailer into Tom's shop and I got in Tom's truck with him and all we went to a Mexican place on Oakland Road. I had garlic shrimp and it was really good. I was going to offer to at least help with the tip as I had $8 cash in my wallet and ... my wallet wasn't there. I'd left it back at the shop. The meal cost Tom $100 with the tip. 

Tom and I went back to his place and we hung out for a bit. Lots of discussion of bums and the crazy things they do. As we talked, there were bums occasionally wandering, or riding their (stolen) bikes or so on, one crazy gal even walking down the middle of the street, ranting about something. Tom had drank a can of light beer on the drive to the Mexican restaurant, and had a bottle of beer there. He now said he "was gonna turn in" and looked very tired all of a sudden. 

This gave me the impression it was late and it *felt* late, like maybe it was around 11PM. But when I got back here it was only a bit after 8. That's the old "wartime 3-hour shift" for you. 8PM feels like 11 and for instance, Nijiya Market, open now until 7PM, is the equivalent to being open until 10PM in the before times. 

I wonder if Tom had had a sneaky nip when he went out to the porta-john to take a pee? Or if he suddenly looked tired because he was going into withdrawal? In any case it wasn't late, and I doubt Tom was going to turn in before he drank himself blotto on E&J brandy. It's Saturday night, after all. 

I got back here and when I'd left I'd noticed a child's pull wagon and a bunch of stuff left in the parking lot and it was still there, so after putting the bike and trailer away I went back out and piled the junk into the wagon. As I did so, a minivan pulled up and a female voice asked if I had "a spare cigarette".  I said I was sorry, I don't smoke. It really *is* a Bum-O-Rama out there on a Saturday night. I took the wagon full of stuff out to where lots of people would see it driving by on Bayshore and hopefully pick it up. 

Oh, and interestingly, my aunt actually wrote back to me after the last long email I'd sent her, the kind after which I usually don't get an answer. She wanted to know if I am "close" with any siblings. So I gave her a full run-down, there being four of them so it takes a bit of writing. Also I have no idea if she's in communication with any of them herself. 

But actually all of this has an additional stage. After the long screed she'd written back saying something like "I'm sure you'll have it all worked out!" and a damn picture of a unicorn. I swear to fucking God, a God-damned cartoon of a smiling unicorn. So I'd shot back something like, "Well, just imagine what you yourself would do at my age and in my situation, but without bags and bags of money". Frankly I really didn't expect an answer after that, but now she wants to know about my relations with my siblings. For what mysterious reason, I may never know.