Today I got pulled over by a motorcycle cop. He was quick to let me know that my tags had expired, and that he's going to impound my vehicle.
"This is neglect," he says. "It's six months past."
"Mmmm," I say. "Yes."
"You know it can get impounded right now?"
"Yes," I said.
"Let me see your license."
I was glad I had gotten the license last week. This made it easier. I was proud of myself for that. I think the cop was too. He handed back my license and issued me a citation rather than impounding my car. That was nice of him. I reminded myself that when I looked down at the yellow stub and realized I'd have to show up in court for this.
"I could have impounded it now," he said, as a way of consolation. "It's neglect."
"Yes," I said. "I hear you."
Lovely bureaucracy. Truly.
At lunch, I decided to take my chances with the DMV. I was hoping it would be effortless, and, initially, it was. It wasn't until I ran into registration issue that it became a problem. Apparently, this family car I've been driving for the last 10 years has not ever been put in my name, and now it leaves me with a wonderful solution - shit out of luck. They made me pay another 75 dollars and told me to come back and pay some more.
"Come back," they said. "Pay some more."
"Sounds good," I smiled.
"And get your father to sign each document and get it back to us. This will cover you until August. And I will be waiting for those signed documents."
I have half the mind to forge some documents.
Now I'm in the office. Work continues. Jim Goar will be here tomorrow. I'm in a foul mood. Hopefully, he'll bring some cheer. I've got plenty of bitch slap.
Yes, I have been foul this last week. Just awful.
I don't stand for anything. I even catch myself saying things like, "Just punch him in the mouth."
At work, someone failed to accomplish a task for me, and I wrote a memo to them that went simply, "YOU DIE!!!"
They found it funny.
I wasn't kidding.
Sometimes you need to go in the shell. You need to hide for a bit.
Right now I'm a dangerous animal. I could punch you for no good reason. Just try me. I'll knock you out. Seriously.
This might have something to do with the timely nature I find myself in. I am 1 year older in a couple days. I have been reading Bukowski non-stop. I am sick of working. I am ready to write a novel, and now I have to deal with crap.
Get out of my way.
It could be that it's just hot. It could be that I'm tired. It could be that I live alone. It could be that I'm old. It could be that I'm poor. It could be that I need a drink.
It could also be that I'm just plain mean.
Looks like I'm dying again.
I'll punch you. I swear I will.
Just die, punk.
What can I do to make you happy?
Take it easy on me. Sleep. Get something to eat. Chill. Relax. Slow down. Take care of things one day at a time. Deal with what comes. Don't freak out. It's cool. Nothing's going to happen. You'll get your dad to sign the documents. You will show it to the lady. You will call and take care of student loans. You will write a novel bit by bit like you do everything. I love you big dude. Just chill. Relax. Listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd.
I hate Lynrd Skynrd. I don't even know how to spell their name.
Is that true? You hate them?
Nah, they're okay. They have pretty songs. I like Forrest Gump.
Yeah, now you're talking.
I just need some sleep.
That's right. Get some sleep, beautiful.
Yes, sleep. I need sleep.
Go to bed, darling.
Alright, I'm going.
Same to you.
I keep running into famous people everywhere. Yesterday, it was Giovanni Rabisi. Today it was Natasha Mcelhone. She was in that Picasso film with Anthony Hopkins.
She was with her kids. She looked happy.
I poured my coffee.
I have only spoken to one famous person in Hollywood. Well, two actually.
The first was Chris Rock.
"You're great," I said.
He shook my hand.
The second was Chekov from Star Trek. I said he was great too.
"You are," I said.
He smiled. His daughter smiled.
I walked home.
They are still playing Lynyrd Skynyrd at work.
My foot hurts. It wants sleep.
Hopefully, things will brighten as it gets darker.