April 30 - Sissy Fuss


A cellular phone rang at dawn. It belonged to me.
"Tony. It's Yvette."
Yvette is the woman who does night phones. That means she answers the phone between 5pm-8am, and makes all the deliveries in those hours. I did night phones for half of 2007. It was a peculiar kind of hell.
"(An idiotic corporation) has a package that needs to be in Kenilworth by 7:30, and I cannot do it. Can you do it?"
Any order done in those hours pays double. After last week's towing debacle, I could use the money.
"It needs to be there by 7:30."
I had no idea what time it was.
"It's 5:30."
Well. I'm up now anyway.
So I did the order. The guy on the other end of the Kenilworth mansion's intercom was a condescending prick. I tossed his package onto a tree stump, like he ordered. Life goes on.
Then I went home, took a shower, and ate breakfast.
I went back out and drove and drove and drove in Sisyphean traffic until 4:30pm.
I don't know where I obtained the energy. I was up last night after 2am mindlessly watching fucking Speeders, while drinking canned beer and contributing more pointless air onto Facetown.
"Speeders just pulled someone over in your hometown. Thought of you."
After a few beers I turn into an emoticon with sunglasses.

The evening was spent doing laundry and recording demos in the kitchen. I found a neat drum set up, approximating a cymbal stand with a drumstick lodged in a drawer. It actually sounded pretty good considering.
Considering sleep loss has eroded the lobes in my brain that recognize quality.

Verdict: Win

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