Notes. From the Upper West Side. A novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 16.
No more weedy charms. I look back on that day now, it was a great day. It was the start of something big that I screwed up weeks later because I trusted Parp, and he sabotaged me. Uh...
I don't know. Maybe I fucked it up all by myself. Maybe I'm... No, it was Parp.
You'll see. Sabotaging me, selling me out, sinking my hopes, stabbing me in the back. These are all hobbies of Parp's. More than hobbies.
Applications. Yeah, yeah, you're thinking. The people in your life have nothing better to do, unsure. Well, you'll see.
You just don't know Parp and how much of a life he doesn't have. You don't think he takes the time to plan out how he's gonna fuck me over? Like I said, you'll see. I mean, the guy is fucking my wife while I'm typing this, alright?
What, where do you want? So right now my life eats monkey balls. I started coughing today. An old man's smoker's hack that started me obsessing on the odds I'll get cancer.
But that day back in March, that day at Hannibal's demise with Cammie and Bang and Lenny and Bobby, that was a great day. Jessica says one of the reasons I have so many lousy days is I expect each day to be lousy. Why not try this? She said about a year, maybe two years ago.
Just when you get up in the morning, this is what some people do. They start out assuming every day is going to be a great day until they, you know, something happens. It's just not every day is going to be great, but at least when you start each day, you're giving it the benefit of the doubt. You think you might want to give that a try?
Sounds great, doesn't it? I tried it for a few days and yeah, it kind of worked. I smiled a bunch. Me and Sam went out on walks while the wife was at work and Harry was at school.
I trundled him around River Side Park and smiled real shiny at all the hot single mommies. Great day, isn't it, smile? Sam and Seneca had known. One of them said, Hey, it's a great day.
I yelled back. The boy laughed a lot. That was great. I think I mentioned where pals.
When the three of us are out, that's the man's squad. When two of us are out, that's the man quorum. I even invented a new breakfast for the squad. Wheaty Charms.
See, mommy doesn't want them eating lucky charms. So I invented Wheaties with a lucky charms frosting, you know? I'm the good guy. But, you know, shit comes down.
Chicks are not supposed to be bawling. Tell you to stop bawling them. And you can't complain because they could tell the wife and you could get divorced and only see the man's squad every other weekend. The bank calls up because the co-op mortgage is late and the wife is pissed off and you're in the bar pender with some clippings waiting on asshole actors who have careers and hanging with Kurt Libby the loser and Tony parked the prick.
And meanwhile, in just a few decades you'll either be dead or some old man showing his incisions off to strangers. But yeah, give every day the benefit of the doubt. You tell yourself, be in the moment. I'm a trained actor.
I can do that. Look at the lovely shine on this porcelain plate. Is there anything lovelier? And you hate yourself for being such a happy pill gulping, choke-perquoting, mantra-chanting monkey.
Maybe some Zen will fix it. There is no ego. There's no linear thought. It's all an illusion.
Then you make the mistake of telling parp. And he says, Zen is just another slave philosophy like all Eastern religions. Give up your ego and reach a higher plane. You know what the higher plane is?
It's where you're finally content to sit on your knees and never look up unless it's to kiss the tax collector's ass. And if you ask why? Hey, that makes you a linear thinking ego-haver. You don't want to be one of those, do you?
No. Then puck her up in no questions. And pretty soon the whole give each day the benefit of the doubt attitude is something that lasts for the first five minutes of each day until the wife says, No more weedy charms. But no more weedy charms.
Still, that first day of shooting Little Round Jewish Hat, that was a great day and I had no idea while it was happening. Notes from the Upper West Side Copyright 2013-2015 by Dan Wrench. Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist.