new year, new post

I'm still here Chicago. Not going anywhere. Just waking up every weekday for my customer service job that I need to shower and wear clean clothes for. Then I answer five part questions presented as one part questions by someone who really couldn't give a shit how polite I am, but I figure, it's my job to be polite. I'm servicing the customer, which sounds elicit. It's not. I would make more money if it was. I wasn't making any money while I was stinky and terse and homeless. With the completion of 365 days, we call it a new year, and it is. It's a new year. Thank God and thank not. 2010 was the year that I would/wouldn't ever want to repeat. Too many firsts and lasts. I made amense with all my exes of the past couple years. It just happened. Who cares. I guess I do. Not about them being exes. It's just an example of beginnings and ends. I needed completion. I felt renewed. I feel renewed, but not like before. Again, I'm living in Chicago with my sister. That's her pictured. Imagine us getting ready to go out on a Friday night. I'm sitting somewhere in the small but nicely tiled bathroom with a setup similar to many others in Chicago. There's a shower/tub, sink, and toilet, with enough room leftover to fit shelving underneath appliances or stacked up walls. Hygiene products expose the tenet. Imagine that after my sister applies the last strike of blush to my cheek, she pronounces the word "perfect". Imagine that I look really pleased by this, but more delighted than just pleased. I look pretty and nice and ready. Wherever I am going, I have never arrived. We never do that. On Friday nights, we're on the couch watching a new sci-fi mini series from netflix broadcasting from the TV that Christina has named our "new brother". She says 'ew' everytime I fart, and complains when her cats sit closer to me than to her. I get a little drunk on cheap wine, but make sure to eat with the antibiotics I take for my skin. That's Friday folks. I still bike about ten miles a day. I still read a couple hours a day. I still think about the writing I should be doing daily. I still think about biking mountains. I'm fixing up a Mercier to ride fixed. I miss track stands and stinking and hills. I thought I'd get over that stuff. I thought I'd become someone who liked to wakeup and jog. Instead I think about calling someone to go out, but sit at home on the fart couch watching global domination by robots. I'm flying to Oakland in mid-March to sleep in a tent in my old backyard.