Almost human, again...

The second job in NYC flattened me. Partly because that fucking city did all it could to fuck me over. I grew pissy and had to fight to keep on an even keel until everything was picked up, at about 1pm, then I left and went looking for a pizza joint.

I was hungry and I had a semi-cool DPZ with me, so all I wanted was a couple slices. Apparently the upper East Side is not known for pizza joints; just sit down restaurants requiring decorum. NOT up for that. I wanted a place where I could cough and snort, if need be.

I knew of a joint just like that in Penn Station, then I could catch the E train to JFK, no problem. But my feet and knees hurt from the nonstop standing and all the walking I'd done, so I got lazy and hailed a cab. Only I apparently got one where the only way the driver knew how to get there was toodling down Park Avenue.

The slowest fucking route possible. I suggested cutting over to Seventh, since that runs right up to the station's main entrance, but he ignored me. Hell, going down Lexington would have been faster.

It took 50 minutes in stop and go traffic, passing through Grand Central Station and down to 31st Street before he turned to cross. Then he was going to take me around the block of Penn Station to get to the correct side for the entrance.

I pulled some New Yorker attitude and made him stop. In traffic. At the corner of 31st and Seventh. Horns blaring like crazy, but I didn't care. I got my suitcase and backpack and paid. Cost me $45 fucking dollars because I was too self-indulgent to take the subway. Fucking stupid.

I am never taking a cab in NYC, again.

I got through the paperwork I needed to get done, today, and checked on my financials and mail and such. Didn't leave my apartment except to get milk from the RiteAid across the street. Was very self-indulgent and rested a lot. Now I feel good and, since I've got everything else done, I'm getting onto prepping the ebook copy of APoS-Derry. I need that to send off for reviews.

Brendan's been quiet, with me. Going through my worries about the story's honesty, he's said nothing in the way of encouragement or derision or anything. Almost like he's numb. It has been an arduous path, and it's my hope the Houston part will be easier since I know pretty much how that should go and he'll be the fish out of water, there, instead of me.

Maybe I shouldn't ask for reviews.  They might damage my confidence too much, if they're bad.