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2001-07-12 - 12:19 a.m. I had quite an interesting day. Started off my running to my friend Sara’s house on the West Side to have sandwiches in Riverside Park. She’s leaving the day after tomorrow to move to North Carolina—I can’t believe that she’s going away! Again, I can’t believe how many of my friends are moving away. I feel that the next wave of my life will be going to friends’ weddings—still haven’t done that one yet. I was born in New York City—on the upper west side. My parents had an apartment for the first year and a bit of my life on Riverside Drive and 81st street. When I was a baby, my grandmother used to roll me along in my carriage through the park that I visited with my friend today. After we moved to the ‘burbs, we used to come back and visit the area because I had play buddies there, and I used to go to the nearby playground. After I left Sara, I went back to that park to see were I spent part of the first years of my life. I have foggy memories of the park—the swings, the rubber mats that allowed free spiriting running without fear of hurting oneself (a fear held only by the adults in the area). I also have a memory of this large rock that I used to climb. I loved rocks when I was a kid (I still have nothing against them), and used to love climbing them even more. This big passion of mine was fully satisfied by the large rock outside the Riverside playground by 83rd street. So I jogged over to the park, swerving around baby carriages, nannies, and new moms. It was so amazing to see this spot again. I climbed up my rock, and looked through the fence at the kids running around in the sprinklers, playing in the sand and see-sawing…screaming and laughing the whole time. This rock, with its crags and crevices, was insurmountable as a babe. Today, I bounded up the side in three strides—and sat at the top of my mountain. I used to imagine whole new worlds living in those crevices. When I was a kid I didn’t really like playing on the jungle gyms and the slides—I didn’t think there was any real point. I had much more fun making up adventures using the rocks and the trees that were around me. I loved that rock—there are so many different faces of it, little holes scattered everywhere, and tiny sprigs of grass taking hold in whatever dirt they can find. It was really cool to go back there—I haven’t been there in a long time. My park. My city. My rock. I went home and putzed around for a while before setting off to see my therapist. I decided to take the bus crosstown—saving money is slowly becoming a priority (it should have been top priority since I was 16), and began to walk up 1st Avenue to 96th street. As I walked past Hog’s and Heifer’s bar, I stopped in my tracks. Laying on the sidewalk in front of me was a pigeon, on its side, with a misaligned wing. I couldn’t just leave it there—to become target practice for some kid. So, I went into the bar and rallied the regulars to help me pick it up with pages from the Village Voice. One of the guys picked it up with his bare hands—they were all so sweet, kind and helpful. They told me they saw the bird get caught in a plastic bag and crash land onto the sidewalk. I need to go back there tomorrow and tell them what happened. So I took the scared pigeon wrapped in 1-900# ads and retraced my steps to the ASPCA. I called to cancel my appointment, and walked up to the hospital floor. They helped me put it in a cage, and then I sat and waited for the doctor. Apparently he/she/it doesn’t have a broken wing, but was probably just a bit disoriented. They’re going to watch it for a while and then release it if it gets better. I hope that in some weird way this act of kindness will be circulated in the “pigeon network” and I won’t ever get shat on again. Or if I’m ever in trouble, I can call on the city pigeons like they’re Aqua Man or something, to help me. After I dropped the pigeon off, I went downstairs to play with some animals. There are about 50 cats that need to be adopted, so I spent some time in there listening to the different “meows” and calls for attention. I couldn’t stay there that long—I wanted to take them all home. I think I need to stay out of the cat section—or I’ll end up with 50 cats in a one-bedroom apartment. The dogs are another story. I can’t get a dog right now because of the time needed—so I’m okay with hanging out with them. I walked into the puppy section, and the first dog I see is a sweet little golden-colored puppy named Dingo. I have a friend with the nickname Dingo, so I knew I had to at least play with this guy a little bit. I took him up to the socialization room where he proceeded to pee on the floor, run after a ball and try to hump my leg. Kinda reminded me of my friend Dingo. So, now I sit in my apartment, surfing the web, looking for a job (still), playing computer solitaire and watching TV…right now it’s the biography of Dame Edna/Barry Humphries. I need to get a job—my life is so unstructured. I need a reason to get up in the morning that goes beyond training for a half-marathon. That’s all for now – please God give me a job soon!
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