Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Free Advice #1

This, herein, constitutes as my first advice column. Really, Riff Raff? Who am I to give advice?  If free advice is worth what you pay for, I suggest giving me money.

A particular Rank and File pen-named "Confused in the Capital" writes -

Dear Everyman:

I'm so confused. 

I woke up this morning and found myself in Washington, DC.  Now how on Earth did I end up here?  Didn't I fall asleep in another major metropolitan area on the East Coast?  Why yes, I am almost certain that I did.  So why wasn't I sleeping in a rent-controlled, run-down, three-story walk-up apartment - that I share with my friend and two cats - in Astoria, Queens?  Maybe it was just one of those really, really intense dreams...

After shrugging off the disorientation as the after-effect of a nighttime cocktail of Vicodin and anti-convulsants, I got ready for work.  But where did I work?  Fifteen minutes later, I turned the key in the front door of an office in downtown Washington, very close to The White House.  So close, in fact, that three different groups of tourists all asked me for directions.  "It's right around that corner, to the right, one block down."  "Just take the next right, and walk one block straight there."  "Turn right, it's a block away."

It took me, I'd say, about thirty minutes to figure out what I did for a living.  Apparently, I raise money for this organization and have worked at this for nearly a full year. "It's all news to me" soon became my mantra for the next eight hours (less my hour for lunch).  Lunch seemed strange to me as well.  After all, I did eat a grilled cheese sandwich and a giant pickle at a place called "Potbelly", having washed it down with a cookies-n-cream milkshake.  Promptly at six o'clock I packed up my stuff and headed back "home" to the house I woke up in this morning.  The house I am in right now.

So here I sit, in a house in Washington when I get the distinct feeling that I should be in a crummy apartment in New York.  I'm some sort of fund-raiser, some kind of "advocate", a sort of "activist", and what some might call a "community organizer" - just like the President?  Getting people behind an idea, and moreover, to donate of their money, energy, and time seems to be my lot in life.  Did I wake up this morning expecting to step out of my front door in Queens, make the long Subway ride downtown into Manhattan, and enter the chic gallery in SoHo where I work as a curator?  Well yes, I did. 

I get the feeling you feel the same way when you wake up in the morning, Everyman.  Can you help? 

Yours,
Confused in the Capital

--

Dear Confused,

I once stopped breathing in the middle of the night. I woke up gasping for breath and fell to the floor. I had no idea where I was and panic set in immediately. When it all settled and I caught my breath and remembered it all again I had to calm myself for a moment. I repeated, "Here You Are" and stroked my chest until I was ready to go back to sleep.

I laid there, regaining control and as it set in, I wondered if I was okay with this reality. What else had I been dreaming about? Where are my dreams telling me to go? And then I slept again. With no answer.

I suggest upping your Vicodin dosage.

With warm regards,
Everyman

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