White Noise

In Columns, Features, My Life As A Voyeur: Living Vicariously by Cole Wilson

I’m sitting here facing the worst thing in my life. A deadline. OK I guess maybe there are worse things in my life than deadlines, but my editor wants me to write something. I hate it when my mind is a blank. No flexibility, no understanding about the three margaritas I put away last night in the name of “research”.

So here I sit staring at the white screen, wondering what to write about, wondering why I ever write this column at all, wondering if you, the ever present reader, really care about my day to day life at all. Wondering why I even bother.

God I wish I hadn’t run out of tequila. I’d go to the store but it’s too much trouble to hail a cab this time of night. I wonder if I can bribe my neighbor into going to the store for me. Course, if I did that, you wouldn’t be reading this column, now would you? There’s a reason I buy limited quantities of alcohol at a time. I’d consume it if I had more.

Oh, I finally replaced my cam. Yeah! As you might recall, my webcam died a spectacular death when my brake extension handle caught on the cable, pulling it off the desk. All the kings horses and all the kings men were unable to put Humpty Dumpty’s lens back together again, although I’m thinking about turning the old one’s cable into an extension cable if I can find the specs for the USB port.

Anyway, I was out today and saw a discontinued Quickcam on special for $30, so I picked it up. Works flawlessly, in fact I think the image quality is a little better than the old one. Still juggling the ports when I need to use the scanner though. Can’t bring myself to pick up a USB hub yet, not till I replace my puter. Like that will happen.

So anyway, now I can get back together with my favorite online honeys again – Stephi especially has been bugging me that she hasn’t been able to see me since my cam broke.

She’ll be happy.

Speaking of honeys, the cute little married chick at the PT office flirted with me again yesterday. I don’t know why she tortures me so with her million-dollar grin and big brown eyes. At least she doesn’t actually do the PT on me, thank God for small favors. I have this recurring fantasy that she gives me more than a receipt when I give her my copay. Like that will happen.

I fell again this morning, and it wasn’t even related to tequila. I spilled my coffee at breakfast – the only beverage I like better than alcohol. As I reached to dab the ambrosia of the gods off the floor (seriously considering licking the paper towel), the front right wheel of my chair gave way. Again. Goddamn Jennings. I don’t know why I keep this thing around. Gotta get my Quickie back from the repair shop. Pray the Jen doesn’t break again in the meantime, ok?

Luckily, I wasn’t badly injured, except my shoulder’s a little stiff from catching myself on the way down. I found an old pain script and took one of those, but hasn’t helped a whole lot. Then again, maybe that’s why this is the column from hell.