After Jacob and I played for maybe 3 hours Monday night and made 109 bucks, we returned to my place where there was still plenty of sausage and rice jambalaya in my refrigerator in a turkey roasting sized tin.
It had been like finding enough food to live off of for a week after having had a 49 dollar Friday night, when we returned to Sacred Heart to find the tin full of it, which I estimated to weight about 12 pounds.
It was all wrapped up in tin foil and still warm, and had rice and plenty of slices of sausage, and was a little salty and a little spicy.
Then, I went out myself Saturday night and, getting there at about midnight, played for about an hour and a half before it started getting a little chilly.
A young black couple, who had been doing brisk business selling weed off of Lilly’s stoop opposite the one where I play, gave me about a 20 dollar bud after I had knocked off. They had apparently enjoyed listening to me while they sat there. They also seemed to have figured out that we can coexist just fine if they didn’t mind moving down to the other stoop rather than try to contest the one where I sit, based upon them having gotten there first, or something.
The last guy who had done that wound up being handed some money by a group of tourists whom he promised he would be “right back” with their weed. That time, I just set up and started playing; I knew he wouldn’t be back.
After the tourists became restless about 20 minutes later and wandered off, with them each blaming each other for having been foolish enough to hand the guy their money, I went on to only make about 20 bucks, but was handed the bud, and had a ton of jambalaya waiting on me at home.
I picked up a couple cans of food for Harold and we both pigged out and I took most of Sunday as a recovery day. I wish I could live off of food like that, especially when it’s free, but alas, I’m sure it had some soy oil in it. I was reminded again how my particular diet has been keeping me healthy all these years. And keeping me free from the affliction of “jambalaya farts” that marked most of Sunday. Hard to believe some people eat stuff like that daily. I suppose it wouldn’t be as bad if done in olive or coconut oil.
What is on the immediate horizon is the Octapharma plasma donation place, where, as a “new” donor, ie one who hasn’t donated there in over 3 years, I would be able to make something like 900 bucks over the next month or so.
I had all but forgotten about that place, but Dom in A 206 reminded me about it, and told me about the incentive for new donors.
I could go and get my first 100 bucks today, but will probably go tomorrow, after I locate my social security card, to go with my ID, and a piece of mail addressed to me, to prove that I’m not homeless, I guess. I’ll also have to show up with clean clothes and freshly showered, to be ready for the physical that all new donors have to undergo; which is mostly an inspection for evidence of IV drug use.
I’ll want to be sure I have the bus fare to make it back home, should anything go wrong, like my blood protein levels being too low or any of a dozen other things. I don’t want to have to try to activate the plastic card that they put people’s money on just so I can get back home.
It might also be a chance for me to visit Howard, to see if he is still alive. Somehow, I just haven’t been up to dropping in on him. At first this was because of Covid and the fact that Howard is pretty much overweight and lives off Cheetoz and Pepsi, a couple comorbidities if there ever were any.
I’m listening to Boccherini’s Symphony #4 in D minor and preparing to get some sleep at some point. Going out to play tonight should insure that I will be ready to make the trip to Octapharma tomorrow. I just hope my blood-sausage levels aren’t too high for them to take me.