10.3

I woke up one hour late for work today, but my dream-me was scoring a plus-perfect 10.3 in diving, so whatever. It was a small waste of my subconscious time, I think, if only because after realizing what a talented diver I was, I decided I should really learn how to apply for scholarships to college based on that talent. It got really technical, trying to understand how to maximize the amount of money I could get toward school.

I awoke realizing how late I was for work, knowing I am no great diver and that college was over a long, long time ago.

As I said, waste of my subconscious time.

I could have been figuring out how the hell to get started on McBickle: The Novel. Or, McBickle: The Non-Fiction Book. (That is, The Non-Fiction Book, by McBickle.) But no. Diving. Money. College. Three ideas that entail leaps of faith and varying degrees of return.

Last night I watched the fireworks over Manhattan. What was great about it was that I could see all three East River shows equally from my roof. The central one was the downtown works, then there was the about-34th street works and the by-the-Statue-of-Liberty works. I almost forgot though; there were also the you’re-going-to-blow-up-my-neighborhood local works in nearby streets that would scare the fuck out of me as they blinded all of us rooftop observers trying to figure out how the hell the Macy’s people can make a fireworks cube. I mean, a CUBE. Fire trucks occasionally whizzed past, louder than the bottle rockets, and I hoped nobody was missing an eyeball.

The downtown fireworks left a cloud of smoke where the World Trade Center used to be—not an entirely comfortable sight.