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When I was 7, I started my first diary. I wrote things like, "Had Cap'n Crunch for breakfast. Watched cartoons with Jennifer. Rode my bike."
To this day, I often feel the same way when I sit down to write my journal. I think things throughout the day like, "I wonder if the way I have dressed in this hooded sweatshirt makes me look more like I 'belong' when I deliver in the intown neighborhoods," but I sit down and write things like, "Work sucked today."
Today is Wednesday, but it feels like Monday. I got up at 7 a.m. and got the kids to school, but then went back to sleep until it was time for me to go to work at 11. I felt really foolish, coming in 12 minutes late, but there was no one there anyway. Apparently Corey missed the bus, he showed up a few minutes later in a taxi.
(The really horrible public transit system in this city is balanced by really slow taxi service. You may wait 30-45 minutes for a taxi to take a 2 1/2 mile trip which will end up taking you an hour and you wish you had walked. Meanwhile, the bus will show up in 15 minutes, but make you go around your ass to get to your elbow and take just as long ... and heaven forbid you have to transfer.)
Nothing came in at work for the first two hours, then four orders came in, pretty well paced, everything on time. Then it's just after 3 p.m. and I'm thinking I'll eat, but then a dozen or so walk-in customers show up over the next hour and I'm shoveling pies and slices out and taking money and my sandwich gets cold.
Yesterday, I was nannying. I got the kids to school, then went back to sleep until it was time for them to get out of school. They were pretty good in the afternoon, Jonathan and Anna played together, and Raymond and Jessie kind of did their own thing. Jessie is easy for me to understand, she's 12 and talks on the phone and hides out watching tv on her mom's bed, reminds me of me and my sister at her age, but she seems utterly uninterested in me.
Monday, I spent all day on the plane, sorry that I didn't feel more ... or less. Living in a state of ambiguity. But when I get home there are messages on the phone, the voicemail box is full. My grandmother has died.
I don't mind, really. I have been expecting this for over a year, since my grandfather died two years ago, actually. It hits me like a hammer on a little gong somewhere inside. The transition period that started with my grandfather's death (another long weekend, another relationship, another contrast, another breakup) two years ago is over.
I wish I could just start clean. Maybe I will. Maybe I will just tell everyone the past is dead, long live ME.
Right now, I am at the Innovox. I need to return a call from Atari, and Mark has asked me to come have dinner. His friend Rae was coming over, but she had to cancel, and now he has no one to eat lamb with, he says. I like lamb, so I'm going. But I wonder where Heather is.
Mark and Heather seem like they're serious, or like they would be, except Mark never seems to be able to get out of the house. I am concerned, but I try not to let myself get involved. I already know that trying to change it just makes it worse. I wonder if depressed people ever die of starvation... of not being able to get out of the house, make the effort, and no one checks on them. Seems possible.
Right. Coffee. Because it's not just as drink, it's a way of life.
To this day, I often feel the same way when I sit down to write my journal. I think things throughout the day like, "I wonder if the way I have dressed in this hooded sweatshirt makes me look more like I 'belong' when I deliver in the intown neighborhoods," but I sit down and write things like, "Work sucked today."
Today is Wednesday, but it feels like Monday. I got up at 7 a.m. and got the kids to school, but then went back to sleep until it was time for me to go to work at 11. I felt really foolish, coming in 12 minutes late, but there was no one there anyway. Apparently Corey missed the bus, he showed up a few minutes later in a taxi.
(The really horrible public transit system in this city is balanced by really slow taxi service. You may wait 30-45 minutes for a taxi to take a 2 1/2 mile trip which will end up taking you an hour and you wish you had walked. Meanwhile, the bus will show up in 15 minutes, but make you go around your ass to get to your elbow and take just as long ... and heaven forbid you have to transfer.)
Nothing came in at work for the first two hours, then four orders came in, pretty well paced, everything on time. Then it's just after 3 p.m. and I'm thinking I'll eat, but then a dozen or so walk-in customers show up over the next hour and I'm shoveling pies and slices out and taking money and my sandwich gets cold.
Yesterday, I was nannying. I got the kids to school, then went back to sleep until it was time for them to get out of school. They were pretty good in the afternoon, Jonathan and Anna played together, and Raymond and Jessie kind of did their own thing. Jessie is easy for me to understand, she's 12 and talks on the phone and hides out watching tv on her mom's bed, reminds me of me and my sister at her age, but she seems utterly uninterested in me.
Monday, I spent all day on the plane, sorry that I didn't feel more ... or less. Living in a state of ambiguity. But when I get home there are messages on the phone, the voicemail box is full. My grandmother has died.
I don't mind, really. I have been expecting this for over a year, since my grandfather died two years ago, actually. It hits me like a hammer on a little gong somewhere inside. The transition period that started with my grandfather's death (another long weekend, another relationship, another contrast, another breakup) two years ago is over.
I wish I could just start clean. Maybe I will. Maybe I will just tell everyone the past is dead, long live ME.
Right now, I am at the Innovox. I need to return a call from Atari, and Mark has asked me to come have dinner. His friend Rae was coming over, but she had to cancel, and now he has no one to eat lamb with, he says. I like lamb, so I'm going. But I wonder where Heather is.
Mark and Heather seem like they're serious, or like they would be, except Mark never seems to be able to get out of the house. I am concerned, but I try not to let myself get involved. I already know that trying to change it just makes it worse. I wonder if depressed people ever die of starvation... of not being able to get out of the house, make the effort, and no one checks on them. Seems possible.
Right. Coffee. Because it's not just as drink, it's a way of life.
