Random Acts

There aren’t any words to adequately describe what a horrible day this is already. It seems like that bad days have been outweighing the good lately, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Sometimes, I just want to disappear. Others, I want to sleep until everything is finally normal. I have been sending off my resume and filling out applications all morning. The job interview yesterday probably didn’t go so well. There was a time when I would nail every interview I went to…and now I can’t seem to land one in the first place. The job market is dreadful. I’m still finding it hard to get up in the morning and the only reason I can think of for this is that I’m either still sick or more depressed than I realize. I can’t seem to do much lately that’s right. I don’t know what to do…but, I’m tired. I’m angry. I’m sad. I need a vacation from myself.

I got some junk mail from cooking.com today boasting a sale on “turkey day tools”. Apparently, if I spend $59, they will graciously pay for ground shipping. What struck me, though, was that beneath the roasting pans (which were my primary interest upon opening said junk mail) was the seemingly ubiquitous turkey fryer. I remember hearing about it a few years ago…that odd novelty fad that everyone wanted to do. I believe my father wanted to spin his own take by putting the entire dinner in the smoker. Thankfully, I don’t know what smoked potatoes taste like. I don’t think it really occured to me then that this is something that would catch on. Granted, I’ve never seen or tasted a fried whole turkey, but there is definitely something wrong with it. It reminds me of the King of the Hill episode where Bill and Boomhauer fried everything they could think of before the device of their affection started a grease fire in the yard. If I remember correctly, beer cannot be fried. I would imagine that TG dinner will be fattening enough without cooking it in 42 quarts of oil. The only thing more disturbing than this, this morning anyway, is that I opened the damned email and for the express purpose of checking out roasting pans.
On another tangent, I got called yesterday for a job interview. I don’t know why it always gets me excited when I get a random call from some HR person wanting to meet me. She had an old resume of mine that didn’t yet have my stint with ANuS on it. It’s a sysadmin 1 position for a huge company that works with the government. The pay and benefits sound fabulous, and the requirements are definitely something I’m qualified for. On the other hand, I haven’t worked since August…haven’t worked in IT since the end of April and haven’t had a job longer than a year since P and Ass. Fruit says to be confident and walk in there knowing I’m going to get the job. I just can’t see how that won’t jinx me. The job market is so bad right now that there will always be someone better. I haven’t had an offer from my last interviews…except (sort of) from PFLAG woman’s husband. He told me to name my price and play with vbscript. He also explained ad nauseum how long it takes for the government to follow through on contracts and that my potential position may be a few weeks in coming. I remember quite well how long it took to finally get the job at the police department. I guess I’m just not feeling very good about myself right now. I used to feel so intelligent when I did network jobs. It used to excite me to fix a problem and have more projects on the horizon. I used to feel so good at the end of the day knowing that I had found my career and that I was smart. Now I don’t feel so smart anymore. I was angry when I worked at the PD. I liked the environment, but I felt like my hands were tied. It was a temp job, and I had just come from a position with carte blanche to do whatever I wanted if I could convince them it was necessary. I knew there was a time line…a point at which I would be sent packing suddenly and be on my own. What do you do in that position? Do you always keep an eye out for something permanant? I did. I found ANuS and was excited to be a consultant. Then they ended up treating me like shit and compromising my principles by valuing the quick fix method over the most viable solution. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was angry and disillusioned. I got the job as bookkeeper at Big Ho and thought that I would finally be happy. Of course, I was bored to tears and overwhelmed by the drama of the environment. I feel like the only place for me is home. I love being home and taking care of my Fruit…I’m happy here. But, I am also worried that a part time position will tire me as much as a full time one. I’m afraid that I won’t do a good job at home and upset my girl when she comes home. She said that she was tired of hearing me complain about work when I was working. I think the thing that I wasn’t seeing was that I was complaining about the people more than the job. I did enjoy being a sysadmin. I was good at what I did…even if I wasn’t great. I may be sabotaging myself by “knowing” that I won’t get this job already…but, it’s definitely nice to know that my resume impressed an HR person at a big company in carlsbad. Maybe I should get our business off the ground. I can be desktop support and handle the maintenance and my Fruit can do the more intensive jobs that I’m not smart enough for.

I bit the proverbial bullet and called my old boss. I had already worn down my resolve in calling insurance companies and speaking to agents, so what the hell? Right? After deep breaths and hard thinking, I remembered the direct line to McCoy’s office. I guess I am not so opposed to that woman, but mostly because she is my Sofimonster’s grandma. Sofimonster. The only thing about LA that I miss. She was the first young baby I had ever held, and I was in love the second she looked into my eyes. She is the little ball of fire that got my clock ticking…and then only at 22. It was depressing speaking to McCoy. I guess it could be a lot of reason why. She has a fairly depressing tone in her voice anyway…tired and haggard. She wasn’t the best boss in the world, but she treated me like I believe a mother would…even though it infuriated me to be treated maternally by anyone. After a particularly childish confrontation…when I hadn’t been at P and Ass for very long, I burst out of her office for one reason or another proclaiming, “I already have a mother and it’s one too many”. I think it was because she tried to send me home when I was sick. I was relentless at work. Seventy people work there now. I can’t even imagine where they put all of them in that tiny office. That tiny office that was so huge when I worked there. Luckily, there was no mention of my ex or the ex’s mother. There was no mention of my old friends or how they massacred the network I built. The only mention…the most depressing mention…was that sofimonster is four. Four years old, and I bet so big. So big and wouldn’t even remember that there is someone who used to look after her when she came over. There is someone who spent two hours with her in the moonbounce because nobody else would. There is someone two years later and two hundred miles away who will always love her very much.
I have never necessarily been afraid of change. I have also never been a big fan of looking back. It always surprises and saddens me how things fade away. When I moved down to Oakland, however brief, my brother told me never to look back because loose ends will only tie us down. I was always more sentimental than he is. I guess I have a stronger sense of responsibility to others as well. He would say that one is only responsible for one’s self…and I guess that could be one of the fundamental differences between he and I. I couldn’t imagine a lonlier existence than if that were the case.

One of the things I have to deal with sooner than later is the closure of my 401k account. It’s really quite lazy of me that my money has been tied up in former employer’s program for so long, but it’s a pain in the ass to deal with. There is way too much paperwork involved in rolling over or otherwise and they all keep giving me the runaround. I called the 401k company last week, and they told me that the only way for met to close the account was to get a form from former employer. I sent an email to former employer…reluctantly…and didn’t hear back. Now, I sent another one to former boss to see if she could be of assistance and made it quite clear that I don’t want to deal with lying bitch who got me fired. Now, I was trying to get fired, but it still pisses me off that they treated me so badly after I put in countless hours of my life that I will never get back. I went so far above and beyond for those people that it surprises me that they would have the audacity to be so assholic. That aside, I should be bigger than this. I should be able to call any one of my former co-workers without feeling like I’m willingly putting shit in my mouth while bathing in a puddle of vomit. It’s disgusting and possibly childish, but that’s precisely how thinking of those people makes me feel. What a horrible group of human beings.
My other task has been to find a dentist and make an appointment. It’s been one of those things that I keep hoping will go away, but I know I need to go. I passionately hate going to the dentist. I hate it so much that I would rather go to the gynecologist than have my teeth looked at. The taste, smell, sound and dentist himself make me queasy…and I know I have cavities. I know I have old work that needs to be redone. I know I probably have nerves that should have been severed years ago. I just don’t want to go. I don’t think I have ever had a good experience with a single dentist since I hit puberty. As a child, they are always nice to you…deceptively nice to you. If you go every year, they are nice to you too…but, if you’ve skipped cleanings or used your brush longer than a few months, the fangs come out. They can just hear your voice and know you haven’t practiced good dental hygeine. My dentists in LA were the absolute meanest group of men. I haven’t been since I moved from LA, but they all must be the same. Maybe if I get sedated it won’t be so bad.

I slept like shit last night. I went to the doctor again on Thursday and got another dose of hefty antibiotics. It was the same guy again…which made me worry a little. Last time he said it was bronchitis and sent me off with a codeine elixer. Now I’m on the same shit I was when I had strep a few years ago. That was probably the worst case of strep I’ve ever had…and mostly because I hate going to the doctor so much that I felt more compelled to drink tea and orange juice to cure myself. It didn’t work…and if I hadn’t gone when I did, I would have had to be hospitalized until my throat went down. I have the same kind of feeling now…except, not in my throat so much as in my ear behind my tonsils. I feel like a hypochondriac, but I keep reminding myself that I legitimately feel like crap. My Fruit woke up at about 2:00 to go to the bathroom…and I did the same a few minutes later. When I came back to bed, I had to admit that I was a little jealous that she could be snoring seconds after her return…and I wondered if she would even remember waking up in the first place. If not for her kicking something loud, I would put money on her not remembering. This is the first morning since I’ve been sick that I actually feel like a have a fever. My ear has been aching persistently for hours, and I feel like a little kid. I used to have horrible ear infections as a child. I almost got tubes put in my ears because of it…something I only understood as a trip to the hospital and lots of attention. I was disappointed that they decided against it. I used to wake up with them…and I still remember how awful they felt. I would lie awake wimpering and crying until my mom came in the room. When I was very little, she would wrap me in a blanket and rock me in the chair by my crib. I still remember that like it was yesterday…strangely enough. I would be wearing my full body jammies with the slipper feet. The nightlight would cast the room in an orange glow, and the only sound that could be heard was my mother’s shushing and humming as she tried in vain to get me to sleep. Sometimes, I would play with something to distract myself…like unfinished legos or a stuffed animal’s ear. Nothing helped though, until that magical trip to the doctor that I never remember past the waiting room. One second I’m waiting to go in, and the next I’m waking up in my bedroom when the pain is gone. I guess it’s a good thing that doesn’t happen to me anymore.
I had a meeting on Friday with one of the PFLAG board member’s husbands. He is CIO of a company that needs someone to help out with some website and database code. I told him that my background is primarily system administration and that I only know HTML, but he didn’t seem worried about it. I don’t know if it’s a job I would get, but it would definitely be interesting if I could learn some vbscript in practical application. I need to do something to bring in some extra money, and I think that web design and administration is an independent enough job to keep me sane. I like working in an office and everything, but the interactions with people would be fabulous if I could keep them to a minimum. I don’t do well when I am interrupted in the middle of something…and I don’t know how to make small talk. That was always one of the worst parts of working. I couldn’t handle the chit chat and I would always prickle when someone would interrupt me, expecting me to fix their problem as if it is of utmost importance. I wish I’d been socialized more as a kid so that I would know how to deal with interactive situations. In some ways, I haven’t developed past infancy.
I have a lot of work to do today…and I think I will set a goal for myself and then cease work. I don’t like to admit when I feel like shit…which probably puts me at a disadvantage in ways. But, right now, I feel horrible. So, I will clean the downstairs and cook dinner…and then lay on the couch until my ear stops throbbing and my throat opens up.

I cried like a baby when I hung up with my Fruit this afternoon. It was that unintentionally vocal, gut wrenching kind of sob that make the body shudder and head ache. My eyes are still stinging…and I am still aching. Almost immediately, I could hear a familiar jingle and prancing feet coming up to me. She nudged her head under my arms, and I moved. Then, she tried again from the other side and I moved again. Relentless, she stood up on two legs with her paws around my neck and kissed me. I’m not sure how anyone could keep crying after that. It was like something out of a disney movie…something you see trained animals do but never really, genuinely experience. My Tuck will sometimes come to me when I’m sad, but if there is a fight, he tends to pick sides. He’s always been my buddy, but this was different. She wouldn’t let me get sad again after that. She’d run in circles around me, chase her tail, nuzzle me when I sat down. I decided then to take her to petsmart and let her sniff however long she insisted. We were there for about a half hour, and she was acting very protective the whole time. It’s odd how strong and fast these bonds are. I sometimes wonder what it is about relationships with animals that is so much better than with people. It’s so much more unconditional. I think it must be because there are no words spoken between you. There are no misunderstandings. She will never say something that I will take the wrong way or do something that I couldn’t immediately forgive. It’s probably the same for her in return. It’s days like this when I feel bad for telling her to lay down so much or not playing ball with her as often as she’d like. I feel guilty for having been so unwell lately. Mentally and physically. Mostly the former.
Usually I cry until I’m out of tears…and sometimes crying alone, for me, is like drinking alone. I still feel sick and hungover after, but I guess it’s better for my liver. I’ve been fighting the urge to drink all day…which means that I’m fighting the urge to smoke as well. There are things I need to do, but I just don’t want to go out again. It was raining earlier, and I didn’t want to drive around too much with Mags in the truck. If something happens to me, I’m ok with it. If something happened to her, I’d never forgive myself. I don’t think Fruit would be able to forgive me, either. When we went out in the thunderstorm on Sunday night, after my PFLAG meeting, she said that she couldn’t believe she let me go out in that weather. I thought it was mesmerizing. I could see the lightning all over the valley…filling up the sky with daylight and clapping with a force I had never heard in LA. I’m not sure what it is about Los Angeles…maybe even the thunder desires a silent passage into the night. I certainly wouldn’t want to be noticed in that general area…and I seldom was. Even now, though, I am ever the hermit. I don’t want to leave the house…and I don’t want to talk to anyone. I force myself to do both, but some days I just want to stay in bed and let the world go by. I wonder how many days I’ve lost locked up in depression. Probably the equivalent of years of my life that will never be returned. If it wasn’t smoking or drinking I did to kill myself, those days have stolen just as much. I know that life can’t be any good if you’re not living it…but, sometimes…most times…I can’t bring myself to do much of anything useful. I have a house to clean…and insurance quotes to get. I have much to do…and my fruit will be home in a matter of hours. I hope my red eyes clear up by then.

I’m in a monumentally bad mood and I can’t seem to extract myself from the situation at all. I don’t want to be mean or nasty, but they are all over me. I wash the dishes and the cat is jumping on me. I go outside and the dog scratches at the door. I sit down to type and the cat is on the keyboard…the dog is sniffing my feet…the music is blaring downstairs and it just won’t drown everyone out. I just want to be alone…completely, physically, mentally alone for just one hour. Just one hour of not worrying or having to be a good mommy and a good wife…just one hour and my nerves will calm, my hormones will stop raging and I will feel normal. I was too lazy to get my pills for three days and it’s taking its toll on my body. I’ve taken them for three days since then, and I’m still building up a decent half life. I’m listening to Feast on Scraps…and it seems to fit my mood. Its almost like I’m regressing…like I became a different person when I started smoking. Why is it so easy for me to become a different person? Why can’t I just be myself…find myself…know myself. This morning, while I was working on painting the bathroom, I was listening to Shawn Colvin…the sunny came home album…I can’t remember what it was actually called…unless it was Sunny Came Home. I remembered listening to it on repeat in my room when I lived with my ex and her mom…after I was kicked out of my parent’s house. The songs I so loved then have a different meaning now…and new lyrics seem to strike a chord in ways I had overlooked or forgotten. My favorite line of the album, as of right now at least, is “You don’t have to drag me down. I descend.” I think that has always been the case for me. Through no fault of anyone but myself, I am a chameleon. My changes are manic. From day to day, month to month, year to year, I am unrecognizable. Once it came to me that I cannot love someone without losing myself. I don’t know if that’s still true. Like Lisa Loeb aptly sang, “This is not that, I think that I’m throwing but I’m thrown”.
This isn’t a long, cryptic, signature diatribe of my unhappiness. I am happy. I love my Fruit. I love our family. I yearn to be a mother with her. I just can’t snap out of this melancholy that is consuming me right now. I can’t do much of anything…but blindly work on this house. I wonder when we will move again. We’ve talked about it…and I just want to put my finger on the map and set down some roots. I haven’t had time to do that. As a child, you have no roots. As an adult, though considerably brief, all I’ve done in uproot and drift from place to place. I thought when we bought this house that we’d be here for a significant period of time. I thought I’d be able to unpack all of my boxes and stay a while. I thought we’d have children here. I thought I’d grow a little older here. I thought I’d be great…intelligent…mature…active…settled. Now, the prospect has become clear to both of us that this cannot happen. We need to get out of California…and we don’t want to uproot children at such a young age. I remember friends from school who never quite got over young moves from their home state. This one girl in particular comes to mind. Her name was Allison. She came to school with us in second grade, I think. We had a fight one day, and I said the meanest thing a seven year old could say to her. “Why don’t you just go back to New York, you stupid butt-head.” She cried for the rest of the day and didn’t speak to me for a week. I don’t want to do that to our children…and I certainly don’t want them to have a misplaced love for this dreadful state. I don’t know that any other would be any better, but I am ready to move. My Fruit is so unhappy. She hates her work and we are paying out the ass just to live here…in this den of vanity, cruelty and ignorance that is california. I think the worst thing about this state is that everyonet thinks they are so open minded. They think they are progressive. But, they are just as ignorant as everywhere else. I’m tired. I’m tired, angry and ready to take our little family to another place. The proverbial grass probably won’t be greener, but, goddamn if we can both be happy I’m ready to go.

This weekend was a fairly uneventful one. My Fruit cleaned the house and we painted the master bath. I felt like an utter failure for the house being a mess…and even moreso that I didn’t think it was so bad. I’ve had a hard time trying to feel better. I’m still tired and sluggish, but I think today will be ok. The coming of fall has helped a lot, I think. I’m sure I’ve blogged about it before, but it always feels new to me. I don’t really know why it is that the season is symbolic to me the way spring is to other people. It seems that this is when I have always had my new beginnings. As a child, it’s when school started and I could finally get away from my parents. I moved from my childhood home on the week of halloween. As an adult, I moved into my first apartment in early November…my second in October, and in with my Fruit on Halloween a few years ago. We got the keys to this house on Halloween last year.
I could feel the storm coming on Saturday morning. I hadn’t heard the news yet, but the feel and smell of the wind was unmistakable. Mags was a little more slow and deliberate on that walk, and I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a dog…with all of the strange smells swirling in the wind and having the ability to distinguish each one. Later that evening as I was sitting on the couch, having just come in from outside a few minutes prior, I jumped up with a start and rushed to the glass door…knowing instinctively that it was raining outside. This storm has been beautiful…although I worry about my Fruit on her commute to work.
Yesterday, I went to the TVPFLAG meeting where they were holding the “elections”. I put that it quotations because it wasn’t really like any election I’ve ever seen. They were a little too grateful for each nominee, and nobody seemed to care who had what office. They asked the rather large group if there was any opposition, and when nobody replied, we were congratulated. That would make me the secretary/membership coordinator. I’m not quite sure what I’ve gotten myself into, but I’m sure there’s a reason for the timing. I still have to get over my social issues. My heart pounds and I start to break into a sweat whenever I even think of saying anything in a group conversation. Acting was so much easier than that. People always ask how it is that I enjoyed getting up on stage but hate speaking in groups. On stage, I had a script…my lines were memorized…the interactions rehearsed in one way or another. Spontaneous conversation has always been my weakest endeavor.
The new president brought her children and her son’s boyfriend with her. I guess she wanted to make the succession of presidents a grand one, but nobody really seemed to care. She requested that we provide time for her “son-in-law” to speak to us about a “pertinent issue” for which we needed to be “enlightened”. I was cringing already. He probably couldn’t have been any older than I am, and spoke with a manufactured, sophisticated, elite and learned air that made me nauseous…reminding me of the ignorance we all had in those years past…those years I have long passed. The ignorance of youth is embarassing sometimes. He went into this long diatribe about how labels discriminate and pigeon hole, and how PFLAG should consider adding more acronyms to its famous name. I never thought I would hear another homosexual saying that PFLAG is a discriminatory organization. His basis was that he is an “individual” and not “gay” or “bisexual”. It’s something that I recall all too well. It was difficult when we were kids. We all had heard the naive stereotypes of what a gay person was, and when we realized that we were “one of those people”, we didn’t know how to react. Most of us went to the extreme…but, isn’t that what being a teenager is all about? If I hadn’t gone through those changes, jumped into those different stereotypes, I don’t think I would have settled into myself as quickly. Everyone does it, and I think the root of the issue is an anthropological one. It has to do more with how society rears its children and less about what we ultimately call ourselves. He went on too painfully long, and soon the old lesbians in the corner of the room tried to put him in his place. I didn’t want to bring up the whole gender conditioning arguments and psychological studies, but it was tempting. It all came down to his boyfriend saying in a quite whiney voice, “Where to we go?”…meaning the young, gay adults. Apparently, the gay center wasn’t cutting it and the gay club scene was too gay for his taste…not to mention he wasn’t even 21. I had the same argument when I was a teenager. Granted, I didn’t care so much by the time I was 20. The answer was that I did what any other teenager did. I went out with my friends and lived my life. I don’t think labels have anything to do with it. It doesn’t matter if I call myself a lesbian. They were asking why straight people didn’t proclaim their straightness, reinforcing their label. I said it’s because they don’t have to. I’m married and I don’t feel the need to tell everyone I’m gay and I don’t hide it either. I said that the most important thing is to accept that it’s part of who you are and continue living your life as you see fit. Jim had to cut the discussion short for some other nonsense, but I was embarassed for this kid. I was embarassed, not because he was, but because he was still so young and naive…because he had just presented this “wisdom” and “enlightenment” upon a room full of people who lived as openly gay individuals in a time we had not even seen…a time when it was incredibly brave and potentially harmful to do so. That isn’t to say that it’s not potentially dangerous today, but the world is certainly more accepting now than it was ten, twenty, thirty years ago. I was embarassed for him because they listened quietly and patiently as the “wisdom” spewed from his mouth.
I settled some business with Jim after he silenced the discussion…recieved some files and information I need for the website. As everyone was mingling, I hugged him goodbye and silently slipped out into the rainy night. What have I gotten myself into? At least the office of secretary is an antisocial one. I can deal with members via email, and silently scribble notes during meetings. I’m not sure I could handle heated discussions like this one on a regular basis, but I guess it’s good for me to get out of the house and do something on my own.

I think I might finally be coming out of the cigarette fog. I still crave them…sometimes so badly that I have to seriously distract myself. I’ve even just smelled our last pack…with four lonely soldiers waiting to be lit. I still dream about smoking…which doesn’t help. But, it has gotten better. I take the dog for her morning walks…less irritated every day. We’ve gotten things done around the house…and I was pretty productive yesterday and this morning, although it doesn’t quite look like much yet. One of the strange things I’ve noticed is that my insomnia is coming back. I haven’t had much trouble sleeping since I started smoking. Not as much as before, anyway. When I was a teenager, I couldn’t fall asleep until four in the morning sometimes…and then there were days I could sleep clear through. When I moved on my own, I had a hell of a time getting to sleep. It didn’t help that there was so much to worry about…but, I think the cigarettes took so much of that edge off that I couldn’t help but sleep. My already high pulse was probably dangerously high for the past few years. I couldn’t do much without getting dizzy or tired. Now I feel like this extra energy…nervous as it may be…is a cumulation of everything I didn’t have for the past few years.
I think my mental capacity is coming back…and the issues I’ve put on hold slowly creep back to the surface with a vengeance. Yesterday I packed up as much of my past life crap as I could and filed it away. I know I threw a lot away in fits of guilt and rage, but some was still strewn about random boxes. It’s not good for my Fruit to see, and it’s really not that good for me, either. That was then…a time when I was someone else with different goals, desires and needs. It’s hard for me to let things go sometimes, but it’s always too easy for me to disappear. Fruit and I were talking about that last night. We are too good at stepping off the ends of the earth…and I am not quite good enough at cutting the ropes. I still wonder how my old friends are from time to time. I have to remind myself why it is that we went separate ways. We lost touch for a reason. I think I resolved it to myself then that they may change when they “grow up”. They were all still in school and having their way paid for by their parents. Not one of them knew what it was to work your ass off paycheck to paycheck without a safety net. They looked down on me for not continuing with school…as if a degree was the ultimate key to adulthood. It would be helpful, I admit, but I couldn’t do it myself. I guess I didn’t want it bad enough. I wasn’t a good student, and I was too damned tired from working so hard to even think of going to night classes.
I’m thinking of getting a part time job to help my girl out. I love being home and taking care of the house, but I can’t help this feeling that I’m not doing enough…not being enough of a partner. The problem is that I don’t want to work during the hours we have together. I don’t want anything to take away from that because we have very little as it is. She’s gone a good majority of the day and has to go to bed soon after coming home at night. I miss her. I try not to call her so much when she’s at work…and sometimes I can’t think of a single useful thing to say. I love her so much.
I have some more work to do before she gets home tonight. I know it’s still early, but these last hours of the day go so much more quickly than the morning.

The laundry is whirring downstairs with uniform clicks as the dryer revolves. I have been waiting for the mold guys to come. They were supposed to be here at eight o’clock, and it is now noon. I’m beginning to consider not answering the door when they finally arrive. If I had been working full time, I would be furious. You can’t do that to people. Coming on a weekday usually means taking time off, and who can really do that on a regular basis?
I haven’t had moments of anger or frustration since I came home like I did when I was working. The occasional lonliness is welcome compared to the turmoil of the working world. Maybe that’s unhealthy, but I really don’t care anymore. I got a phone call from a school district offering a part time position yesterday. I haven’t been sure whether I want to go to the interview. Fruit told me that it’s entirely up to me. On one hand, I know it would be good for us to get the extra income. On the other hand, at six hours a week, my salary would probably only pay for gas. On the other, though, I feel like I shouldn’t pass up opportunities that come out of the blue like this. It seems like it has to be a sign or something…but, maybe just a sign that I’m happy where I am. I still haven’t decided.
I haven’t really done all that much today, but, I’m exhausted. I ran some errands and finished some loads of laundry…but, it’s still not enough. I have so much work to do and I wish I could organize my time better. I really do work hard at home, but when I Fruit comes home at the end of the day, I always feel like she’s working infinitely harder. Not having to drive helps a lot with that. I can’t believe how expensive gas has gotten. If it had been this expensive when I was living in L.A., I would have had to take the bus…and anyone who has taken a bus in L.A. knows what torture that can be. Before I had a car, I would take it to work when I had to. The first time I did so alone, I ended up sitting next to a little old woman who commenced in showing me pictures of everyone in her family, and telling a long tale of her son who was shot in the head on Victory Blvd. Most of my experiences thereafter were of the same strangeness. There was the occasional hispanic guy grabbing his crotch and licking his lips if I happened to inadvertently make eye contact…soon, I learned to keep my eyes on the floor and calculate how much more money I needed to save before I could buy a car. I hate L.A.
Fruit made me call my mother yesterday. It was the first time since June, and they didn’t answer the phone. I left a brief message on the answering machine and felt instantly relieved that she didn’t answer. I can just imagine her sitting by the phone in the bedroom, hearing me leave the painful message. For as long as I can remember, they’ve screened their calls. They don’t go anywhere, and I sincerely doubt they weren’t home. Unless their rotting corpses lay therein after a fit of typical insanity. My grandma used to say that she was afraid she’d be a “corner-eye” case. She was old and alone, and I can understand her fear. What would be even more odd, though, is if her fear was validated by it being true for my parents. It’s a morbid thought, I guess, but they aren’t exactly functioning members of society. I wish the case were different.
I have more work to get back to. More laundry to be done, and the kitchen to be cleaned. Maybe if I take a few excedrin, I won’t feel so drained.