Wednesday, November 26, 2003
Thankful
I am leaving in just a minute or two to go to visit my sister in PA. Joe is meeting me downstairs & we're going to take the bus down there, spend 2 nights, and come back. I went down to FL for the one year anniversary, last week. A lot of my brother's friends came over to the house, and it was helpful to have everyone there.
I am thankful that I'll be taking an acting class starting next week, that I am healthy, that I am optimistic, that my mother is here visiting, and that I'm relatively healthy and happy.
I'm finding it very difficult to write right now, actually. I feel quite stiff.
So, I'll just leave off with a Happy Thanksgiving wish to anyone who might end up reading this. And, I'll catch y'all later.
--m
|
I am leaving in just a minute or two to go to visit my sister in PA. Joe is meeting me downstairs & we're going to take the bus down there, spend 2 nights, and come back. I went down to FL for the one year anniversary, last week. A lot of my brother's friends came over to the house, and it was helpful to have everyone there.
I am thankful that I'll be taking an acting class starting next week, that I am healthy, that I am optimistic, that my mother is here visiting, and that I'm relatively healthy and happy.
I'm finding it very difficult to write right now, actually. I feel quite stiff.
So, I'll just leave off with a Happy Thanksgiving wish to anyone who might end up reading this. And, I'll catch y'all later.
--m
Monday, November 03, 2003
Paint
Last Thursday night/Friday morning, the phone rang in the middle of the night. At first, the sound was incorporated into my dream (suddenly, she encounters a phone booth...), but then I woke up, looked at the clock, & realized I should answer it because nobody calls at 5:30 a.m. unless it's important. But, I didn't get to the phone on time. I missed the call. I went into a panic.
Who could it be? It was clearly someone telling me someone had died. I thought it must be my dad or step-mother calling. My father died. My mother died. My step-mother, my grandma, my sister, one of my broth...
I felt my heart racing, my breath shortening. My mind (naturally) reached back to that horrible night almost a year ago when my father called to tell me what had happened. That was not a middle-of-the-night call, but ever since then, I have been expecting another call like that, another horrible, life-changing call, another haunting call. I think this feeling of panic will go away in time, but it has only intensified recently.
I pressed * 69. The number was untraceable. I reached into my coat pocket & got out my cell phone, which I realized was turned off. I thought about calling my parents. I almost did call them, but then I thought they would surely call back or call my cell phone if something had happened. What happened? Or, rather, to whom did it happen? God. I thought of Joe or someone in Joe's family.
Then, I got the idea to check my messages, so I turned on the light, called voicemail, and listened. "You have 4 unheard messages." One was from a friend of mine, basically stating, "I'll try your cell." One was from my landlord telling me to get in touch with this painter, Peter, because he is going to paint the kitchen. Then, there were two messages from Peter himself, asking when I was available, asking if he could paint either Saturday the 24th or November 1st. Yes, that's right. He called on Wednesday the 21st to make an appointment for Saturday the 24th & I got this message at 5:30-something on Friday, the 31st. You see, I never check my voicemail. I mostly use my cell phone. I don't even know the number to call to check voicemail from a remote location (note to self: check that out).
So, I felt humiliated. This guy is trying to reach me to schedule a time to paint my apartment, and I don't even have the courtesy to call him back after a week & a half. I decide I'll call him in the morning & apologize. I also decide that if someone had died, someone would be calling my cell phone or calling my home number again. It must have been a wrong number or a prank call. My panic (thank God!) runs its course & then I feel calmer. I turn off the light.
The next evening, I call Peter & he asks if he can paint on Saturday. I tell him yes. I have no plans for Saturday. He comes over to look at the kitchen & tell us what we have to move & says he'll be there around 10:30. I tell my roommate.
Oy! It was the funniest thing when I told my roommate. She instantly became very upset. "Does he have to paint tomorrow? I have plans tomorrow? I can't get up early! I'm not going to get any sleep!"
She was sitting on the living room floor, hot-glue-gunning plastic leaves to a skirt & tube top for her Halloween costume, Eve. Good costume, by the way.
"Did he randomly pick the day after Halloween to paint? Are we going to have paint fumes in the house? When are we going to be able to use the kitchen?"
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera...
I do not like my roommate. I understand her irritation at being told at the last minute that the kitchen was being painted the next day, but I was not asking very much of her, just a little help in the morning, moving stuff from the kitchen to the living room. I was willing to stay in the whole day, and I told her that. It was my fault that it was so last minute, and I told her that. I felt I had an obligation to be graceful and allow Peter to do his job, especially since he'd tried to schedule the painting in advance and because I didn't have plans the next day.
She was so upset about it! It was amazing to watch her level of resistance to a situation that really is so much more beneficial than inconvenient in the long run. "Yes," I told her, "You will have to get up a little early & it will be a pain in the butt, but the inconvenience will only last a day & we will have a beautiful kitchen!"
She's so undomestic. She has no interest in the household. She has no desire to live in a clean apartment or to make the apartment more pleasant. She doesn't care if there are dirty dishes in the sink. She doesn't care if there is dust. She would never think about using a vacuum. And, because I do care about these things, I feel like her mother. Why? Because the only way she will help is if I tell her to. Luckily, she usually does do something when I ask her to do it.
So, Saturday, our kitchen (and bathroom, it turns out) was painted. I spent the day finishing "Middlesex" by Jeffrey Eugenides (i.e. the best book I've read in a long time), starting my novel for NaNoWriMo, and relaxing. I locked my cat in my bedroom & hung out with him for awhile. I could hear Peter and his brother talking in Greek.
It was a gorgeous day, and I sat on the porch for a good amount of time, just breathing in the breeze (& smoking a couple of cigarettes; let's not paint a too-pretty picture here). I went for a short walk around my neighborhood.
That evening, after Peter left (at 8:00!), Joe & I used some extra paint to paint a shelf I have had sitting around for awhile.
The best part about having the kitchen painted this past weekend was that I was forced to stay home for most of the time. I never stay home. I love staying home. And, the two rooms look gorgeous.
--m
|
Last Thursday night/Friday morning, the phone rang in the middle of the night. At first, the sound was incorporated into my dream (suddenly, she encounters a phone booth...), but then I woke up, looked at the clock, & realized I should answer it because nobody calls at 5:30 a.m. unless it's important. But, I didn't get to the phone on time. I missed the call. I went into a panic.
Who could it be? It was clearly someone telling me someone had died. I thought it must be my dad or step-mother calling. My father died. My mother died. My step-mother, my grandma, my sister, one of my broth...
I felt my heart racing, my breath shortening. My mind (naturally) reached back to that horrible night almost a year ago when my father called to tell me what had happened. That was not a middle-of-the-night call, but ever since then, I have been expecting another call like that, another horrible, life-changing call, another haunting call. I think this feeling of panic will go away in time, but it has only intensified recently.
I pressed * 69. The number was untraceable. I reached into my coat pocket & got out my cell phone, which I realized was turned off. I thought about calling my parents. I almost did call them, but then I thought they would surely call back or call my cell phone if something had happened. What happened? Or, rather, to whom did it happen? God. I thought of Joe or someone in Joe's family.
Then, I got the idea to check my messages, so I turned on the light, called voicemail, and listened. "You have 4 unheard messages." One was from a friend of mine, basically stating, "I'll try your cell." One was from my landlord telling me to get in touch with this painter, Peter, because he is going to paint the kitchen. Then, there were two messages from Peter himself, asking when I was available, asking if he could paint either Saturday the 24th or November 1st. Yes, that's right. He called on Wednesday the 21st to make an appointment for Saturday the 24th & I got this message at 5:30-something on Friday, the 31st. You see, I never check my voicemail. I mostly use my cell phone. I don't even know the number to call to check voicemail from a remote location (note to self: check that out).
So, I felt humiliated. This guy is trying to reach me to schedule a time to paint my apartment, and I don't even have the courtesy to call him back after a week & a half. I decide I'll call him in the morning & apologize. I also decide that if someone had died, someone would be calling my cell phone or calling my home number again. It must have been a wrong number or a prank call. My panic (thank God!) runs its course & then I feel calmer. I turn off the light.
The next evening, I call Peter & he asks if he can paint on Saturday. I tell him yes. I have no plans for Saturday. He comes over to look at the kitchen & tell us what we have to move & says he'll be there around 10:30. I tell my roommate.
Oy! It was the funniest thing when I told my roommate. She instantly became very upset. "Does he have to paint tomorrow? I have plans tomorrow? I can't get up early! I'm not going to get any sleep!"
She was sitting on the living room floor, hot-glue-gunning plastic leaves to a skirt & tube top for her Halloween costume, Eve. Good costume, by the way.
"Did he randomly pick the day after Halloween to paint? Are we going to have paint fumes in the house? When are we going to be able to use the kitchen?"
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera...
I do not like my roommate. I understand her irritation at being told at the last minute that the kitchen was being painted the next day, but I was not asking very much of her, just a little help in the morning, moving stuff from the kitchen to the living room. I was willing to stay in the whole day, and I told her that. It was my fault that it was so last minute, and I told her that. I felt I had an obligation to be graceful and allow Peter to do his job, especially since he'd tried to schedule the painting in advance and because I didn't have plans the next day.
She was so upset about it! It was amazing to watch her level of resistance to a situation that really is so much more beneficial than inconvenient in the long run. "Yes," I told her, "You will have to get up a little early & it will be a pain in the butt, but the inconvenience will only last a day & we will have a beautiful kitchen!"
She's so undomestic. She has no interest in the household. She has no desire to live in a clean apartment or to make the apartment more pleasant. She doesn't care if there are dirty dishes in the sink. She doesn't care if there is dust. She would never think about using a vacuum. And, because I do care about these things, I feel like her mother. Why? Because the only way she will help is if I tell her to. Luckily, she usually does do something when I ask her to do it.
So, Saturday, our kitchen (and bathroom, it turns out) was painted. I spent the day finishing "Middlesex" by Jeffrey Eugenides (i.e. the best book I've read in a long time), starting my novel for NaNoWriMo, and relaxing. I locked my cat in my bedroom & hung out with him for awhile. I could hear Peter and his brother talking in Greek.
It was a gorgeous day, and I sat on the porch for a good amount of time, just breathing in the breeze (& smoking a couple of cigarettes; let's not paint a too-pretty picture here). I went for a short walk around my neighborhood.
That evening, after Peter left (at 8:00!), Joe & I used some extra paint to paint a shelf I have had sitting around for awhile.
The best part about having the kitchen painted this past weekend was that I was forced to stay home for most of the time. I never stay home. I love staying home. And, the two rooms look gorgeous.
--m
