Habilitation

It's cooler this morning. Quiet. I got to start slow. A short phone conference, some scheduling for next week, a few e-mails, ordered some whoopie pies and had them shipped to Texas, talked to my son on the phone about his gaining admission to a performing arts high school (this could change my life) and made plans to hang tomorrow, had a good first conversation, took a short run that hurt just a little less than yesterday's, and went to bed early.

What am I doing here? (Part 3)

What am I doing here ? (Part 2)

The loop again. Running didn't feel any better this evening, but I did it.

A day of phone calls and tele-conferences.

Said more than one prayer to the patron saint of gainful employment and asked him/her to please keep me in his/her grace. So many facing, or about to face, hardship.

This disaster of a president. The ugly in America rising like spoiled cream.

Congressman John Lewis, a true American hero, was laid to rest today with the President of The United States or his representative visibly absent. He beseeched us all in an editorial written just before he left to answer the highest calling of our hearts. 

What am I doing here?

Hadley, Massachusetts last summer

What you do alone is not really living

You don't really hear a lot of ambient country music played around here. I was reminded of that in the restaurant where they seated me 15 minutes before it was due to close. I told the server I'd eat fast. She told me not to worry, to just take my time, but I could see them hustling to clean up and get out. Contemporary pop-country music played overhead. It made me remember Texas where some form of country music was always playing.

Memories or pieces of them.

Laying up every night in a hotel room alone.  Standing at a gas pump staring at a trailer loaded down with hogs. Walking in the empty street half drunk watching a sliver of silver moon. Partial events. Fragments of meaning. Emotions not fully felt, barely sniffed, faintly tasted. Maybe most of the ones inside me are this way. Scenes really, not stories.

The waitress out dancing on her night off, New Year's Eve, wearing her tight stretchy jeans. Her great hard-to-believe-hind-quarters rubbed for luck like Buddah's belly by the men. She just danced on with a blasé expression. They all knew each other well. Everything that occurred that night had already happened many times before.

Someone took my hand. Cumbia with us, she said. So I just pretended I could, and then I did. 

What am I doing here? (Part 1)

I talk to Mr. Joe across the street sometimes, but I've never had him over to socialize. I don't know any of my other neighbors. I've slept in this town for nearly 20 years but never really lived here. I like the woods, the wildlife, the changing seasons and the unstable elements here. I don't particularly care for many of the people.

Yesterday, I went to the pharmacy and general store to buy some antacids. Impulsively, I picked up a Powerade for my cramping hands and a box of cotton candy Mike & Ike's for Jack. The store is small. I hesitated for a moment, trying to remember what I came for, when one of the pharmacists asked could she help me just a little too loudly. "Tums," I said, annoyed, and walked away. The cashier was ready to ring me up while I was still looking around. That annoyed me too.

I walked outside into a bleached out sunny morning. All the buildings are old, white, protestant. I mailed some bills in the post office, almost walking into a man who was walking out. "Excuse me," I said. He said nothing. He had bangs. He looked annoying. "Asshole," I muttered.

Today, I tried to run a mile loop through the subdivision behind my house. I felt as though I'd never run before. It was unpleasant. The houses are large there, the yards landscaped and well maintained. Not like mine. I was surprised to see a black man tending his flowers. I waved minimally, gasping for breath. His neighbor has a bumper sticker: Gun Owners For Trump. 

Tomorrow, I'll probably struggle through that loop again. Not sure why.

Not a hell of a lot. You?

Caved in to the craving for air conditioning raising a river of sweat on the install. I am unused to using my body for much more than a cushion these days. Uncoordinated motion. Easy frustration.

Off of furlough and temp work and back working from home again. Back on a dating site for 24 hours and already sick of it.

Thinking about how we endure the days, others, ourselves. AC helps a little. I need to get back outside and walking.

Dark jazz for a hot night

Dog Night

It's that time of the summer when I struggle with whether or not to put the air conditioner in the window. Not sleeping much tonight due to the heat and humidity. July is almost done, however. Someone said it'll get close to 100 degrees today though. The Earth, in theory, would prefer it if I didn't. I'm already running a fan and the dehumidifier. Remember last summer (was it?), when everything turned green with mildew?

Headache, reflux, the electronic jolt and tingle of a pinched nerve. Let the minutes roll by. The season. This life. 

Nada

I pretty much let this one get away. A day of vague plans which never sprang into being. We want steamed clams though. Steamers, we call them here. Let's save that for tomorrow. 

I Nearly Got Rooked By a Counterfeit Awkwafina

She sent me a short message without caps or punctuation. That's a generational thing, I thought to myself. I also thought maybe she was saying hello because I was a new Instagram follower. Pretty cool of her, right? I failed to notice the misspelling of her name or the fact that she only had 35 followers.

I told her I was a fan of her performance in "The Farewell" and of the movie itself. And that I hadn't yet seen "Nora From Queens".  And that I read somewhere that she donated 100% of the proceeds from her music to music education for the kids of NYC.

Respect, I said.

She wrote back the next day. Said music education meant a lot to her as a kid. Asked me where I was from and what I did. I told her and asked how she was handling things, what with Covid and the world turning upside down and all.

She said, Am so sad this morning covid wants to ruin all I worked hard for now I am about to lose my investment funds.

Really?, I said.

She went on to explain that she kept some documents and two and a half million dollars away from her management in a safety deposit box at a security company that was shutting down and they're trying to avoid media buzz and she just doesn't have the leisure time to go there in person to get the stuff.

Can you be of assistance to me?

In what way?

All you need is to send me your home address and e-mail so I can forward to the delivery company letting them know you are interested.

Gee, a star wants my address!

Yeah. What's wrong about that? A star in need is a humble star. Ain't you happy?

Crow's Day

This morning the disc jockey on the local community radio station played a set of songs pertaining to crows. I was listening to Captain Beefheart careening through the bouncy manic Ice Cream For Crow. I was driving to work. My neck hurt and my arm and hand tingled with a pinched nerve. Probably another degenerating disc. People wear out.

I thought about George the Greek, about what it means to be a good man. I worried about my youngest who has yet to turn in a single assignment for his nearly finished summer class. The Island girls at Dunkin Donuts took their masks down so I could see their smiles and said, you can't get enough of us. 

I brought roses for the ladies I've been working with at the hospital - nurses's aids, nurses, physician's assistants, social workers, secretaries, a psychiatrist and a manager. They celebrated me with a cake and good words which embarrassed me. Tomorrow is my last day there.

Soon it will be very quiet again.

When I got home, there was an old book of Crow Poems in the mailbox. Between the pages was someone's love which I've done nothing to deserve. 

White Chocolate Lemon

I was kind of taking notes in my head today regarding things to write about later. Now later has arrived, my mood has changed, and my memory is dull.

The story I will tell you is the one about the Italian sandwich.

At least once a week I walk around the corner from the hospital, across the dirt lot, and I get myself a Rene's Famous Italian.

Today Rene himself made it for me.

I told him his sandwich was so good I never had the chance to try something else.

He told me his sandwich wasn't some bullshit Italian-American sandwich. It's a sandwich they're eating in Italy probably right now.

I talked with the owner. Her son worked at the hospital too. Until he had a breakdown due to Covid.

This city got hammered before they even saw it coming. City of champions sucker punched.

He was a transporter wheeling patients between wards. There were so many, so sick, so quickly - no one knew what to do, so no one told this young man how to protect himself or his patients. He was afraid, felt helpless.

He was in the elevator with an older patient who was coughing and sweating profusely. He saw the face of his mother when he looked at her. He felt guilty for worrying about his parents while taking care of a patient. Then something happened to him.

She recommended a white chocolate lemon cookie for desert, and I bought one. She gave me a four percent discount for paying with cash.

"We all got a little anxiety these days," she said.

Bully boys

Who are you?
I mean individually...
Armed unidentified masked and body armored federal law enforcement officers who
Just can't wait to lay into unarmed defenseless American people out there trying to make change
Disgrace

Sunday outing and Monday morning

We made it. Breakfast, gelato, the beach, and a shared dinner of lobster, scallops and clam chowder. It was a nice day despite not having a plan. South Cape Beach. It was 15 degrees cooler there than at home.

And this is now my last scheduled week of working in this place. Maybe I should get roses for the island girls in Dunkin Donuts.

I was annoyed today by the voices of my coworkers. Too many words. Mostly about nothing. The "How was your weekend?" drill every Monday morning. Clucking and cooing. They're nice people socializing, making an effort. I guess I don't.

I joked with one of the nurses for a few minutes. She's young, finishing her master's, getting engaged. She's happy. I felt her vitality. I felt old. We talked about being hypersensitive to smells, and how it's hard to gag and interview a patient at the same time.

Imperial Beach

Last night I woke remembering my first girlfriend and being young and on fire. We found a way to bond physically, let's say, no matter where we were. Dramatic times. This morning I'd like a little of that, frankly.

Something miserable happened to my neck over night. Hoping a warm shower will right it. Today I'm driving west to get my son then east to find the ocean. I'm on the other coast now. Ninety-five degrees is the predicted high. 

To go, please.

A heatwave arrives today. Already I can see the steam out there.

I noticed last night that when I was dreaming, it was through the camera on a phone. Evolution.

I received a timely surprise in the mail today and felt weird about it, but also thought of and cared about, which is a very nice thing. So why the struggle?

Laundry. An overdue oil change. Arrangements made with the kids to take a ride to the coast tomorrow in search of sea breezes and sea foods.

Human voices are getting harder to listen to. I'm annoyed out there. Poor dear.

I think the world I loved you in was different from the one we have now. I was different.

Visit

New Orleans has been knocking on my mind the last few days. I'd like to spend more time there, to go deeper. I spent one night dancing and drinking, likely in a state of dehydration, and the next sick and nursing a hangover.

I was dreaming this morning. Something about slipping some funk into your soup.

Acculturated

I've been working in an all female setting since May 11. This may be rubbing off on me. A couple of days ago they organized a celebration for Nurse Ana, who is engaged to a male nurse on another floor. Colleen is the party planner in the bunch, and she does an absolutely professional job on top of her work as an occupational therapist and being the mom of an infant. The table in the break room, once the food and cakes were displayed, was fit for a magazine cover.

I was making phone calls while they were discretely setting up. There was a lot of talk about the cakes. I like cake as much as anyone, but I don't really think about it or talk about it. This time, though, I found my anticipation for cake building with the others. I suddenly couldn't wait to taste those chocolate shavings, the strawberries. In short, I found myself way too happy about cake.

When Ana's beau was finally able to sneak off his floor and join her, we all gathered and the couple cut the much anticipated fancy cake together. I congratulated Ana later and told her he was a cutie.

Already

Morning came fast. The night let me sleep well. 

Bang bang, I am the warrior

I managed to chase down the deductions today - the educationally estimated number of miles I drove,  the tolls I paid, the mortgage interest, child support - like that. As usual, it was a mild pain in the ass but nothing worth the build up of months of procrastination and avoidance. Wonder what that mind game is called.

So tonight I'm a little more free, a little bit more accomplished. I came home and went to war with the poison ivy that's trying to over run the hermitage. Chemical warfare. I'm not about to root it out. Know your enemy.

I've had ants in the house too. We coexisted harmoniously for quite a while, but then they started appearing in sinks, around toilets, in my bed. You give an inch, they take a mile. I don't want conflict, but I'm not surrendering my space in the world either. You know? So now, it's poison.

This is what happens when I finally get some shit done. 

Warm up

Dial up a cosmonaut and put them on the phone. I'll make no assumptions about their pronoun, I just need the long distance. Today is back again. See? The tax forms in the big envelope are still just waiting for me to find the supporting documentation.

You know, I read another fluffy article about astrological signs. This one was about the Four Signs That Fall Out Of Love the Fastest. Guess who was in there?

I remember you saying you didn't know how to love, and I got to thinking about the various factors that influence our ability. A secure attachment in the formative years. I saw you following your mother, doing chores, helping her, trying to please. The modeling of romantic love by your parents. I saw your father, absent. And your mother, dour. She's working all the time, he doesn't help. She is bitter and that seeps into every corner of the house.

You know what?  I don't want to go any further down this road. I've thought those thoughts already. I've built both a credible defense and a withering prosecution. Neither do a damn thing to help me or you. I hope you've found a way to stay in love.

It is what it is, you might say. We are who we are. Fate.

My ex-wife was among those signs too. We spent the better part of 20 years fallen out of love raising children who will likely also wonder what love is. She had a secret blueprint for love. She was disappointed that I didn't know it by heart.

Last night, as a response to the shame of extended tax procrastination, I googled the daily schedule of monks of various denominations. There's a lot of praying and meditation, as one might expect. I saw in my mind the Unresponsive God. The One I met as a small boy. The One who always has His back turned. The One who took the phone off the hook and hung the Gone Fishin sign on His office door.

But there's also time for manual work, exercise, housekeeping, reading. Contemplation is the primary activity, and am I not already there? Except I do it in a profane, unproductive, circular fashion. I could refine that practice. Spend the rest of my days getting out of my own way. Seeking solidarity through solitude.

Anyway, the monk thing inspired me to set my alarm early. When it went off, I reset it for an hour later. I still got up relatively early, made coffee, watched a cardinal and a blue jay taking turns at the feeder getting their sunflower seeds and a goldfinch drinking at the birdbath.

Then I sat down to type these words out of my head so I can do you know what today.

Later:

For the most part, the tax preparations are complete. There are two documents I need to chase down, but for the most part, I am relieved.

Keep a log

1. Slept in. Taxes for real today. That's the plan. I dreamed of the black bear, who keeps tipping over the bird bath, giving me a bad time in the house. It's a metaphor for the fucking taxes. Or maybe that sucker's about to get mean.

2. They found a few enormous objects out there in deep space. Scientists don't know what they are. I have an idea. Meanwhile, white supremacists in the White House. The most foul of us making their little asshole hand gesture for the camera, proud to be part of the club. Douche bags with tiki torches and white polos, boogaloo twits in Hawaiian shirts. Viral Regulator, make us clean.

Yes, I'm procrastinating still. I'm in the process of monetizing my everything. Pay to view. Pay to listen. Pay to live.

3. Evening arrives. I made coffee. Made something to eat and ate it. Took a bath (I haven't sat in a bathtub in a very long time). I thought a lot about doing my taxes. I got within a foot of the female hummingbird,  only the window between us. Meanwhile, the squirrels defeated the baffle again. I'm going to coat the duct tape in hot sauce this time and baste the pole with canola oil.

4. The five hindrances: Desire, Anger, Sloth, Agitation and Doubt. Here I was thinking I was living alone and celibate when all the while I've been laying with them. Sometimes, all at once.

5. She worked in a place above the river. I came upon it after leaving it's banks. She had a bad cough and a wonderful laugh. She worked six days a week, twelve hours a day, plus all the time it took to thoroughly clean the place. Her dream was to learn to dance latin style. On her day off, Sunday, she watched them in their costumes on You Tube dancing fiercely in competition. Studying the footwork. Practicing alone in her room. Willing herself there.

Later, I found a Latin dance studio in that small city. They had classes but not on Sundays. Besides, I wear a size 14 shoe.

6. Before God, the ancestors, mother, father(s); I am ashamed. But then again tomorrow is just an extension of today.

Please Scream Inside Your Heart

Impassive roller coaster riders will show the virus what we're made of.
The sheets will be swampy tonight, all by myself with the fan.
Cranky at the self-checkout.
The state is awfully dry at this time.

Billable unit

Last night was the last of the comfortable ones for awhile according to the weather man on the radio. Humidity arrives today with temps pushing 90 for the rest of the week. I'm thankful for the good sleep last night. Kept the slider open with the fan on.

Something's been off lately.

A man in his 80s on the phone yesterday, a retired teacher, told me that, along with the perils of learned helplessness, there is an equally dangerous phenomenon called learned laziness. That's when you just want to stay in bed and go back to sleep. He combats it by rolling out, when he feels that way, and vacuuming the floor.

 I'm 30 years his junior and didn't have the heart to tell him I've already succumbed.

He comes from a time before the disease model and big pharma. Your behavior was a matter of character. The  problem - you're a bum. The solution - get off your ass.

Now your behavior and your feelings, are probably the result of an illness, or at least we're willing to diagnose you with one. Don't worry, we can treat it with with medication.

Cripes. Alright, I'm up.

Human resources

A call came in from Dallas while I was driving. I immediately felt ill. It's the corporate headquarters. They eliminated my position.

The representative's voice had a sad and heavy quality to it. So I was surprised when she told me my furlough was up and I could start working my former job again.

The weight in her voice was about Covid-19, something we're rebounding from here and they're getting overwhelmed with there. She's afraid of what's about to happen. She said it seems like she and her husband are the only ones wearing masks. I thanked her and told her to hang in there. We both told the other to stay safe.

Luxurious depression

Breakfast with the kids yesterday, all of us tired and kind of bland. I drove home after, fell into bed, and stayed that way until now. I read some click bait article that informed me yours is the most toxic astrological sign of them all for me. Today it's work, which I am relying on to provide me with structure and to give me a reason to mobilize. I could just stay here and sink. Easy.

What I'd keep

The one I hope I never lose. You were above me, looking down into my eyes. I was looking up at your face which was becoming otherworldly. You were smiling, your eyes were sparkling, your hair was hanging down. You seemed to be looking into me, seeing me for the first time, while at the same time revealing yourself. This moment of union - I don't know what to call it.

Instead of the ceiling above you, I saw a perfectly black sky with every star in the universe shining.

I wanted to die there or live in it forever.

I don't get many of those. 

Skip the small talk

Have to go and pick up the boys now, take them to lunch, drive them to their cousins' house on the lake for 4th of July festivities. The last time I saw them, we were all talking, and I told them I didn't want to die in a hospital or a nursing home. That might have been too much for the youngest to hear so matter of factly. 

July 3rd is no longer a day of mourning, it's just a day to live or to lose.

The day evaporated. I made $43. I avoided everything else.

Well, actually I made some coffee. I pulled mousy grey-brown hair out of a clogged drain. I couldn't shut off the faucet for the bathtub and will have to replace the thing in there. I told a squirrel to get lost. I ate a burger with bacon and gorgonzola and drank a beer. I was annoyed by the people. I read a vanity plate that seemed to say Blue Hell but didn't. I bought half a gallon of lactose free milk. I had a weird yawning fit - one after another, after another - that made my eyes water.

Cortisol. Pineal gland. Something.

Build me up, buttercup.

Two nights in a row of at least eight hours of unbroken sleep. Sleep is restorative, she said. I must be in ruins to crave this much.

Fifty-four years old today. Something I never thought possible in my youth. But I'm still here, despite the times I said I didn't want to be.

The Dominican girls at the Dunkin Donuts called out "Mister Cappuccino !" when I went inside today instead of using the drive-thru as usual. Jessica showed me the new butterfly tattooed on her forearm. I told them it was my birthday, and they shouted the usual wishes. One asked if I was 21. Yes, I answered, roughly.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of a morning I don't like to remember but too often do. The final scene.

You getting out of my car walking up the stairs and down the length of the walk to your door without looking back. A finality I could feel.

What is worse though is remembering how my perception of you changed over the course of that morning. The way I knew and understood you was shifting. I didn't want to let go of that.

But by the time we made it to your house, there was no more we. And you were someone else entirely.

It ain't me

We made small talk about how screwy the world is these days, probably both thinking we were bonding over a commonality. She was talking about some news program she'd watched on which a quote from Orwell's 1984 was taken. 

It had to do with the taking down of statues and the rewriting of history. Then she said something about toothpaste companies not being allowed to use the term "whitening" anymore. Ridiculous, she said.