Tuesday September 14 2010

DREAM: Back in my old house in Ocean Lakes. In my old room waking up to go to school. My bunk bed is there. Another guy, a friend, is waking up with me off the top bunk. I’m attempting to clean out my suitcase—sorting out my coin change from my clothes. Downstairs I open up the fridge for breakfast. My mom prepared plastic Tupperware bins of strawberries and big slices of pineapple still with outer coating. I pull a tub out and eat it.

Getting up at 3:30 p.m.

Breakfast: Milk Toast with Cinnamon and Brown Sugar.

Work at the ice cream shop.

Business is slow.

Lunch: Tuna Salad Sandwich with Tomato. Salt N Vinegar Chips. Honey Oolong Tea. Blueberry Yogurt.

Reading the DOOM novel—getting really enveloped in it.

Here at the shop ants are a big nuisance. Watching one writhing in agony as it’s being pinned down by a spider half it’s size. It’s a strange sight. Even the other passing ants don’t stop to help.

My newly acquainted friend, Teresa, makes a surprise visit at work. She tells me about some of her military classes where they were sprayed with OC Spray and have to learn what it feels like, which is like pepper spray but ten times worse and used in India to discipline elephants.

She sticks around and we chat about things. The customers come in from time to time and we pause. She’s almost nicer to the customers than I am—adding a touch of estrogen and womanly nurture. The parking meter where she parked keeps expiring—a quarter only allows 10 minutes. I wasn’t expecting her to stay until the end of my shift, but she did. Feeling comfortable and thinking this could be a start to a close and beneficial friendship. Both of us were on the verge of telling each other personal back-stories. Not really having enough time—making a rain check for another meeting over coffee.

I meet Margot at her place. The plan was to have fondue together and maybe watch a movie but I forewarned her there might not be much time because of poker and recording tonight. After arriving later than expected and informing her I wanted to be home 30 minutes earlier, leaving us about an hour of visiting time, she switches to self-pity mode. Spending most of the hour bantering back and forth—listening to her say things she doesn’t mean. To recount a long story short, in the end hugs and embraces and kisses make things better. “Twin high maintenance machines,” a lyric to a Mountain Goats always sticks out to me after heated conversations like this, except we’re not twins but individuals with different needs.

Back at home…playing poker with the boys: James, Art, and Roma. I win the first hand and Art wins the second.

Dinner: leftover Shrimp Sinigang.

Art persuades me to go to Kmart with him and buy cookies. So we do. As we exit the store, I point out a girl in grey shorts analyzing some fruit. She seemed pretty from behind. I joke with Art about how sometimes a pretty girl from behind isn’t always a pretty girl in the front. He tells me how most pretty American girls seem to be missing something to him, but he can’t quite figure out what is it—only a rare few seem to be complete.

Eating Chocolate Chip Cookies and Milk—watching funny videos on youtube with Art. He sings to me this Russian song he likes by this band—translating the chorus for me: “In my right hand is Snickers. In my left hand is Mars. And my PR manager is Karl Marx.”

Art goes to bed and in 15 minutes Emily is waking up to go to work at 4 a.m.

At the storage unit practicing.

Sleep around 7:30 a.m.

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