Sunday February 6 2011

DREAM: A tennis match set up in the back lot behind my old church. My dad and I play on a team versus my former stepmother, Brandy, and some unnamed girl. I comment out loud about how the teams were set up just right to make it fair and to be a challenge. I’ve got the ball ready to serve. For some reason Brandy crosses the net and stands directly in front of me waiting as if to get a head start on the return. “Wait. You can’t do that!” All of a sudden I see someone open up the door on the second floor to the church. Water comes flooding out and down the stairs and filling up the whole court. My dad grabs a steel boat to fit all of us. We jump in. I’m in the front. We have no paddles so I use my hands to maneuver us. The parking lot is flooded too. Just across the median is a group of people watching us with strange looks. I stick up my arms and sort of wave to them as we float along. Everyone else on the boat fell asleep. I move us out of the parking lot and onto the streets but there’s no water here. Still attempting to paddle the boat and scoot us along—scraping the asphalt. I realize at this point we are not getting anywhere like this. None of them are waking up so I try calling my dad’s cell phone. Just as soon, I realize I’m using HIS phone to call him. This is silly.

4:30 p.m. waking up.

Breakfast: Egg and Cheese Burrito from Sonic. Orange Juice. Zinc.

Work at China Wok.

It’s kind of a slow night—dragging but just enough to get me seven orders. The other driver, Steve, keeps me informed of the score of the Super Bowl game being aired on the radio.

Trader Joe’s—my box of Salt n Vinegar Chips came in.


Lunch: Peanut Butter Sandwich. Goldfish. Honey Green Tea.

Doug walks in! He hasn’t been around the house in ages it seems, mainly because his job is in Norfolk and Jon’s place is a more viable option. He’s cheating on me.

Music. Music. Music.

Doug and Dustin are having a chat in the kitchen about good and bad band names while I eat a Grapefruit Orange.

Taking the trash out. Our outside trashcan is maxed out to the brim—some things topple out. I pick up a painting with an Arabic dude on the front. Walking into the house, Doug says, “Did you just pick through my trash?” “Uh. I just found this. Is this yours?” Apparently, it was something he did in high school. I kind of like it. “In the name of Allah” is written in Arabic on the top.

Margot calls. It’s a functional conversation at first but after talking about the lack of time spent together it turns into something disheartening. At some point she hangs up in the middle of it, which I thought was rude, and if I ever did that to her there’d be hell to pay on my end. I call back. She answers. All of a sudden she tells me she just locked her keys in the car and demands I come over and give her back the spare key I still have. Wow. She borrows her Pap’s car and meets me at the unit. I encourage her to come inside for a minute but she insists on just getting her key back and leaving. Trying to be playful I say, “You have to work for it.” Not working. “No, Robert! I shouldn’t have to work for my key.” After repeating, “Come inside!” a billion times, we finally enter the building. Her mood is unbecoming to me and I just can’t stand it. She gets so bitter and hateful. I don’t think I’ve ever used so many F words with her before tonight. It feels like a Martin Scorsese film. “I just want you to have patience!” She keeps telling me to “find some other girl that can be patient with you!” “Margot, I don’t want to find some other girl. I want YOU…to be patient with me.”

Continuing our conversation about the amount of time she sees me. With how busy I keep myself and everything, I suggest at least twice a week as a solution. She mentions this dude Les that she’s been hanging out with a lot recently—she even admits to having a small crush on the guy, and she’s slept in his bed, but nothing happened. It’s like as soon as she realizes I can’t fulfill her needs, she’s got other options at hand. This always seems to be the case whenever our relationship is on the line. It’s like an ultimatum or something. Because I know if we end this, she will go to someone else in no time. And that makes me feel like a commodity. In reality, she doesn’t need some nocturnal quirky old man like me who is always preoccupied with dreams and ambitions. She needs a daytime warrior who works normal hour jobs and takes her out every night. Man, I wish opposites didn’t really attract, cause that’s how it’s always been with her and I. We’re attracted to each other for some reason and we’re in this deep already. Climbing out of this warm and fiery hole is risky for our egos and hearts. But what are we to do?

We finally get around to being softer with each other and hug. I speak, “Whenever I hear pretty things or see pretty things, I still think of you…like I have romantic visions especially when I hear Beethoven. I can see you standing in a big well-bloomed garden somewhere in Europe—you and I in a big castle. You’ve got roses in your hair and you’re wearing a white dress—the sun shining bright—swans swimming in the lake behind you. And I’m on the piano playing Beethoven.”

I’m sad somewhat and experience a feeling of loss—body still shaking from the cold temperature of the storage unit or maybe from the topics fresh on my mind. She scares me, or rather her absence in my life scares me, or both.

Kenneth’s sautéing mushrooms and garlic. I start kneading dough for a pizza.

Dinner: Pizza with Mozzarella, Mushrooms, Peppers, and Onions.

Grabbing three slices to go. This is the tastiest pizza I’ve ever made at this house.

Newspaper route.

Coast to Coast Radio—a doctor is discussing brain health—modern society places more importance on physical beauty or body health and not enough on brain health.

Eating a Blueberry Donut from 7-11 and Milk.

Incredibly tired. Stopping somewhere to nap on the way home.

Feeling a mild cold coming on.

Eating another Grapefruit Orange and Chocolate with hot Oolong Tea.


Sleep 10 a.m.

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