Monday June 27 2011

DREAM: Taking bread ties and hanging up this blanket structure from the ceiling. People are watching as if I’m about to perform or present something. The laptop is open. I’m typing. Someone objects that I may be scheming a plan to terrorize the world. This is absurd! I retort back, “How can I possibly be sitting here coming up with a diabolical plan like that?” Pointing at the crowd, “I have an audience!” My point being that I wouldn’t be so stupid as to allow anyone to know about it if I was doing such a thing.

Waking up at 11:11 a.m.

Orange Juice. Zinc. Vanilla Yogurt.

All day shift at China Wok.

Snapping the ends off the snow peas—prepping bags, putting the paper bags into the plastic bags.

It’s a slow afternoon.

Egg Sandwich with Tomato and Mayonnaise. Cape Cod Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Honey Green Tea.

Only in Virginia Beach do we have sunny days and rainy days all at once.

Art’s here delivering with me for the dinner rush. I make fun of him for his lack of knowledge of big English words (at least for him) like “overwhelming” and “disdain”.

Standing there configuring the route for a bunch of orders. Out of nowhere these arms reach across the counter and shake me. It’s Richard Misfeldt. He surprised me. “Richard! You scared the shit out of me.”

Delivering an order by Lynnhaven Mall. This lady’s a regular and she has a billion cats and other animals but she’s not an old lady, probably in her mid 30’s. This time when I come to the door I hear a dog yapping. She comes outside.

Her: “She’ll bite you.”

Me: “Really?”

Her: “Yeah she doesn’t like men.”


After Art leaves, Virginia Beach’s appetite for Chinese food continues, as well as mine.

Vegetable Lo Mein.

Organizing—cleaning out my car. Prepping lunch and snacks for tomorrow when I go to Busch Gardens with my baby.

Earlier, our new maid/nanny, Lauren, sent me a beautiful image of a spotless kitchen. She’s doing a wonderful job.

A bowl of Frosted Shredded Wheat Cereal.

At the queen’s house. She’s engrossed in this reality show for songwriters.

As we discuss tomorrow’s agenda she starts to get irritated because it’s supposed to rain and I don’t have a/c in my car and we can’t find out how much parking costs.

Smiling as I say it, “Why are you so irritable?”

“Because I just am!”

“But I want to know why.”

“Because I’m a woman!” Immediately she switches the subject to a greater concern, “I’m hungry.” But she says it in an adorable kid voice complete with an animated frown on her face. She puts the couch pillow between her legs and drops into my arms. I love her. It feels like I haven’t seen her in a while. I mean, I haven’t. It’s been a few days. It’s weird and good at the same time. I like the space between visits. It helps us appreciate each other’s company more. It gives us breathing room. All those bitter moments forgotten about for the time being—being given a chance to replace with tender loving moments.

All comfy in Margot’s bed—she’s sound asleep, cause she can do that sort of thing in 15 seconds flat where it takes me at least 15 minutes.

Anthony sends me an email:

Subject: excerpts from anthonys blog. Monday June 27th

...I feel really good about Lauren. She is definitely going to help us get back some of the communal feeling that I thought was slipping away. She is like the syrup on the stack of pancakes that is our family....
...Also, great news, Josh is not moving...
...With this cast of characters, I feel overwhelmingly positive about this summer and all that it has to offer.
Sleep at 3:15 A.M.

Anthony takes on an interesting role in our group of friends. I’m the father that keeps the order and promotes responsibility. As much as he’s, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the facilitator of fun and liveliness, he’s also the watchman who looks out for cracks in the social system. We’re not just roommates here at 1435, Chantytown, Chanticleer, whatever you want to call it. We’re family. And we treat it as such.

Sleep 3:45 a.m.

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