Sunday August 28 2011

Waking up just after 11:30 a.m.

Breakfast: Two Hard Boiled Eggs. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok—just another day living and working in the sprawl.

Delivering an order off Westminister Lane. In response to the $1.75 delivery fee the lady responds, “That’s stink-o!”

Lunch: Peanut Butter Bagel. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

A fairly busy afternoon and evening…

Refuel with a Starbucks Coffee Frappuccino from 7-11.

Snapping the peas when there’s down time.

There’s a few songs that come up on my ipod—nostalgia for old feelings of intense longing—I can’t fight the reminder of her in these melodies. It’s amazing the stains of emotion that can make a permanent home in music…How can I forget you? Don’t worry. You’re ghost will always be engraved here…

A beautiful Post-Irene sunset…

Delivering an order off 21st street. The guy gives me a generous tip along with a can of Bud Light. I accept but have to decline the Slurpee shot he offers along with it.

Back home—James Graves makes an appearance. I miss that kid.

Dinner: Brown Rice with Mixed Vegetables and Edamame. Kirin Ichiban.

People in the living—Tosh.0 on the TV—eating a little bit of Sherbet and Ice Cream.

Margot keeps texting me. Her house still has no power and she’s uncomfortable and hot over there—guilt-tripping me into allowing her to come over here and spend the night—assuring me she wouldn’t make moves on me (and we could put the stuffed shark between us as a boundary). I’m trying my best to be sensitive but at the same time firm. I say no, in so many words. But of course this is followed by a 40-minute phone conversation—needing more explanations—denial of separation. I feel her eternal disappointment and anger and pain. It seems eternal….I hate putting her through this…but I know what the right path is for me.

Eating some pizza that James brought over…

Browsing my bookshelf and feeling drawn to The Prophet so I pull it out and begin to read, randomly choosing page 52. Kahlil Gibran’s words speak mountains…

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

Continuing my read…and meditating…

Sleep 3:30 a.m.

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