- To walk the dog
- To get to my doctor's office
All else was secondary. I was feeling crappy and woke up with Kayla snoring next to me on the couch. I don't remember falling asleep last night.
Kayla was pretty patient with me, her human host. I was groggy, eyes half shut and my shoulder felt out of whack. I showered and languished there, standing with water running over me, still asleep.
I made some motion for conditioner and soap and rinsed off with cold water at the end (you know, to rejuvinate the tired skin!) and then managed some clothes.
Kayla stood on her hind legs to catch my attention. She was ready to go outside.
I armed myself with the iPod mini and a plastic bag.
One thing I find odd about dog ownership is the LNT policy. I think it's cool, but, well...there's a lot people do for their dogs they do not do for their fellow human being.
We walk briskly down to the park, passing by many canine friends. Past the tennis courts and begin along the trail.
Ms. Kayla has squatted several times and I have the plastic bag at the ready, but these previous squats only produced little pools of urine. Future dead patches in the lawn at Glen Park.
Toward the fork in the road, near some euchalyptus trees she squats down and she squats hard.
And I try to turn my head before the process happens. (To give her privacy.)
I am amazed at the lack of shame animals have while relieving themselves. After a few moments, she has deposited her contribution to the earth. A neat little pile, the color of the organic dog food her parents get her. And in the morning cold, it is actually steaming.
For a moment I wonder whether I need to wait til it stops steaming, but I remind myself that this is not a product fresh from the oven. I sigh, make a makeshift mitt from the bag and scoop up her mess.
Thankfully the trash bin was steps away. I slung the bag in and kept walking with Kayla on the leash.
I also thanked (in my mind) the person who cleared away this doggie's mess and every doggie's mess ever deposited in the trash at this park. This is a potentially yucky job.
I call Megan while Kayla sniffs at her doggie peers butts and began to essentially whine about life.
Being the good friend that she is, she listens. And then she tells me I might feel a tad drained because of my schedule lately.
I ponder this as the clock strikes 9:12 and I need to return Kayla to the house and get over the Berkeley. I would have been screwed if I was on public transportation, but Jane makes the journey from Glen Park to University and MLK in Berkley in less than 20 minutes.
I unleashed a lot during my session. I explained how I have been without my herbs and meditation and felt listless and depressed. And my good doctor stopped me and began a socratic exercise when I mentioned why I couldn't date successfully.
She made me list 5 things I like about myself. I struggled after two: I care, and I am genuinely interested.
She eeked out 3 more.
The end of the session came and I felt a little better. I needed to eat and deposit the $25 bucks I earned last night working on Sarah's sister's computer.
Hey man, that's gas and food til the 15th.
After my session I sought lunch. I sought a moon crepe, Banh Xeo, from the Vietnamese place on Shattuck, right next to some California French Cuisine place. Here is where they make moon crepe's that rival Huy's mom's recipe. For those who may not know...imagine a slightly warmed salad of sprouts, shrimp, chicken, carrots, all laid gently within a crispy golden crepe. It is served with basil or mint leaves and a light sauce to bring out the mixture of flavours. This restaurant serves one of the best I have tasted.
The crepe is golden, crispy and has a slight coconut flavor.
I drink coconut juice with pulp. The green and white label is bilingual in Spanish and I begin drawing lines between nations on an imaginary globe in my head. I love this kinda multi-culti thing.
The sun is gentle and out and I drive to my Oakland house to gain some floor space from the boxes in my room. I am engrossed in the Doomed Love show on This American Life when I park in front of the house and lean my chair back to finish the story, cat-like in my car.
I fall asleep and wake up to the nature show that comes on afterwards on KQED on Saturdays.
Man, why am I so tired?
I remind myself if I tidy up, I will find my vitamins and supplements and will begin to eradicate the anxiety.
I get in the house, all is quiet and I wonder if my roommate is home.
I pee and take a mental note that the sink is still clogged and that I need to buy some organic anti-clog thing on payday. I HATE a bathroom that doesn't function. The house needs tenderloving care in a way that I am not quite wealthy enough to provide, but I will get it there. We need some light in the dark woodpaneled bathroom. And the rose print shower curtain has to go.
I flush and hear the rustling of someone from slumber. I rinse my hands under the tub spout and b-line to my room. The warmth of the light draws me to the bed for a nap. The sun is beaming on my right cheek. Celtic music is playing gently in the back of my brain from the radio. Thistle and Shamrock is on with Fiona Ritchie. I first heard her lilting voice in Raleigh. The fiddle play keeps me interested in Celtic music. I don't care too much for the spacey-druid kinda stuff, but give me mandolins and fiddles and a storyline...and I'm in heaven.
I am drifting into Irish bliss, perhaps skipping along some fields in Eire when a dog's barking scares the bejeezus out of me.
I hate dog barks. They are not restful sounds and my eyes feel like they are made of lead. I am freakin' TIRED, Apollo. Shut the hell up, please.
He barks for what seems like forever, calms down and then I can get some sleep.
In 15 minutes he beats my alarm and is barking again.
I am going to investigate one of those electronic anti-dog barking devices they peddle in airplane catalogs for those suburbanites who have everything (including the pottery tree face for your front yard elm or maple). I am not putting the energy into another move unless I get a job offer in Portland.
I get up. I can't sleep with that dog yellin' and I hear voices in the house anyone. Roomie David and a woman's voice. Damn, I look all to' up from the flo' up with a scarf around my head, a jankie tee and my worn orange cords. This is not the first impression a woman likes to make. And since I feel like I am always on as blatina diplomat, I definitely don't want to come out.
So I engage myself with the wall of boxes next to my bed. My room is 9 by 13. My bed takes about 5. The rest was filled with boxes and bags and stuff that needed to be moved.
I got a phone call from Meryl, who is my big sister, sanity extraordinaire and answered the phone, "How the hell did you know I needed you right now?" And she responded with, "The same reason why I know I needed you."
I love this woman.
I share my anxiety over my vitamins and yoga and how I feel the difference over the last 2 weeks. She trumps me by saying the weather in Boston is predicting the biggest storm of the season and she's doing her best not to hunker down with some cigarettes.
I fall into weak cheerleader mode. It's what I can muster.
And I tell her how proud I am of her.
She tells me that she has an entertaining picture of ">Pamela Anderson that should cheer me up. I told her Pamela Anderson never cheered me up. The picture is goofy. I would like to say she sorta looks like Barbara Eden, but, um...no. She just looks goofy.
My phone is dying. One bar left. But Meryl has me in stitches with her NYC accent coming out when she makes references to water.
While on the phone, I have cleared a little yoga studio for myself on the floor and have stacked away some boxes. Yay.
It's almost 6 pm (or so I think), I gotta get to Comedy Sportz in San Jose!
It's interactive team improv. And it's been about 5 years since I have been on the stage.
I get to San Jose an hour early, because I misread my military time on my cell phone clock. Dang.
Well, I seek out a coffeeshop and find a thai-inspired joint and order a duck breast with pomegranate sauce and rice for supper. Moi was hungry.
And it was awesome. A great 10 year old kid served as my host in between IM chats and web surfing. Smart kid, really service oriented. I kicked it on a couch and turned my brain off, which was nice.