Buckets of Water Used: Infinite
Nov. 29th, 2002 09:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enteleinThanksgiving was a pretty nice time, I think.
I had houseguests Wednesday night, which you would probably think'd be a nightmare, what with all the moving stuff I am trying to do. But as I told Makonan and hhsb, it was a break I am sure I would be anticipating by that point. And I was right.
After both women arrived safely, we sat around for a bit and gossiped, and then headed over to Pacific Cafe. hhsb had never had sushi before, and so she had a Special Eel Maki. Mako had the same, and I did my usual Pacific Maki with one piece fresh sake.
We just did a lot of talking, and general decompressing before the big holiday celebrations would start - for them, they'd be in San Francisco, and for me, I'd be driving out to the 'burbs to be with my mom and some stepfamily.
The day was cold and bright when I dropped them at the train on Thursday, and even though I left just a little late to get to my mom's on time, the traffic was such that I was a full half hour late. It was no big deal, though, as everyone was just having drinks and nibbling on things.
Dinner, oh my gosh, was declicious. I hadn't had anything really substantial to eat all day, and so everything was particularly good and warm and perfect, and the table was lively and everyone laughed a lot.
My mom walked out with me to the car after everyone had gone on home to continue their own personal Thanksgiving celebrations (most likely falling asleep on the couch), and she helped me load some window shades and a box that contained not only a couple pots and pans, but some vintage cool Sesame Street cookie cutters, into my car.
As we were standing there, she asked me if I had lost any weight. I told her no - perhaps 3 or 4 lbs. since I'd last seen her, but nothing majorly significant. Apparently my stepbrother had asked her privately if I had, since it looked as if I had lost a significant amount.
I told her that it was primarily the fact that I was wearing clothes that didn't totally hide and shroud my figure in bagginess, which I do an awful lot just because it's comfy and, well, it hides me. But other reason?
I remember breathing out, breath puffing visibly into the air before me, the world dark except the lights over the front doors of the houses, and I said,
"I think I am happier now."
And for once, that was really true.
I went home, driving to Peter Gabriel's Up, and then grabbed mop and broom and a busted old stereo set with a working casette deck, and headed for the new place.
In the dim light cast by the standing lamp left behind by the previous tenants, I swept out and mopped each room, mopping with just plain water and then with Murphy's, working up a slight sweat. It wasn't particularly strenuous, mind you, it was just that the apartment was a bit sauna-like with the radiated heat. I turned down the thermostat even more, and opened two windows wide, pulled out the box fan, and got some air moving. I listened to an old, old mix tape my friend Pete made for me in college, called "Fair + Simple Warning." Soul Coughing, Nine Inch Nails, Tori Amos, and sound snippets from the movie Simple Men filled up the space and made it mine mine mine.
Each swish of the mop, and I claimed that place a little more. From top to bottom, I was touching every square foot, imprinting my influence on the space. It felt really good.
The refrigerator was disgusting, however, and I doled out my patience as efficiently as possible as I mopped up condensation and mold and crumbs and spilled things. I cleaned about twenty packets of "Fire" sauce out of the Butter compartment, removed all the shelves and scrubbed them as clean as I could. I burned some incense, washed my poor dishpan hands, and went out to the car and brought the window shades in, the pots and pans.
I almost sat on the living room floor and savored the moment for a little while, but I knew I'd hurt when I'd get up, so I grabbed my purse, my keys, my cleaning implements, and zipped back here, the streets empty and lonely, the businesses closed up and darkened on Thanksgiving night.
This eerie calm in my heart, what does it mean?
I had houseguests Wednesday night, which you would probably think'd be a nightmare, what with all the moving stuff I am trying to do. But as I told Makonan and hhsb, it was a break I am sure I would be anticipating by that point. And I was right.
After both women arrived safely, we sat around for a bit and gossiped, and then headed over to Pacific Cafe. hhsb had never had sushi before, and so she had a Special Eel Maki. Mako had the same, and I did my usual Pacific Maki with one piece fresh sake.
We just did a lot of talking, and general decompressing before the big holiday celebrations would start - for them, they'd be in San Francisco, and for me, I'd be driving out to the 'burbs to be with my mom and some stepfamily.
The day was cold and bright when I dropped them at the train on Thursday, and even though I left just a little late to get to my mom's on time, the traffic was such that I was a full half hour late. It was no big deal, though, as everyone was just having drinks and nibbling on things.
Dinner, oh my gosh, was declicious. I hadn't had anything really substantial to eat all day, and so everything was particularly good and warm and perfect, and the table was lively and everyone laughed a lot.
My mom walked out with me to the car after everyone had gone on home to continue their own personal Thanksgiving celebrations (most likely falling asleep on the couch), and she helped me load some window shades and a box that contained not only a couple pots and pans, but some vintage cool Sesame Street cookie cutters, into my car.
As we were standing there, she asked me if I had lost any weight. I told her no - perhaps 3 or 4 lbs. since I'd last seen her, but nothing majorly significant. Apparently my stepbrother had asked her privately if I had, since it looked as if I had lost a significant amount.
I told her that it was primarily the fact that I was wearing clothes that didn't totally hide and shroud my figure in bagginess, which I do an awful lot just because it's comfy and, well, it hides me. But other reason?
I remember breathing out, breath puffing visibly into the air before me, the world dark except the lights over the front doors of the houses, and I said,
"I think I am happier now."
And for once, that was really true.
I went home, driving to Peter Gabriel's Up, and then grabbed mop and broom and a busted old stereo set with a working casette deck, and headed for the new place.
In the dim light cast by the standing lamp left behind by the previous tenants, I swept out and mopped each room, mopping with just plain water and then with Murphy's, working up a slight sweat. It wasn't particularly strenuous, mind you, it was just that the apartment was a bit sauna-like with the radiated heat. I turned down the thermostat even more, and opened two windows wide, pulled out the box fan, and got some air moving. I listened to an old, old mix tape my friend Pete made for me in college, called "Fair + Simple Warning." Soul Coughing, Nine Inch Nails, Tori Amos, and sound snippets from the movie Simple Men filled up the space and made it mine mine mine.
Each swish of the mop, and I claimed that place a little more. From top to bottom, I was touching every square foot, imprinting my influence on the space. It felt really good.
The refrigerator was disgusting, however, and I doled out my patience as efficiently as possible as I mopped up condensation and mold and crumbs and spilled things. I cleaned about twenty packets of "Fire" sauce out of the Butter compartment, removed all the shelves and scrubbed them as clean as I could. I burned some incense, washed my poor dishpan hands, and went out to the car and brought the window shades in, the pots and pans.
I almost sat on the living room floor and savored the moment for a little while, but I knew I'd hurt when I'd get up, so I grabbed my purse, my keys, my cleaning implements, and zipped back here, the streets empty and lonely, the businesses closed up and darkened on Thanksgiving night.
This eerie calm in my heart, what does it mean?
