Originally Posted Saturday, November 23, 2013
The week was rough, full of emotional battles at the factory. I am in a position where all I get are problems, or so it seems. At least this week. I have had at least five situations that needed much care and tending with me being benign and not the monster that I can be. If I eat enough shit, so to speak, I can usually solve most employee problems.
And so it goes.
The tenant called this morning, too, and started in on the problems of our times. The repairman came yesterday, she said, and boy was he pissed when he saw the new patio. He was supposed to put that in, she said he said. He said it was a shitty job and that it will flood. Did you talk to him, she asked?
Yes, I talked to him yesterday. Everything is fine. But he is expensive and he has just gotten divorced and will be paying child support and alimony, and he's losing his house, too, so he needs work and his prices, I am certain, have just gone up, but my income has not, and that makes for a bad set of circumstances. Everybody wants something.
Well, she said, I had asked him to put in another outlet behind the refrigerator. Did he mention that, she asked? Yes, I answered. Why do you need another outlet? Because, she said, we keep tripping over the refrigerator cord. It needs to be moved. You've lived there for seven years, I thought. When did this problem arise? But I said that I would come look at it instead.
It was a rough week, but the boss is taking next week off, and he was leaving early today to get a massage. I waited for his car to clear the parking lot, and I was out as well. I hit the gym before the crowd and then walked a few miles in the mellow late afternoon air. I need to get physical again, I thought, even if it's gentle. I found that I was walking slower than normal and tried to pick up the pace, but each time I did, I settled back into my shuffling stride. Uh-oh, I thought, but the afternoon was nice and I didn't want to think about the other thing.
Back home after the gym and the walk, I thought that I would go somewhere and have a drink, but I showered and my back froze up and the pain would not leave me as the sun went down and suddenly I was thinking only of sitting and getting relief. I tried cleaning up the house a bit and went through the hideous pile of mail, took the clothes that had been in the dryer out and put in a new load of laundry. Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow.
I poured a glass of wine and called my mother. She had heard from the hillbilly relatives and they were having a full house, so mom and I decided that we would stay home and have our own turkey dinner. It was O.K. I said. She needed to relax. That was a joke, of course, as she is long retired and has little that she has to do, but I. . . I could use some time.
The darkness was now profound, and though the pain in my back and butt and hamstrings had subsided, I was all but worn out completely and knew that I would not even get dressed to go to the grocery store. I looked in the cabinets and found a can of tuna and some pasta. There was edamame in the freezer. Dinner would be the same tonight as it was the night before. Oh. . . the bar was already well-stocked. It would be a quiet night home with books and magazines and maybe a movie on t.v. I needed quiet, I thought, after the week I had had. I'd had enough of people.
The cat was nuzzled against my foot.
I looked around the house. It was a good house though it could use some sprucing, but the basic things were there. Perhaps for Christmas, I thought, I'll buy myself some rugs and shutters and little things besides. And maybe light. The house was dim which was O.K. when I was young but such lighting was a little difficult now. I needed flowers and candles and luxuries.
Outside the world had gone still. It was just past six o'clock. I remembered long ago when I lived in another house next to the Country Club College. I would be home on a Friday night drinking wine and reading books and waiting for "Miami Vice" to come on at nine. And after that, I would walk out my front door and go to one of the most classic bars in the history of the world just a block and a half from my home. Everyone would be there, or at least everyone who mattered. It was not a place for the hoi-poloi. It was more like a private club than a bar, and anything could happen. You wouldn't want to miss it.
There is no "Miami Vice" or an equivalent on Friday night any more, and there is no bar in town like that one. Even if there were, I think I might have a difficult time staying awake. No, no. . . I am sure that is not correct, but it is hard to know as there is nothing remotely similar now.
The dryer rumbles and the dishwasher squeaks. I pour another glass of wine. No one gives me anything, I am thinking as I sip the sharp sweetness of the Chardonnay. All they bring to me are problems. I am tired of their stupid problems, tired of being their fucking savant. I want someone to leave me a present, anything, something simple, a friendship bracelet that she made for me or a cachet. Silly things. . . you know? My world was filled with such beautiful wonders. It seems I was always waiting just to see what would happen next.
But the days of free drinks and second looks. . . . No, that is not completely true. Just tonight nursing the pain hangover, I will throw a little pity party for myself. Of sorts. With what I have at hand which is not enough, but it will do. Tomorrow will be a better day.
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