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April 22, 1997
I woke up about 4:30 this morning, realized this was not good, went back to sleep albeit fitfully. Joan-east called, waking me out of a sound sleep at 9:15 to ask if I wanted to go for a walk with her and Priscilla at 1:30 this afternoon. I begged off on account of the knee thing even though I walked last night for 45 minutes with her.
I also couldn't remember if my appointment with the orthotics man is today or next Tuesday at 1:30 and didn't want to double schedule myself. Of course I've already double scheduled a number of days lately. The Auntmobile is going to the Honda Barn on Thursday and I have some vague memory of Tom suggesting my driving Julie to a speaking engagement - using what for a car?
Anyway, I begged off walking, got up reluctantly, dressed reluctantly, went out for Dunkin Dark Roast and a bagel semi-reluctantly.
Finally, fortified with coffee and bagel I went to my therapist's office and chilled out in the waiting room. I often have the feeling I frighten young heterosexual women in the waiting room. I don't know why I get that vibe but I do. The young woman sitting there today looked at me like I was g*d knows what. Wonder if she thought I'm contagious?
So I pissed and moaned through therapy: all about how I can't do enough, can't be enough, lack adult competencies, etc. etc. I was in really bad mood this morning owing to the sleep disturbances. I've been in an edgy sort of mood waking up with heart pounding and an intense feeling of fear many mornings. And I've already written about suddenly craving beer, which I've never liked. Anyway, I vented for an hour and felt somewhat better.
Went to Starbucks immediately after therapy. Sean was beaming. He handed me a stack of brochures about this African safari he just booked through the wife of a regular Starbucks customer. He gave me a free coffee while I leafed through the brochures. The whole thing sounds fabulous. I can see Sean in Zambia looking for lions. The "lodge" looks like a really fancy campground. The walking safaris seem so much more intense than jeep safaris - not that I've ever done either. After looking at Sean's brochures I started to want to go to Zambia too.
No sign of Tom or Julie or Ned or any of the regulars including Anne, Zena, and JoJo.
I wrote furiously in my notebook - observations on who was wearing what and which coffee they ordered. Men in pink shirts favor caffe mocha for some reason.
After therapy, coffee, and cat food shopping, I just want to take a nap. I take off my clothes and stretch out on the bed. Wilbur decides to join me and demands petting. I start to drift off. The phone rings. The Nature Conservancy wants more money. The caller won't take no for an answer. I keep saying no. Finally I hang up. I start to drift off. The doorbell rings. The Dad Bean of Egypt Maine wants to know how to shut the heat off. Says he called the landlord and she said there's a valve in the basement to shut the heat off. I tell him there's a zone valve that controls the heat. He asks where it is. I say on the hot water pipe near the ceiling. He asks what does it look like. I say like a zone valve. He asks again. I tell him it's attached to the pipe and looks kinda like a thermostat. I just want to take a nap. Finally he has enough info to approach the problem. I'm still in shock that the Beans are only renting - the drunk biker chick still owns the place. Sigh. At least my genetic predisposition to heating ventilation and air conditioning came in handy.
Now can I please take a nap?
No luck on the nap. I go to the mall to buy a pair of black jeans. No luck. All the clothes I see are hideously ugly. Chartreuse seems to be the color du jour. The range of greens and blues and the ugly contrasting stripes make the clothes look like they escaped from a faded Easter basket. I begin to have clothing panic. I mean if I can't find anything that fits me at Lane Bryant, where can I shop? I didn't even try any of the other large size stores in the mall. I mean if I can't get a simple pair of black jeans at Lane Bryant, I'm not gonna find 'em at a more expensive shop like Elisabeth. So I came away from the mall with a copy of The Advocate with an article about coming out of the corporate closet. Hmmm, I'd rather have some new clothes in my closet than a corporate executive in there...