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2002-01-13 / 2:36 p.m. ~It Turned Out Okay~ I had a grand plan for the weekend, a grand plan all week, I could visualize it, all of it, the dusting, the vacuuming, the organizing, the placing of the excess shit, the stuff accumulated, in the vehicle, take it away, clean, prioritize, organize, make this place nice....and all week the job took everything I had from me. All week I was close to tears at the end of the day, each day, thinking I was robbed. Robbed of any energy I'd need to do the things that matter more to me than answering phones, talking to idiots, explaining processes. All I did was the bathroom, and damn right it looks great, but what about the library? The dust on all the bookcases? The piles of old catalogs ripe for sorting, for removal, for the recycling bin? The dining table, the retro, original chrome and whatever, that cool table that's constantly covered with incoming mail and papers? Ack. Yesterday the dreams took over, again. I get out of the bed and turn to look back at it, covers barely rustled, realizing I'd slept that paradoxical sleep, that REM sleep, so active, synapses firing, eyes twitching, body from neck down paralyzed, lying still through the night, occasionally flipping from one side to the next, pausing to lie on my back. And I finally had to yank myself from a dream. Yank myself out of bed, or I would lie there forever. 3:30ish. I slept through the day. I awoke tired. I was exhausted. My waking dreams, my visualization of cleaning, all washed away in sleep, in sleeping dreams. I did embark on a project, and I have so many lined up, one in which I sit on the floor amidst a pile of free weekly newspapers, a rather large pile, two or three piles actually, split into, and I flip through them, page by page, looking for articles I want to save, ads I need to clip, or letters to the editor that I wrote, that they published, that I need to save. Then I set them aside in a different pile, the pile for recycling. Some of these go back to 1999, and doesn't that seem SO far away now? I've been meaning to sort through these papers for three years. Three years. So, I did, a rather large amount, and I listened to my new Fatboy Slim CD again, the one I ordered from Half.com, and I heartily recommend Half.com, my experience was very nice, I ordered my CD on Saturday, received it in the mail on Thursday, listened to it, it is in "like new" condition as stated. Then I pause to eat, I have to eat, and I have rosemary and sun dried tomato ham, with provolone, on whole wheat, and I go through more papers, because seeing the recycling ready pile grow higher and higher is so satisfying. Then it's time for "Double Indemnity", and though I've seen it, a few times, I have to see it again, just to see Fred MacMurray get lost in Barbara Stanwyck's anklet, just to hear him say, "I'm crazy about ya, baby", just to hear him say, "Baby" over and over, just to see him get all wrapped up in her, get lost in his own downward spiral, and to see Edward G. Robinson act, arms flailing all around, chomping his big fat cigar, never a match to light it, Fred flicking his match for him, flicking with his thumb..... And then I turn to the papers, again, weeks and weeks of papers, and memories, and I didn't know Moby came to town back in November of '00, I didn't know him then, and I have "Iron Chef" on in the background, but I can't see it, and then I have to watch the debut of "A Cook's Tour" repeated, Anthony Bourdain eating exotic food in Japan, and I just ordered the book, A Cook's Tour, autographed, from Food Network, online, and I got a notice from UPS it was delivered, left at the apartment office on Friday, and that's the only time I leave the apartment all day yesterday, to go to the office to get the book, and to take the trash to the dumpster. And there he is, on TV, I can hear his voice now, I can see him move, not just read his words, and I still find him fascinating, but then "Trading Spaces" is on, and I have to see what the fuss is about, so I leave the papers and watch three episodes in a row, and in the last one a woman is really upset with what her neighbors did to her bedroom, she can barely speak, she looks close to tears, she wants them to turn off the cameras, she says, "I've had enough!". She says, "I'll have to get used to it", but she is furious, she is so mad, they ruined her bedroom with chocolate colored paint, and a gold ceiling, and she hates, hates, hates it! Wow. It stays with me, how horrified she looked. I can't shake it. I go to bed, happy with the little I accomplished, only sorting through the papers, only shortening the stack, no cleaning, two loads laundry and I ran out of detergent, accepting of how little I did, how wasted the day was, but how enjoyable for "Double Indemnity" and "Trading Spaces" and "A Cook's Tour", and I go to bed and fall asleep to "Tarantula". Saturday. I spoke to Hermione last night after she got home from work at the bookstore, she called to say she was wasted tired. And I said, Look, postpone if you need to, you can come over another time, but she is moving out West very soon, there is a contract on the house, she may be gone by February 8th, and that is soon. Today I woke earlier, by noon I'd yanked myself from dreams, and I called her while I drank my coffee, and cleared my throat (what's up with that? I don't smoke.....), and instead of her coming here, with Lilly, appreciating my clean bathroom, and shorter pile of papers, and seeing the dust on the furniture, complete with cat paw prints, we talked on the phone for an hour and a half. Instead. Reality TV, numerology, alternative medicine, dream houses, accumulating stuff, we talked about everything imaginable, as we always do. And I was glad they weren't coming over. I didn't want them to, in the long run. I hate making plans in advance because when the date rolls around I've changed my mind, invariably. I'd changed my mind. I'd wanted this place cleaned, dust-free, but that was impossible, I still wasn't ready, I'd be embarrassed, regardless of their noticing, I'd notice, I'd feel like scum. She couldn't make it, has too much "on her plate", and I know this, and hopefully we'll see each other at least once before they're gone for good, but today's not the day. Today I'll watch "Guiding Light"s on tape, and I'll sink into the sofa, wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday. Today I'll feel comfortable and lazy, doing only as I please, and that's what Sunday is for. I won't leave the apartment, I won't care, not anymore. It turned out okay. Cost of the War in Iraq
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