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Wednesday, May. 18, 2005 / 2:59 p.m. ~She Stands on the Precipice of Trouble~ I'm listening to the "Garden State" soundtrack, and now plays the song he sang in my ear, telling me later he never sings for anyone, never sings aloud, and I felt I'd been let in on a secret. I'll always think of him when I hear this song. In a way, I like that our brief relationship is frozen in time, certain moments hang over me at times unbidden, but they're so sweet, and that is all that remains. It's nice this way. The cats aren't really allowed in the kitchen, especially not while I'm cooking, as I don't want them underfoot, causing knives to fall from my hands, or pots filled with hot liquid to dump upon them, or me, and so it is I have a special "Get out of the kitchen" voice that is gentle, yet firm, and Norma's favorite thing is to sit with just two front paws on the vinyl floor, just outside, but just inside at the same time.  She also hears when I open the butter compartment in the refrigerator, knows when I pull out a stick and set it on the counter, and basically begs and drives me crazy until I carve off a small chunk, usually with just a fingernail, to give to her on the floor, and then I have to resort to my no cats in the kitchen rule and tell her again, possibly abbreviated this time, "Out of the kitchen!", and kitchen is said more like "keetchn", which is another example of me feigning a southern accent, especially designed to entertain the girls, or to imagine that they in fact, having been raised in the South, also have southern accents. If they could but talk to illustrate this point. So it was Norma knew butter was in the equation, that I was cooking, mushrooms sauteed in butter and garlic oil, in preparation for eggs, and she sat carefully on the rug by the sink, then slowly moved in, and back out again, as I said, "Out of the keetchn!", and "You're gonna get in so much trouble!", then back in again, and I carved off a small chunk of butter and put it on the floor for her to lick up, and told her to get out again, and she stood just outside, and I said, "You are standing on the precipice of trouble, you are!", and I had to laugh at myself, for sometimes I enjoy the self-amusement to no end.  My new neighbor downstairs is home all the time, as am I these days. I hear her, and I wonder why she's there, I wonder if she is unemployed too, if she is a student, if she works nights, if she is on vacation, if she won the lottery, if her boyfriend pays her rent, if she has a sugar daddy on the side, and I am self conscious, noise conscious, overly conscious, and wish she weren't there. Wish I knew when she was gone, if she ever is. I listen to this soundtrack album now, and it's turned down low, but up high enough she can hear, I'm sure of it, and I think of her first day, the day she moved in and cranked up her hip hop first thing, and how angry I became, irate even. That hasn't happened since, but she makes her own set of noises, and it sometimes sounds like she's dropping things from on great heights. Or she engages in the wrestling activities, hard to say. I keep thinking of all the things I really shouldn't have said in yesterday's interview. Like, when asked what I felt about going from retail books to office work, maybe I shouldn't have said I found it claustrophobic, and that I experienced a loss (maybe dearth is a better word) of intellectualism. I also quite possibly should not have said that when I was absorbed by the employee information services department, after the call center was phased out at my last job, that I was much happier, seeing as how I was interviewing for a call center/help desk job. It really doesn't matter that I'd gone to some trouble to hide my tattoos, I couldn't hide that I am a non-conformist eccentric misanthropic socially gregarious psuedo-intellectual free-thinking absurdly honest extroverted malcontent. I'm not prime hiring material, and it should come as no surprise I've not heard a word regarding my 'chances' at getting this job that I really don't want. Did I play it too well? And to think I was only being myself. Interesting, very interesting. I have an appointment for reemployment services orientation tomorrow, at a state run (hah!, I initially typed 'state fun') facility. Should be interesting as well. I think I can skip the suit and wear a pair of jeans. And Birkenstocks. Oh yes, I won the lottery, I won all I put into it, a whopping $3, which is more than I ever win, so I am thinking I was lucky indeed. Watch out on Friday though, I'm thinking this is my week. I'm planning it all out. And you know I'll share, so better be nice to me. Cost of the War in Iraq
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