“Is this your laundry?” inquires W.M. She lives in my building – a beautiful mansion from 1911 divided into twelve suites. We share a washer and dryer in the basement. Just one, but it is included in the rent which is lovely, so no coins needed. There is a schedule of who can wash and dry when, and she has hers on Monday. She has been known to flip out on people who do laundry at her scheduled time and I can hear the edge in her voice ready to flip on me.
“No,” I said, because it’s, well, not. I was downstairs to put my laundry basket in the queue for the afternoon free time.
I could see her shutting off the dryer and taking out the laundry of the poor soul who had put it in there.
I almost wish it had been mine as my displaced anger needs a place to go, as per usual.
As per usual.
Yesterday was a pretty good day – I went to the Vineyard again – they’ve moved farther east as I’ve mentioned so a much much longer schlepp on my bicycle, including a near 90 degree hill near the end (or so it feels). It was okay – a few more folks I know and many I don’t. But there is a general relaxed feeling there for me; a kind of deep memory I guess. There was the usual ‘god told me in a dream’ kind of stuff – but as people have told me and as I know, I don’t have to believe everything.
“If it fills even one of your needs,” suggested T., “Keep going.”
After that long service (it is so long it is almost cult-like I helpfully inform G., the pastor. I know, I know, said G. Might want to shorten up the length of your preaching there because people can’t focus after like 20 minutes. Thanks, Karen, he said. More likely thinking, don’t go coming back after 13 years and telling me how long I can talk for. Indeed. I sent him a little apology FB message.
“Just be careful that I don’t start thinking that talking about a dream is a god dream is just something that I accept,” I say to T.
“God, no” said T.
I had cycled over to T. in Strathcona after the Vineyard. She is never home but her daughter had thrown up after some suspect chocolate so was upstairs taking a bath and watching Netflix. Tracy was downstairs, her voice quite weak after injections of Botox into her vocal cords. Not vanity of vocal cord, more that when her asthma acts up, her vocal cords close over and she can’t breathe. Ambulance and the like. The last time she had to call an ambulance (last week? the week before?), she couldn’t speak much because she couldn’t breathe and her vocal cords had closed over. They kept saying, ‘oh, asthma,’ and she kept trying to tell them, ‘no, listen to me, it’s my vocal cords closing over.” She said that another ‘special’ ambulance turned up and she had to go over the same spiel. Finally at the hospital they figured it out. “Vocal cords first and then asthma!” shouted the special ambulance paramedic.
We mainly lay about having a laugh or two. Super lovely. Then the next thing I know I’m colouring (Tracy is an artist and her daughter, Zoe, 11, likes such things as well) and Tracy is colouring and then there is beef and pasta and lying on the hammock outside reading a book.
Then a bicycle ride home. Overbiked but of course but that was fine I think.
Now it’s Monday and I have no job on the horizon (wayward e-mails and such). I am subbing for four hours tomorrow at UBC – won’t pay my bills but gets me out in the real world for a few minutes and pays for a session with the A.T. I’m no longer used to getting up early of course. Nonetheless, I am looking forward to it. Weeks and months can and do go by without any subbing gigs and that is not a good thing obviously. I’ve e-mailed (in some cases re-emailed) a few places that I have worked before. So some of this is waiting. And waiting. This doesn’t get easier and sometimes I feel like the okay-ness of yesterday gets wiped out by the unstructured unworked-ness of today. Not true of course but that is new for me to think that way.
Just heard about the Spirit of the West’s 51 year old lead singer having early onset Alzheimer’s. And he is in remission from colon cancer as well. He’s still performing for now – just without the guitar and with an I-pad so he can remember lyrics. Really sad that.
So tonight is writers’ group – I will be picked up in six hours – or a bit more. Eeek. Might go for a swim at Kits. Pool as it is closing in six days, sigh. A bit chilly but the sun is coming out a bit.
It’s hard this unemployment. Up and down and down and up.
I’m hoping that the Vineyard continues to be a source of yeah, not so bad and doesn’t get overwhelmed with the stuff that caused me to leave in the first place.
I’m a bit teeter. I need the love, people Or without the comma I need the love people. Where oh where are they.