The first thing I did was cancel my personal training session at the gym I've been to once since I joined. I have no business there with a personal trainer until at least next week, when I can conceive of actually maintaining a regular schedule of lifting. They didn't seem to mind and asked for no explanation.
I dropped off 55 pounds of laundry on my way to lunch. You'd think that would be all of it. At 85cents a pound it's not the best deal, but they throw in soap, separates, laundry detergent, and sorting my socks for free. We definitely tried two other places who didn't sort the socks before our best neighbor, and occasional life coach, Smoz recommended this place.
My day continued in the theme of laundry when I stripped the sofa of all cushion covers and the bed of all bedding and took them to the cosmos laundry on 1st. I ran into a Cal bears fan there (we have a contingent at the bar). I also managed to absentmindedly put my quarters into a machine full of wash that wasn't mine, to which the laundromat attendant (who was adamantly watching Ford's funeral on the all Spanish station) immediately threw the circuit breaker for the machine and took the other guy's stuff out. I got a look, and the funeral blared on.
I left and bought some dirt. 55cents a cup at the corner hardware store. See, I have a guest coming this weekend, and I think I need to re-pot a plant on the windowsill before he gets here. I think I need to clean the sofa cushions, and clean the bed which he will not be getting into, and buy more toilet paper and sweep the floors and clean the kitchen and clean the fridge...etc etc.
I should be writing my essays for grad school. I carry a copy in my pocket and stare at it where ever I go. I should be working on my essay and the images I need to drop off at the photo place on Broome which makes nice slides for 3 bucks a pop with the coupon I have. I should be thinking entirely about what to tell these schools, about what I have and what they want. I shouldn't be trying to prepare for imminent arrival of old ghosts while keeping my impatient and dramatic family at an arms length until after all these stamps get used.
But I am. I'm not returning phone calls or emails. I'm not hanging out tonight with all the people who are suddenly in town. My sofa is reluctant to hold you, and I probably am not answering the phone. I forwarded your emails to my therapist and maybe I'll respond after she and I discuss them next week.
I met A. in a bar where she was blowing off after-work steam to discuss the essay in the glow of a blacklight until the jerks at the air hockey table were yelling too loud for us to talk about art. We went to a starbucks, where they microwaved some pre-cooked egg and I ate a cookie. She thinks I'm close to done, and that I should tell everyone else "no" until I take care of what I need to do. I think she's right. I'm adding a sentence that reads, "This painting examines the intersection of how we learn from our parents and how we learn from our own sense of wonder."