|If one can have hysterical blindness...
||[Dec. 30th, 2005|08:43 am]
Can't there be a point at which one is so exhausted that one becomes nearly hysterical? Well. I reached that piont yesterday. And then I got up. Again, after having four hours of sleep I caught the bus at 5:30a to be here at 7a. I didn't make it until nearly 7:30a, but it was no big deal to the manager here. He knew I had to climb and repell over snowbanks from the bus stop.
Can't there be a point at which one has been alone so much that one becomes hysterical? I worry for Eric more than myself. He had a friend. A junkie friend who lived next door. She came over and visited while I was at work. It pleased me because I don't like the thought, now that it's cold, of him pacing and smoking all day until I get home. The people at the coffee shop have been a blessing. They like him and he keeps them in business with his coffee consumption. At any rate -- the junkie. She stole two packs of Eric's cigarettes. I banned the woman from the house. I told Eric he could meet her at the coffee shop if he wanted, but I would have no one be that disrespectful in MY house. Especially when Eric would have given her cigarettes. She eventually bought Eric some cigarettes to replace the ones she stole. It made me feel better, but my ban stood. So he called her occasionally. But she was evicted for not paying rent. It's likely she's at a shelter or in rehab somewhere. Now he doesn't have a "fellow loser" (his words) to hang out with. He listens to music until he can't stand it. He goes for coffee then comes back and listens to language tapes until he can't stand it. Then he makes up songs while he cooks and waits for me to get home. It makes me feel sad. I hope he knows I'm just as lonely here. And that I appreciate that he cooks.
I considered deleting yesterday's post. I won't, though. I'll leave it where it is and laugh at it when 2006 draws to a close.
In case you were wondering about the chicken: for the past week or so, I've been seriously craving that tender, ruby-red flesh from a chicken straight out of a tandoori oven. In Nashville, there was a fabulous Indian restaurant that had a cheap buffet. It was great. All the naan bread and Ben'N'Martha (I don't know how to spell the real name) you want. So cheap. So good. So healthy. I've been to one Indian restaurant since moving here in 2000. It was expensive. And the food was just okay. This made me resentful and reluctant to try another place. I think, though, that I would trust any suggestion made by typh0id_mary. Can you help a sister out?
I better get to work. I will be nice to Dumbass. Watch me absorb all this: she's had enough to deal with. Right? Shouldn't I be a bigger person? My snarkiness does not have to add to whatever troubles she has. I will not ignore her when she asks "What's a blog?" or when she asks a pregnant woman, astonished, about amneocentisis: "You mean they stick a needle in the BABY?" after claiming to have been an EMT. Seriously. I can't make this crap up. There are plenty of things I'm ignorant of I shouldn't be so harsh. What makes me mad is that if you don't know anything about a subject, do try to SHUT UP! Don't LIE! I really wonder if her gee-golly/I'm so indignant thing is a put on. She's from a small town where she's had to be defensive. She thinks she's "weird". Lesbian does not equal weird to me. If she were weird, we might have something in common. I just think she's loud and neurotic and needy. When she started she had a short mullet. Enough said. I'll stop now. I better take it easy before she goes all "Monster" on me. Stop me! Stop me! I can't help myself!
Okay. She's here. I better go.
I will be nice to her. I will be nice to her.
Good luck with that. And Happy New Year! I'll post again when I can. Take care.