We’re fresh out of sandwiches.
Aug 9 - 16
8.9 ++ In the middle of the night I got a message from my brother in Taiwan, pretty much out of the blue. “I at least deserved a response. Anything. Good luck in life.” Whoa!! I texted back to say that my phone auto-deletes apps because I have little storage, and that after I downloaded it I had written him a message on father’s day that appears not to have sent. Then I pasted that message in, and wished him a good night. I have read receipts from those messages and no response. The next morning I woke up feeling less guilt-stricken and more pissed, so I wrote again to ask if I had missed a message from him? Since his hostile message seems to refer to nothing? No read receipt. This is a boring story about technology fails. But the less boring question is what in the world is going on?
8.10 ++ I’m in a fog, thinking about my strained relationship with my confusing brother.
8.11 ++ I feel better from my cold than I did last week, but still have a lingering cough. While coughing in the night, Hannah, still asleep, responded, “Gosh I wish I could help you out but I think we’re fresh out of sandwiches.” Thanks anyway though!
8.12 ++ I’m rereading Girl in a Band, by Kim Gordon from Sonic Youth, and I came across this relatable passage about her family. “It’s always been hard for me to make space for myself emotionally around other people. It’s some old childhood thing, a sense of never feeling protected by my parents or from my older brother, Keller.” And on the next page, “Keller: one of the most singular people I’ve ever known, the person who more than anyone else in the world shaped who I was, and who I turned out to be. He was, and still is, brilliant, manipulative, sadistic, arrogant, almost unbelievably articulate. He’s also mentally ill, a paranoid schizophrenic. And maybe because he was so incessantly verbal from the start, I turned into his opposite—shy, sensitive, closed to the point where to overcome my own hypersensitivity, I had no choice but to turn fearless.” I relate to everything but that last bit… am I fearless? What would my life be like if I stopped feeling my brother’s gaze over my shoulder every time I write? Fuck him, anyway.
8.13 ++ There’s a coffee shop across the street from our favorite playground, and I often go there after picking up Buddy from daycare. In the late afternoons, a guy works there whose name is something ordinary, like Chris or Mike, but looks like his name should be Alastair or Silverado. He’s a short and extremely thin white guy with long greying hair that he often wears pulled back in a women’s 80’s headband. He usually has lavender nail polish on and maybe a silk pink button down, and he’s straight. It’s a Jersey City look. Sometimes when I go to Manhattan wearing the kind of thing that gets me compliments in JC, like hand-sewn patchwork trousers and a bright t-shirt with silkscreened office supply illustrations on it, I’ll realize I’m wearing a manhattan person’s laundry outfit, if they would wear it at all. ANYWAY, this day the kooky barista poured me a cup of hibiscus tea that must have been pure concentrate. So to fix it he gave me another cup half full of water, but it still tasted concentrated. Now I have a whole pitcher full of hibiscus tea in the fridge made from one diluted cup at Modcup. I waste money on things constantly, but I’m saving megabucks on hibiscus tea. What a deal!
8.14 ++ H and I both had off from work on a daycare day. I rode my bike to a ramen shop in the Newport area, and then head over for coffee by the waterfront. H had been shopping in the area, so she came over and met me so we could have a coffee date. Sitting in the shade, surrounded by trees, using free high-speed WiFi, looking out at the Hudson and NYC skyline… sometimes my life feels absurdly luxurious. Do I really live in this bounty? The best part is I don’t have to deal with the stinky loud crowds of manhattan to be here!
8.15 ++ I got a new phone and a new phone plan. Now I have space for all my apps, so they won’t auto-delete, and my camera works, so I can take pictures of Buddy doing cute stuff. I have enough data now that I won’t have to text H for directions to the MoMA, or wherever. I probably didn’t get the phone solely because of a weird message from the darkness in my chest that lives in Taiwan. I’m probably completely unaffected by all that.
8.16 ++ At a coffee shop in Manhattan with a friend, and the baristas are playing a mix of Madonna tunes. Human Nature (Express Yourself Don’t Repress Yourself) comes on, and it reminds me of when Buddy was a tiny baby. We had a bassinet that we would put on the floor and place her into on her back when we wanted to have the freedom of arm movement. If I needed to dash to the bathroom, I felt confident she’d be safe in her little bassinet, since it’s designed to be SIDS proof as a place for her to sleep, and of course she couldn’t get up and walk yet. Sometimes when she was in her bassinet I’d sit on the couch look down at her. She’d giggle and wildly move her arms and legs all around her little ovular rectangle. Something about her dancing in this little box reminded me of Madonna’s video for Human Nature, which is, of course, insane, because Madonna is in a tight black leather (or latex?) outfit doing sexy dance moves and singing “oops, forgot we couldn’t talk about sex.” I also couldn’t remember the real lyrics so I would look down at Buddy and sing to her, “oops, forgot about love.” Yep, I’m weird!