#134
1
The diagnosis was inconclusive.
Ambivalent. Unhinged?
Her: no that’s too far.
Me: hard to pin down?
Her: maybe.
Me: blasé.
Her: that’s very European of you.
Yes, that’s right, it was, because I am. There is no hiding it, but why is it so hard? Why does everyone here want to put me into boxes?
Me: It’s like, in this country, I can’t like Muse, Tori Amos, Peter Gabriel, Jazz, Blues and Opera. Everyone wants me to pick one.
Her: go on.
Me: I’m just still, I’m still looking for a way to express who I am, which is not boxed into specific genres, groups. I need diversity. I need newness. Everything feels stagnant. Boring. I need something to shake me up. Everyone just seems stuck here.
It was not a new feeling for me. When I was young, friends would be confused when I’d tell them my parents were taking me to see the Phantom of the Opera, or, to Hootie and the Blow Fish. Friends in college were equally as confused when I bought tickets to Dave Matthew’s Band and Radiohead.
Me: this world feels too small for me sometimes.
Her: that is a very difficult feeling to process. I can see you working with it, muddling it in your mind.
Me: so I catch myself, digressing into melancholia, or, putting myself into situations that are risky - I feel like I’m 20 again. But I know I can slip into that, I understand.
Her: playing can be helpful, but be careful. Stop, take a break, think about what you’re about to do.
I’ve been exercising more, at the gym, tennis, a rowing machine, pilates. Walking. Anything to expend energy that seems to be taking up more space in my body than necessary. Over time it helps, in the moment it hurts, but in the mental way. I started taking a notebook to the gym with me because my mind opens up and things just flow out when I’m doing reps. Tennis is a mind relief. I can only focus on the ball, on the return. It frees me. But then, later, at home, it all comes flooding back in.
It’s like life gives you these moments of rest, periods of time where you feel equally on edge and calm, but the edge is sharp.
Her: we’re at time for today. But listen, take care of yourself. You might not feel responsible to anyone, but really, look after yourself. See you next week.
The second cup of coffee gives me jitters and the laundry needs done, and the emails need attention and returned and all I can do is sit outside, looking at the grass, listening to the cicadas in the trees, smelling the scents of the fall weather creeping very slowing in. All I can do right now, is this, is only this. My mind won’t budge, won’t give way, but it’s telling me something — tune in — it’s there just on that sharp edge, it’s coming.
2
My job at the Dragons Flame meant I went home smelling like fried Chinese food. Tonight, we’re closing early. It’s slow, people are out of town, no one wants to eat out. My boss tell me “go home, take this”. He gives me some food, half of a BBQ duck, some rice.
I’ll bike home and let the dog out and turn on the Christmas lights I leave up year round. A drink. I’ll have the duck from the restaurant with a glass of pinot noir from a box. After a shower, I’ll light a candle and read the book that I’ve just about finished on the bedside table and tomorrow, know that slowly, the days will get shorter, minute by minute.
3
Under the water. Blue. Black. Seaweed. Above. Birds. The dog sits on the shore in a sphinx pose, watching me attentively. I can see him see me. Never out of site. I dive back under the waves. Go further out where it’s calmer.
I find myself doing the same, going to the same places as last year. Deja vu, no, it’s more, it’s something more. It’s a body memory. A reaction to the same season as last year, the issues, problems, shit that passed. Something triggers it.
4
The dreams are different. The kid outside the window asking about the citrus fruits. The group moving my body through yoga poses as I watch from above, feeling the stretches in my arms and legs. The dog’s eyes look dilated, brown around the edges, someone once told me that those were bread out of his breed — a deficiency. But instead, a mark of beauty.
5
Her: tell me the dreams. I’m always up for a good interpretation.
I told her. The dog. The kids. The citrus. The yoga.
Her: I’m not sure where to go with this.
Me: I was on mushrooms.
Her: that makes sense.
Later. The Dragon’s Flame, busy, students are back, the door held open by feet, arms. The heat comes out the back door of the kitchen. The smell is baked into me, caked onto me, it’s in my pores, my hair, each inch of skin is drenched in the Dragon’s Flame. The shower at home, full of tea tree, its own kind of flame, but the only one that puts out the dragon’s.
6
I pass Julia the mathematician from Romania on the street. She’s wearing tie-dye clothes. She overshares. The dog remembers her.
Me: he remembers all the people from the neighborhood.
Julia: he’s so soft.
An invitation for sushi.
Julia: it’s my birthday. I like sushi. But maybe I had too much social time this weekend. Who knows. Now, I walk.
I round the park. The skateboarders are hard at it tonight. The noises of boards hitting cement. The dog pulls to the right of them. The sun dips. The light is pink. The shaggy palm trees, full of old fronds — looks like a Dr. Seuss character. I snap a photo. Who will I send it to? No one cares.
Later at home, I put on a candle and warm up leftovers for dinner but not from the Flame, from my own kitchen, my own Mediterranean kitchen - that’s what I call it. It’s olive oil and lemons. Chickpeas and pistachios. It’s bread and cheese and a glass of wine, always the box one.
7
Afternoon. Out back. The dog sleeps in the sun. The birds use his water bowl as a bath. He opens one eye, but doesn’t chase them off. A truce. Too lazy. I know the feeling. I sit with socks on and shorts and put my legs in the sun so they will warm up the rest of my corpus. Let it breathe in the vitamins it needs. The other day, the Dr. Seuss character, I sent it to a friend.
Friend: you’re right. What’s its name?
Me: …
Later, at the DF, not very busy. I mop the floor early and we close up shop and my clothes and skin barely smells like the flame, so I don’t feel like I worked at all. I take home some rice, a piece of BBQ and share it with the dog sitting on the floor like he does, watching YouTube videos of my favorite band.
8
Her: how have you been since our last session?
Me: alive.
Her: that’s good. I can see that.
Me: not sure. Uneasy. But also, quiet. Calm. I keep writing down things like is this contentment or just boredom?
Her: which do you think it is?
Me: are they the same thing? I guess not, I mean, I feel content most of the time.
Her: and the job.
Me: work has never been part of that contentment.
Her: but when you left the university, you must have…
Me: when I left the university all I felt was free and 100% less corrupted.
Her: I see.
Me: it’s more like. I just. I don’t want to become one of those people in the grey middle. You know?
Her: go on.
Me: I don’t know what else to say. It’s just that contentment scares me. Boredom I can deal with. I can alleviate.
Her: maybe all you’ve known is the opposite of contentment, you seem to think, your brain, or, your body, together, they seem to only know what to do when not content.
Me: I can’t live like that though.
Her: what? In a state of discontent?
Me: it’s like the book.
Her: the book?
Me: THE book. Winter of My Discontent. I don’t know what other people think it’s about, but to me, it’s a man who finds out that everyone else is unhappy with his contentment and his life.
Her: I’ve not read it, but I think I know what you mean.
Me: I read it every year. It has to be read. And re-read. And memorized.
Her: our time is about up. Listen, I know that this time last year you had a lot going on. Hold onto those feelings you get these days, but don’t let them drag you under. Keep your head above the waves. You hear?
I always heard, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t sometimes stick my head under and close my eyes and left it a little longer than I should.
9
At Dragon’s Flame. It’s later, and I think about writing down what my session was about.
My Boss: hey, are you awake there? Busy night!
Me: yeah. I got it under control.
The flame came home with me. Too tired to wash off the scent of work and I transfer it to my sheets, the pillow case. Morning, I need to do laundry. Colors and whites all in the same, cold water, no scent, turn it on, shower, coffee, number two and the dog needs to go out for his business, and repeat.
10
I call up my friend.
Me: what are you doing Tuesday night?
Him: not sure, why?
Me: I have reservations at that place that’s hard to get a reservation at. It’s for three. I don’t know anyone else.
Him: I’ll ask the wife and the babysitter.
Me: great. It’s that place we went for my birthday before it was on the TV show.
Him: how did you get a spot?
Me: I made it months ago. I just didn’t know if anyone would want to go. So I thought I’d hold onto it until a few days before.
Him: smart.
Me: I guess.
Him: I have to go, buddy. I’ll let you know.
I walk the dog to the park again. The rain left puddles all over, but by tomorrow they will be gone, absorbed. I think about getting coffee but left my wallet at home, so we walk the long loop down past the houses that all look the same, and he poops on one of their lawns, but I don’t have bags, so I leave it.
11
Clouds this morning. Outside. Inside. Clouds this morning. After coffee, after a bowl of cereal, laundry to be folded. Dishes to be washed. It’s a lot, but also, just everyday. The dog asleep on the sofa, waiting for the morning walk but I have to stop to think. Stop to think and sit down a minute. Just a second. Why tears?
12
Some people are allergic to dogs. Some people. For instance, my sister. She was allergic to dogs, but now, maybe she’s not. Or, it’s lessened. Are we more allergic as kids than as adults? I’m not allergic to anything. Not that I know of. But some people are allergic to dogs, and I feel for them because dogs are just a perfect thing to have around.
13
Sometimes. Sometimes, I play tennis. Tonight, for instance. Tonight, playing against the girl with dark hair and rosy cheeks who has a hard return, I scored two aces. She still won, but I put up a good fight. Tonight, no leftover DF food — tonight, a frozen pizza with toppings I pull from the fridge. The dog finishes his food as I eat mine. Sometimes, I play tennis.
14
I walked to the flame today. On the way, someone smiled to me and I floated. The smell of work had the sweet scent of a paycheck and the smile carried me home to the dog.
15
Cold today. The dog is curled into a ball, a black hole, on the sofa all day. The wind is cutting down from the slopes. The sun passes behind luxurious big clouds. The birds keep bay at the feeder. I know that the flame will be busy, it always is on cold days. It brings people out for a warm meal, food that fills the belly till rupture. I’ll have the smell tonight, the stink, the wash the hair and body smell, the do not go to bed before washing smell. In the yard oranges fall from the tree signaling that they are ready, that their time has come, release, be free, juice me! I do, every morning. The grinding of the pointy juicer against the fruit, louder than it should be, cold because I leave the oranges outside till morning, pulling them in when the dog runs out for his business. A three part plan of coffee, juice, food. Doesn’t end, will go on forever. The three part plan.
16
Friday night. Dog asleep on the sofa. Soup cooking on the stove. I should be at the Flame, but I called sick. I’m not sick. Not really. I’m melancholic. She says that’s the other word for depressed. Fine. I’m depressed. But on a Friday night, with a dog asleep on the sofa, soup on the stove, I’m feeling ok.
17
Cold day in the desert. I walk the dog to the cafe for a $5 cup of tea before work at the Flame. The clouds hang low but no rain comes, no snow. Gloomy.
18
Walking to the Dragon’s Flame a car passed me with the passenger side back door open. Just casually driving down the street like that. I thought maybe someone would pop out. But the door didn’t move. It was stuck. It was pretty obvious it was stuck. Stuck open. It was still cold today, so the driver must be cold in there. I can imagine the heat blasting on their feet. I couldn’t see in the front because the windows were tinted. All the windows here are tinted. It helps in the summer, or, the 8 months out of the year when the sun burns your ass when you sit down. The car went past at maybe 30mph, then turned left at the park. I didn’t see it stop. I kept going to the DF. I told my boss — hey someone just drove past with their door open. So what? He said. Get that started. I pulled out the knife and started with the onions, always the onions, and then my eyes were watery and I looked like I was crying but I wasn’t.
19
A moon that is a piece of the top of an eye. A sliver. A slice. Golden, like a ring, but more yellow.
Yesterday, at the end of the session
Her: I just want to pick you up, hold you, and fuck off on a plane. That’s the end of our session, take good care, see you next week.
The screen goes black and down to the Zoom logo. I sit there, the dog is asleep on the futon near the desk where I do Zoom calls. I look out, the bird feeder is empty, but there are a few trying to get what they can out of the bottom. Drips of water from my eyes onto my jeans. I have to go to work, I have to walk to work.
What did she mean? Does she like me? Was it a message, a hint, and wink wink? I’ve gone through infatuations with her over the past couple of years and harbor a secret romance novel in my mind of she and I out in London together, listening to music and getting drinks and moving to the coast where we can be quiet near the water. The dog is always in the dream.
Later, at Dragon’s Flame, I burnt my hand, I was spaced out. The dream was playing, it’s all I could see. I’m sent home, but I walk for an extra hour, the food boss gave me goes cold.
20
Today is a minefield of mental gymnastics.
21
A weekend. I’m off. Weather, cloudy. My feet ache so I roll them over a lacrosse ball I found one day walking the dog. Earlier, a helicopter hovered nearby. I feel alone.