"Excuse me please, one more drink. Could you make it strong 'cuz I don't need to think..."
My apartment doesn't have air conditioning. It is 90 degrees as I sit on the third floor and type. Sweat drips down my body. It is the third straight day that I have wandered around this house in just a bikini. And still it's too much clothing. It sticks to my body until I peel it off, jump in a cool shower, and put it back on.
The Astoria Pool is not filled up with water yet. What is the reasoning? I don't know. I walked 20 blocks there and back at 12:30 pm with the sun blazing on my sunburned shoulders to find an empty cement hole. People were sunbathing on the grass instead. I joined them, trying to cool myself off with just the slight wind.
Lindsay and I went to the beach; together our sunburns make a person--hers on her back, mine on the front of my tummy and part of my chest. I finished a 330+ page novel in 24 hours. Bored and antsy, I rolled around the sheet on the sandy beach and tried to forget that I am unemployed and sweating. I went in the ocean up to my waist. The water was cold and I let it splash against my legs and up to my hips. The waves kept coming, teasing the children who screamed with delight. I did not yell. I stood and watched them, looking down occasionally at my gawky feet and wishing that they were pretty.
I have had 2 job offers; one refused to be flexible around the 9-5 hours (after declaring to me that the hours were indeed flexible), the other is not ENOUGH hours. 1-5:15 pm 5 days a week. Barely $200/week after taxes. Do I have to give in now and be a waitress? I sit and sweat and type and answer classifieds. I cannot afford a desk and so my computer sits on the floor. The carpet scratches my sunburned stomach as I lie on it and type and type. Click, attach resume, click, search, click. Why doesn't anybody want me? Somebody must.
My checking account dwindles. I went outside to discover that my car, which has been safely parked since Saturday, suddenly has a $115 ticket on the windshield for parking 9 feet from the fire hydrant instead of the mandatory 10. Nobody cared on Saturday or Sunday or Monday. Today, at 6:24 am, Officer Tippins cared and left me a ticket. Doesn't he know what $115 means to me right now? 10 ballet classes, 7/8ths of my monthly car payment, 1/5 of my rent.
I guess I can blame the "War of the Worlds" trailer last night that I viewed before "Cinderella Man", but last night, I had a dream that New York City was blowing up all around me. I was going from job interview to job interview and all of a sudden the buildings were on fire. I was running and running and I didn't know where to turn. Should I go back to my apartment for safety? Should I go to my parents' house? And suddenly they were before me, my mother and father. I ran to them and threw my arms around them. I remember my father holding onto me tightly and I just kept screaming "I love you I love you I love you forever I love you" as the buildings fell burning around us.
I wish I had health insurance so I could fill my three cavities and talk to a therapist about how stressed I am lately. For now, I'll just tell you.
Peace.
The Astoria Pool is not filled up with water yet. What is the reasoning? I don't know. I walked 20 blocks there and back at 12:30 pm with the sun blazing on my sunburned shoulders to find an empty cement hole. People were sunbathing on the grass instead. I joined them, trying to cool myself off with just the slight wind.
Lindsay and I went to the beach; together our sunburns make a person--hers on her back, mine on the front of my tummy and part of my chest. I finished a 330+ page novel in 24 hours. Bored and antsy, I rolled around the sheet on the sandy beach and tried to forget that I am unemployed and sweating. I went in the ocean up to my waist. The water was cold and I let it splash against my legs and up to my hips. The waves kept coming, teasing the children who screamed with delight. I did not yell. I stood and watched them, looking down occasionally at my gawky feet and wishing that they were pretty.
I have had 2 job offers; one refused to be flexible around the 9-5 hours (after declaring to me that the hours were indeed flexible), the other is not ENOUGH hours. 1-5:15 pm 5 days a week. Barely $200/week after taxes. Do I have to give in now and be a waitress? I sit and sweat and type and answer classifieds. I cannot afford a desk and so my computer sits on the floor. The carpet scratches my sunburned stomach as I lie on it and type and type. Click, attach resume, click, search, click. Why doesn't anybody want me? Somebody must.
My checking account dwindles. I went outside to discover that my car, which has been safely parked since Saturday, suddenly has a $115 ticket on the windshield for parking 9 feet from the fire hydrant instead of the mandatory 10. Nobody cared on Saturday or Sunday or Monday. Today, at 6:24 am, Officer Tippins cared and left me a ticket. Doesn't he know what $115 means to me right now? 10 ballet classes, 7/8ths of my monthly car payment, 1/5 of my rent.
I guess I can blame the "War of the Worlds" trailer last night that I viewed before "Cinderella Man", but last night, I had a dream that New York City was blowing up all around me. I was going from job interview to job interview and all of a sudden the buildings were on fire. I was running and running and I didn't know where to turn. Should I go back to my apartment for safety? Should I go to my parents' house? And suddenly they were before me, my mother and father. I ran to them and threw my arms around them. I remember my father holding onto me tightly and I just kept screaming "I love you I love you I love you forever I love you" as the buildings fell burning around us.
I wish I had health insurance so I could fill my three cavities and talk to a therapist about how stressed I am lately. For now, I'll just tell you.
Peace.
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