Another story

Neat

And these pens she grabs from their containers, neatly contain all of her rage. Which sits nicely and still inside her organized heart. Where she forgets, as she files away, the wounds, the blood which has dried and collected in pools, brown and aged, she cleans it up neatly, with bleach, as she has read works best.

It removes the color nicely. And she sits still. Remembering what it used to feel like, so long ago. But she can't. Her face appears very rectangular now, where as, it used to appear round. Her eyes seem square, with the little wrinkles surrounding the warm round centers, falling like draperies into an angular shape. They used to crinkle up with warmth. That was before, in a time like childhood, which blurs from memory until it's just photos in an old dusty book and nothing which can be tangibly touched.

Now the light pours in the rectangular window, as her warm eyes sit surrounded by square, white, draperies.

Don't put the sheets in that drawer, he said. For forty years. The incorrect drawer changed every Tuesday. She used to run down hills until she fell, and it didn't bother her at all. She used to stare at the sun for as long as was possible, despite all the warnings she'd heard. Just because it seemed so bright and warm, and she'd do anything to sink, to melt into that yellow cloud.

One day all the paint on the walls turned gray. She wasn't sure exactly when it happened, and she didn't notice when the color white was missing. It was gradual, like so many things. He occasionally slipped, and said something. It wasn't often. And then, it was.

There was a moment, when she'd run down that hill so far, and she slipped and exploded in laughter, and she rolled so quickly that she stood up without a scrape. And walked away. But that was a long time ago.

And she puts a pen down again. Neatly back into its container. He'll be home soon. Best make sure the sheets are in the correct drawer. And she sits back down.

Toilet paper

The roommate has a strange habit of going through an entire roll of toilet paper in about an hour. At first I thought it strange that E would hide the toilet paper rolls, but now I understand why.

I'm a girl, and I use a lot of toilet paper. But not this much. I think she is making paper mache creatures in her room or something.

She's yet to buy any toilet paper.

So after hiding a roll for a few days, I had 2/3 of a roll left. I put it back. Within two hours it was completely gone, down to the last sheet.

So I started hiding the whole roll in the cabinet.

I wasn't sure what she was doing without the use of our TP, but figured she had stored some from the previous rolls in her room (what else would cause the roll to be used so quickly?)

Then, tonight E has discovered she is keeping a damp hand towel in the sink. And it has yellow stains. Apparently, the girl has discovered a whole new way to avoid having to pay $3 for a package of TP.

Yet another way to spread the bacteria around. I was impressed with the toilet bowl scrubber being used to scrub the bathtub, but this a whole new level.

russian bath house, shooting, sushi

The weather is cooling off, and I wore a leather jacket for the first time in a while. It's been so hot and seemed like it was summer forever, which was fine. But now it's nice to have it cooling off.

I've done a few sessions in various parks with clients, which has been nice. A park in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and Bryant Park. There were some really gorgeous sunny days, and it makes me wish I could work in the park more often during the year.

Last night was really random and fun. It was nice to get out and have a girls night! I used to go out all the time, and I got tired of that. But it's still really nice to go out and enjoy the city here and there.

I met a couple of girls in the West Village for happy hour at a little crowded place, and we got a table and got some appetizers. I had corn on the cob and a blood orange Margarita. Then we walked down the street to my friend's apmt, which I hadn't seen before.

It's actually inside of an old church. You walk inside the big doors and then there is an elevator that takes you upstairs. The stained glass windows are still there, except there is a nice long hardwood floor. Huge apartment, and I guess some celebrities live there as well. We had some wine.

Then we ended up borrowing her bikinis (she had quite a few) and taking a cab to a Russian Bath House, which was completely random. There was a private party for her friend's birthday there. So we changed into the bikinis and wore this ginormous ugly plastic shoes, and then checked out the little rooms. One was all wood with benches, slightly warm, and smelled like wood. Pleasant. And then others were increasingly more hot and humid. One was the most warm -- it was like stepping into an oven, except a wet, humid oven. Our eyeballs hurt.

"Pour a bucket of water on yourself!" said some random guy. We poured buckets of cold water on each other, but still couldn't take it for long. It still felt like an interesting feeling.

They had drinks there too, and someone made us some mimosas, which I probably didn't need, but was more than happy to down!

It turned out some of my hubby's friends (I still feel weird using the "h" word) were there for the party, which was also random. So it was a fun random night.

And then today -- I'm going to call him "H" -- and I walked over to the diner for some Eggs Benedict and coffee for him, tea for me. And there were quite a few other mixed race couples, which is so normal in NYC, so I like that.

Then we read parts of papers in bed with our laptops, which we are now. Which is cosy. How in he world do you spell cosy? Oh well.

Oh and earlier in the week, H took me to happy hour at my favorite sushi place, and I had some warm sake and we shared some rolls. And then we went to a pub. We were going to find a karaoke place, because I've been practicing with Rock Band, and I may just have the guts to try to sing in public for the first time ever (still not sure, but felt gutsy with the lemonade drink I'd had). But it was closed. Then we got home, probably after midnight. And we learned the next day that there was a shooting in our building, and an early 20s drug dealer guy had been shot in the head and died that same night. It's a nice building, but its very full of people all the time, so the front desk never checked who was coming and going -- it was kinda impossible to, as the lobby felt like a shopping mall at times.

And now they're trying to be more secure. They used a little rope thing, and they say "hello" as you walk in. And when I came in late last night they started questioning me, and insisting I have my photo takes, etc. Which I was more than happy to do, but for some reason they just let me go anyway. Not sure if we're going to still stay here when the lease is up in a month.

So sad that things like that happen. He was probably just an immature kid wanting to make some money who maybe didn't realize the risk he was taking by selling drugs like that. The kids who shot him supposedly ran out and then got on the Staten Island Ferry.

I thought it would make me more upset, but after feeling sad for the guy, the first thing I thought was that being such a huge building, the odds of their being at least one drug dealer was higher.

My last apmt in the Lower East Side always smelled like a skunk late at night, so I googled it once and found out that is what pot smells like. And the apartment before in the East Village, my roommates it turned out were quite into drugs, and told me one night that their dealer wouldn't deliver to them because there was a police station too close by. But they had found someone on another floor to buy it from.