What the Hell Am I?

Eep opp ork ah-ah. That means I love you.

Oh my gosh. I have no idea what day of the week it is. I have to keep checking. Can you believe that? I need a satellite to figure out something I used to write at the top of my paper every day in school.

What the hell am I, a Jetson?!

Reimagine a new beginning. What does it look like?

DEAR AUGUST

If you could help me out, I would appreciate it. Twice this week I had to walk away from customers who refused to put their masks on. One of them threw a stack of paper bags at me. So I will try if you will.

• In my heart, I have hope for you. I really do.

• But my heart doesn’t always make the best decisions.

• I can’t separate myself from the amount of suck in my life. As much as I would like to. I would choose fearlessness all the time. But bad shit exists. And it takes a lot of shit to grow a rose.

HAPPY NOT PERFECT

Day 1

I see a mess. I see a home of sadness. I see laziness. I see someone who has given up. I see the achievements of many miles run. I see a kitchen in need of attention. I see clean clothes which must be put away.

I have seen people behaving as if there is no issue, or hasn’t been an issue. I have seen self absorption. I have seen a man pull over in a beat up old Cadillac, to the wrong side curb, so he could throw empty liquor bottles in a trash can and then speed away. I have seen the sun rise over the Pacific.

I once saw…I can’t remember what I once saw, and I’ve seen a lot of shit. Once I saw a bunch of giraffes in the middle of a 5K race at the Bronx Zoo, which was weird because I sort of forgot where I was, but now I don’t think I would run that race.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 6

I saw that woman at the bus stop this morning. I was wondering about her, because I hadn’t seen her. I haven’t taken such an early bus in quite some time. I don’t want to get into her body description. That’s not what this is about. But it is apparent that she’s not very healthy. She smokes a lot, sometimes two whole cigarettes before the bus arrives. We occasionally say good morning to each other. But she wasn’t wearing a mask, so I kept my distance.

As she struggled to step onto the bus, I noticed an insulin pump site on her upper arm. I truly hope it gives her some sort of comfort and relief.

I arrived to work early enough to do 10 minutes of tai chi. It’s such a lovely feeling to do so completely barefoot on the pavement.

Sometimes, when it’s less busy at the store, I like to do what I call my at-work-workout. I just keep moving, tai-chi inspired, lunges, counter presses. I make it up as I go along. Yesterday, I was able to do 30 minutes of an at-work-workout.

I took a 28 minute meditative walk after work, thanks to Guided Meditation with Circle of Light US, Rachel Doremus Meditation, found on Spotify.

I continue to use the Happy Not Perfect app, in the evening, after an Ambien. My theory is that if I come up with an evening routine, I may not need the meds to help me sleep. We’ll have to see about that. I am enjoying Happy Not Perfect, but there is only so much I can do with it, unless I pay for a subscription. I have not a single extra penny to spend. Which is unfortunate since I really enjoyed Day 1 of the 21-Day Free Your Mind Writing Challenge. Apparently, I can free my mind, but at a cost. There appears to be a current theme running through my life, don’t you think? There are many locks on this app.

I did, however, utilize Day 1 of their Frontline Worker’s Self-Care Package. Even though I believe that I am a sacrificial supermarket cashier, as opposed to “essential.” The eight minute Focus, Breathe, Feel meditation was lovely.

DAY 1-B

I see birds bouncing around.

I see bushes.

I see spinning turbines.

I see an entirely grey sky.

I see moving clouds.

I see signs.

I see brick tile cement.

I see a mural.

I see the Gowanus.

I see chairs.

I have seen homemade burritos. I have seen the inside of Mt. Sinai Hospital. I have seen the Rockies from an airplane. I have seen Salt Lake from a plane. I have seen Dean’s List. I have seen Niagara Falls. I have seen my own blood. I’ve seen the lights go out on Broadway.

I once saw a man on a ventilator. He was my boyfriend. It was sad and scary. I saw his hand turn purple. I once saw them turn off the ventilator. I once saw a really bad mural of Central Park in the waiting room. Once was enough, but I would wait there again, for him.