My dad helps me jump-start the van with his truck, making sure to attach the positives to the positives and the negatives to the negatives, telling me with his hoarse, cold-infected voice. I drive to work and notice the days must be longer to be able to see the sunset. Usually, my saturdays are mostly black.
It is very busy at the restaurant, but the occupation keeps my mind off of some things, while the knowledge that I'll have two weeks off after it motors me through garbage take-out and other episodes of almost dropping a full glass of water on a waiter's head or actually elbowing a woman in the forehead, and then having her tell me she was going to sue me even though it was an accident that was prone to happen in a crowded bar. I don't think she is even angry, or serious. Nevertheless, when she threatens me, I smile and say "do it."
I have a slice of pizza after work with a couple of chaps and vent and laugh with my friends from work. When I get home I find Johnny's message that she is on the Kibbutz. The funeral will be at 2pm Isreali time. She is ok but overwhelmed by the unreality of it all. It is so bad what happened.
On Boxing day this past year, one of the worst nightmares of our decade was unleashed unbeknownst to us, until we saw the news and the implications of real life sunk in. Now everyone is scrambling to try to clean up the mess it left and get over the loss it took, some are still figuring out what it was and how much. It's a stunning thing when something so big could have an impact on almost anything, and there are so many messages that we are bombarded with minutely, but then one touches your particular life, and makes it so that it doesn't even resemble what you thought it was before.
I hope she is with Lisa, Savtadotty and Squarepeg. It's important to be with those who are familiar to us at times like this, so that we don't feel completely alone. It is mental torture to think suddenly you are trapped inside a perspective that no one else can ever see or understand. People can, I think, not necessarily that they will. People do amazing things all the time, but it takes a lot for them, and often we aren't looking. They do amazing things, especially when you wish they didn't have to, and that's how we survive.
It is very busy at the restaurant, but the occupation keeps my mind off of some things, while the knowledge that I'll have two weeks off after it motors me through garbage take-out and other episodes of almost dropping a full glass of water on a waiter's head or actually elbowing a woman in the forehead, and then having her tell me she was going to sue me even though it was an accident that was prone to happen in a crowded bar. I don't think she is even angry, or serious. Nevertheless, when she threatens me, I smile and say "do it."
I have a slice of pizza after work with a couple of chaps and vent and laugh with my friends from work. When I get home I find Johnny's message that she is on the Kibbutz. The funeral will be at 2pm Isreali time. She is ok but overwhelmed by the unreality of it all. It is so bad what happened.
On Boxing day this past year, one of the worst nightmares of our decade was unleashed unbeknownst to us, until we saw the news and the implications of real life sunk in. Now everyone is scrambling to try to clean up the mess it left and get over the loss it took, some are still figuring out what it was and how much. It's a stunning thing when something so big could have an impact on almost anything, and there are so many messages that we are bombarded with minutely, but then one touches your particular life, and makes it so that it doesn't even resemble what you thought it was before.
I hope she is with Lisa, Savtadotty and Squarepeg. It's important to be with those who are familiar to us at times like this, so that we don't feel completely alone. It is mental torture to think suddenly you are trapped inside a perspective that no one else can ever see or understand. People can, I think, not necessarily that they will. People do amazing things all the time, but it takes a lot for them, and often we aren't looking. They do amazing things, especially when you wish they didn't have to, and that's how we survive.
posted by sirbarrett at 3:13 a.m.
1 Comments:
On a kibbutz, Johnny won't be alone. Even so, I'm going to visit her there tomorrow.
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