Breath of fresh air

February 27, 2001

the napping gods are against me. i’d slipped on fresh bed sheets, slid under the snuggly softness, and began to fall into a dream, when the phone rang.

hey,” said the booming voice. it was joel.
“why are you yelling?” i asked him.
“are you taking a nap?”
“uh…yeah,” i said.
“go back to sleep.”

i tried to go back to sleep, but the phone rang three more times in thirty minutes, so i took it as a sign, crawled out of bed, turned up the bis and put on a pot of coffee, instead. it’s 5:19pm.


this morning, i got up at 8:30am to the sound of the front door opening and hushed tagalog. it was my landlord and his cousin. they painted the apartment today, and now i’m high on fumes and blinded by the whiteness of our walls. the consistent rumbling of the washing machine and dryer coming from the kitchen has made the day even more disorienting.

i stepped outside and the blue sky and clean air was a refreshing change. i purposely parked ten blocks from where i wanted to go, so that i could walk. to the atm to get some cash, to the post office to buy 1 cent stamps, to the farmer’s market to get fresh flowers and vegetables, to my favorite deli to get a sandwich, to the grocery store to get everything else. and i still had 24 minutes in my parking meter.

back home, i painted my nails dark red and talked to ryan and ate ice cream while they dried. my roommate came home with a tray of fresh strawberries; i ran one under the faucet and stuffed it in my mouth and smiled. sometimes, it doesn’t take much.


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