Shoes Are Nice

by

Hey there-

This blog was really written yesterday, but I could not get online.  So, you’re in luck, you’re gonna get two tonight.  Here’s yesterday’s blog and hang tight, there will be another to follow.

The question bears repeating.  What do you do when you don’t have the internet access?  Do you get sad, do you watch a lot of crap, do you get a little resigned and cry a wee tear or two?

Who the fuck took the jam out of your donut?

Well, that would be my day.

Action girl and Junebug came by this morning and took the cats.  Uni hid, Frankie fussed, I just about wanted to crawl under the bed myself and cry.  In fact, I was praying between clenched teeth as I swatted at Uni through the back of the couch.  Come the fuck on cat.  Get out.

She doesn’t like to get moved.  I can’t say i blame her.  I don’t like to move myself, and yet, here I am again, moving.  Moved, I have moved.  Although not very much in the last hour or two.  I have been watching Snatch courtesy of Calvin’s dvd collection and drinking tea.  I have tidied my small pile of possessions and put away my toiletries in the bathroom.  Tomorrow is a new day.

And, fucking thank God.  I am done with the holidays.

Of course, whenever I did want to get on my pity pot something would happen to change my perspective.  There was the woman wearing no shoes at the MUNI stop when I went by in my cab, that gave me something to think on.  Andie had dropped me and the rolling suitcase up in Nob HIll once I finally was able to get my cat out from, not underneath the couch, or behind it, but actually inside the god damn thing.  I had somewhere I needed to be at 12:15p.m. this afternoon.  So, I hauled my stuff up four flights of stairs, two trips, and put away my things, packed a little lunch, and headed out the door.

I flagged a cab and told him “Valencia and 15th”.

He did not move, he was putting it into the navigator.

Fuck my mother, you cannot tell me you are a cab driver and you don’t know how the fuck to get to Valencia and 15th.

I said as much, with perhaps not the profanity.

“How do you spell Valencia”?  He asked.

Oh my god.

I can just tell you how to get there, please, let me give you direction, it won’t hurt, I promise.

I was nice, spelled it out, and I got where I needed to go with time to spare and yes, a wee little bit of perspective change when I saw the woman without shoes.  I may not have a place to call my own, but my fucking god, I do have a pair of shoes on my feet and I had lunch in my purse, and I was in a cab.  A cab headed to meet my people.

I got some gratitude.

Even when the self-pity threatened to wallow over me in waves of amber, I managed to remember that woman and her bare feet.  I would look down at my shoes and remember that woman without shoes on her feet.  My shoes are new.  I walked into Shoe Biz yesterday and bought new shoes.  I needed a pair, my Converse had holes in them.  And there they were, brand new Vans on my toes, and that woman had nothing between the soles of her feet and the pavement.

I don’t think she could feel her feet from the look on her face, but still, I am sure it was not pleasant.

And then God had a little chuckle.  As I came out of the bathroom an hour later with tears in my eyes as I had admitted to some one that it had been a hard day.  It had been a disconcerting day, I had given my cats away.  I had scared them to death by poking them with mop handles and then scooped them up and forced them into a small box to be carried over the bridge and across the bay.  Granted, I know their new home is smashing, but I still did not enjoy the process.

With tears standing in my eyes and the self-pity party ready to get its party hat on and do a little dance, I happened to have a conversation about books with a gentleman with blue eyes who asked me to go out for coffee.  He’s quiet.  I have seen him before.  I thought perhaps, he’s gay.  But, as a friend once pointed out to me in regards to another man who I thought was gay, Carmen he’s beating you over the head with his penis, I think was the exact wording, I don’t always have good judgement or the ability to see when a man is attracted to me.  I should have realized it yesterday when I saw the bookish boy, I said hi and scampered away like a scared bunny.

That should be my first clue.  If I run away he’s probably not gay.

Anywho.  Yeah, vulnerable and sad, I stood on the corner of 15th and Valencia and talked Faulkner and Flannery O’Connor to a man who then suggested we have coffee some time.

REALLY?

What in the world was that?

I gave him my number and he headed off to City LIghts to go peruse the stacks and I headed up to the other side of Dolores Park to say hey to a friend who just got done having fibroids the size of softballs taken out from her uterus.

My problems again are what?  My “lack” of housing and my new shoes.  OR my clean womb?

There it was again, perspective.  Nothing’s wrong.

But I seriously had that thought, that first thought that came into my mind when I was crawling around on the floor trying to locate my cat to ship her off to the East Bay–just walk out the door, leave it open, let the cats go feral, and go kill yourself.

Come the fuck on.  That’s all you’ve got?

I made some phone calls on the walk over to my friends studio.  I talked with John Ater and I told him I just did not get it.  I feel like I am working really hard and not accomplishing anything.  I “feel” like I am doing it wrong.

Who, the fuck said there was a right way to do things?  And wasn’t I the one who said if I lose the cats if I lose the apartment that I would be ok with it because I wouldn’t be working at a job that I hated having the soul sucked out of me.

I think I was.  And guess what?  It happened.  I lost my cats, I lost my place to stay.  But I got to stop working a job that I really disliked, really, really, really (it also helped to have Shannon reiterate to me about how horrified she was by the thought of the family constipating the child so that she would not poop at night on their watch).  Yeah, I did not like working for them, did not matter how good the money was.

Fuck, though, it was good.  Oh well.  Pay cut, happiness increase.  Or so I keep telling myself.

I did a lot of walking today and I did some bike riding and I wore my new shoes and I ate good food and I got to be out in the sunshine.  I also got to be a little sad.

Nothing wrong with that.  I miss the cats, they were a comfort.

On the other hand I got to have the most beautiful little girl in the world sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer to me and I have the knowledge that the cats are well taken care of.

They are not running about the street with no shoes on and neither am I.

 

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