I’m continuing to invite anxiety to arise and it’s continuing to demur. The invitation may not be one hundred percent sincere—I’m not distraught when I fail to wake up in the night panicked—but it mostly is.
As for the 100-day practice period, the ten-minute chunks of meditation (when they happen) are proving to be very nice—chances to observe the jangling reverberation from the stress of the day, which usually goes unnoticed, which doesn’t mean it isn’t there, as a bit of meditating makes obvious.
C. made a new friend Tuesday night at Howie’s last week and ended up walking home with her instead of with me, which wasn’t particularly bothersome at the time—in part it was my doing, because I got tired of waiting for him—but then I got to wondering if romance would ensue. After this frisson of prospective jealousy, I thought, “Huh. If that does happen, then I can see what that’s like.” Could it finally be sinking in that it’s not about arranging things to suit myself, but being alive to what is, curious about it, investigating?
Nah, probably not.
Last Friday evening, C. (not yet affianced to any other) and I had dinner at El Majahual and went on to La Boheme, where a convivial group, including Hilma, was gathered.
On Saturday, Tom and V. (a woman I know from Howie’s) and I went on a ride organized by the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition, led by the delightful Andy Thornley. We met at the North Berkeley BART station and went over to take a look at a new mixed-use development at Pier 70 in Berkeley. Then we rode for quite a while along the Bay Trail, a lovely amenity right at the water’s edge, to visit the Rosie the Riveter/World War II Home Front National Historical Park and museum in Richmond, where we saw how a former Ford factory (the Ford Motor Company Assembly Plant, which was used for wartime production during WWII) is now being utilized for businesses, an event venue and a restaurant. One of the “Rosies” was working in the museum as a docent and showed me photos of herself and her husband decades ago. Most enjoyable and interesting day.
Back in the city, V. and Tom and I had dinner at El Majahual, and then I went on to La Brava for an evening of poetry and music, a benefit for a children’s poetry festival to be held in El Salvador in November. C. read one of his poems and sang a song of his that I like a lot, while capering charmingly about onstage.
The next day, Sunday, Venkata came to town—he has bought a house in Fremont—and we had breakfast at La Santaneca. We both had #20, which is two eggs, fried plantains, casamiento, and tortillas. If you ask for picados, your eggs have green peppers, tomatoes and onions in them. Afterward, he gave me a ride to Rainbow in his BMW. He doesn’t get to drive it very often (he takes BART to work), so he likes to drive extremely fast, even on the crowded streets of the Mission, and he also likes to listen to very loud rap music. It’s a little nerve-wracking, but he certainly has a great sound system. I’d like to hear a little Slayer in that car. Back at home, I made red split peas and buckwheat, and split pea soup.
J. was kind of cranky at work Tuesday, not for the first time, and I wondered if I should object to what seemed to be treatment bordering on the abusive, but then she said I’m doing great and explained that she’s stressed out, which I’m sure is quite true and made it easy for me to feel forgiving. In the evening I went to Howie’s, and C. and I walked home together afterward.
Two Excel books ordered from Amazon arrived Wednesday, including the Excel 2010 Bible, at 1006 pages! If it doesn’t help you with Excel, you can use it to build your muscles or drop it on an antagonist’s foot.
After weeks of wondering why EDD had never sent me any unemployment money, I’d finally resigned myself to spending a morning standing in line at their office across town and had told my boss I would need some hours off work, so I was utterly thrilled yesterday afternoon to receive a call from a very pleasant woman at EDD who said that they have been faithfully putting the money every week on my “card.” I thought she meant an ID card and didn’t remember receiving one, but she explained she meant the debit card they sent last year when I had my uterus extracted and was on disability for a week or so. I did indeed receive that card and, once the funds it represented were exhausted, subsequently dispose of it.
She gave me a number to call at B of A, and in five minutes, I had been assured that a new card is on the way, and advised to cling to it more tightly this time, because the card itself is good for up to three years. And there we see once again how procrastination always pays off.
In the evening, C. and N. and I had dinner at Esperpento: sautéed oysters (for C.), grilled asparagus, roasted eggplant, a potato-onion omelet, spicy potatoes. So yummy, and all five dishes came to a mere $30. Afterward, the three of us had tea at Borderlands Café.