I received a phone call today from a translation agency. They want me to come in at 3:00 Friday afternoon for a job interview. Incidentally, this particular translation agency asked me to join their firm a few months ago. I was still working in the office with my directors, so I turned them down. I wish I hadn’t now.
They don’t require me to be bilingual (but I am, so that’s a major plus). I’d be a secretary at their tiny (but competent) firm. Other than the fact that I have an intense passion for languages, this firm is also literally two blocks away from the boarding house I want to live in.
From three hours on the bus to two. blocks?!
Can it get any better than that in commute? If I remember the ad correctly, they’re paying 12 bucks an hour.
My car’s been sluggish when accelerating on the motorway. I also need a wheel alignment. I’ve got to pour some money into it, and cashflow is more like “cash trickle”. But there are some options I’m working on.
The insurance thing isn’t going as well as I’d hoped, but I’m chalking that up to my own laziness more than anything else. I need to get a regimen that works.
I was approached by a couple that represents Amway. I have no idea what they do or how they do it yet, but their presentation was interesting enough to sit through. I’m inclined to check it out, mostly because “passive” and “income” were used in the same phrase.
I’ve had a small taste of passive income over the last couple of weeks, and it has been terrific to spend the day doing things I love and picking up a check at the end of it all. This must be what being rich feels like.
Dante called me three days ago and went spent two hours talking on the phone.
The remark of the night:
"So what’s the name of that guy you like again?
"That other guy. That you say you’re in love with."
"Oh. Salvatore." I said. "What about him?" Until Dante brought him up, I had momentarily forgotten about Sal. Really, I did.
"Well. He is crazy. I don’t understand why he doesn’t like you. You’re great, and so is the way you look."
And my pre-menstrual, oh-look-it-is-one-in-the-morning-man-I-feel-so-lonely-why-aren’t-you-here? self flushed with joy.
”Thanks.” I said, my voice husky. “I… really appreciate that.” It’s been a few days and there’s been no word since then. I don’t mind it though. The more he stays away, the easier it is to keep my answer the same: This doesn’t mean ‘not ever’. Just not right now. Please, for own good. Not right now.
I haven’t broken it to my folks that I’m moving out yet. I’m trying to wait and see if my efforts will pan out. In the meantime, I’ve spent most of the last month working, working, working so I can avoid this conversation as long as I possibly can.
I have been agonizing for months why I was rejected by a group of people I was trying to get to know. The only thing that I can think of is shaking someone’s hand after coming from the loo. The loo had no paper towel and a weak hand dryer. My hands were clean but still quite damp. Perhaps an unsavory rumor about my hygiene spread and that’s why everybody’s so taciturn round these parts.
Or, more likely, they’re just cliquish jerks.In any case, I ran into a guy that knows both me and them (Mark) and he said simply, “They’re not much fun to hang out with anyway. Don’t worry about it. It’s not you. It is them.” I feel sad that other people are living life so petty, but it’s not my job to police the behavior of others. I can barely police my own.
And so I’m letting it go. My benefit of the doubt is better used elsewhere.
I’m not ready for Nina to find out I’m moving out. My youngest (and favourite) sister is going to be devastated when I do. I will miss being with all of them, but her the very most.
si yo tuviera otra oportunidad, yo diría que esto a ti…
Justo cuando creo que he dejado ir, me acuerdo de ti otra vez. Inundada de ese viejo sentimiento, embelesado, en un deslumbramiento porque de una mera fotografía, o una mención casual de tu nombre, o un lugar donde compartimos un momento, por pequeño que sea. ¿Es el final todavía no?
Durante un tiempo, un otro hombre me hizo olvidar de ti. En las tardes de lluvia, yo bailaba en los brazos de otra persona, y se olvidó de tu pelo negro, y tu dulzura. Pero ahora estoy de regreso a la Tierra. Y aunque me siento feliz, me siento como si algo le falta.
Me doy cuenta de lo que es.
No estás aquí.
Pero en este momento, por ahora, todavía hay esperanza de que uno que nos volveremos a encontrar. Por lo tanto, está bien que tu ha dejo.
Hace poco me quejaba de que yo había perdido mi luz. Tu fue parte de la razón por qué me sentía de esa manera. Yo no quería seguir con la carga de amarte de ti. El renacimiento ha sido lento, ya veces no puedo dejar de mirar las cosas quedan atrás … pero me siento ahora que Dios ha restaurado la luz para mí.
Disfruto de las cosas de nuevo. Me siento feliz. Y aunque nunca llegar a decirte todas las cosas que quiero decir a ti, me niego a tener una pizca de remordimiento.
Ahora todo es diferente.
El sol ha salido. La oscuridad se ha desechado.Y cuando veo lo feliz que eres, me siento una medida de la comodidad.
Todo lo que deseo para ti todos los días es el amor y la paz.
My parents are still giving me grief about work, how late I stay out and my life in general. I have been working nonstop for 14 days. I have priced out a new cell phone with a new carrier. I am viewing apartments all weekend.
And as much as I love them, no one seems to be backing down on this issue, least of all me.
This afternoon, I came back to the house and found my mother in the driveway looking sad-faced. Once I pressed her, she said, “I don’t want anything to change but we’ve gotta talk to you.”
Really? My father hasn’t spoken to me in three days. He’s already made it clear he’s got nothing left to say to me.
I have spent this week reeling through an emotional rollercoaster— ecstasy for a few minutes before dissolving into tears the next, calm for days but depressed for weeks. I’m completely out of balance. I’m either sleeping much too much or just not enough and it’s two in the morning and I feel both manic and exhausted and I have a 18 hour day ahead of me tomorrow on five hours of sleep.
"You are so cute when you sing in the car." he said to me, laughing. "I love it."
"I sing in the car a lot." I said sheepishly, blushing as red as the stoplight we were waiting on.
"I think it’s great." he replied, a big smile on his face. He paused and turned to the radio. "What song is this?"
“Midnight City by M83.” This was a bit of a test. M83 is my favourite band. If a man likes them too, he’s scored major points with me.
"I like this song." he said. "Waiting for a ride in the dark…" He sang in a husky, off-tone falsetto. I laughed and we sung the chorus to this song as we drove through our own midnight city. Orange lights bathed our face as we drove aimlessly down Michigan Avenue. We beamed at each other, and I felt accepted by a man for the first time.
But with Dante, I don’t feel like I have to hide anything anymore. In fact, he is always encouraging me to express myself, to be wild, to dance badly, to hold hands with him in front of everybody, to say what is on my mind and in my heart. With Dante, I don’t need the levy. I can just be myself.
The last time we were together, we talked less about our lost ones and more about life in general, and what we both want out of it. He and I are so, so similar. Even our pains and aches are similar.
We went on a moonlit walk. There is a nice park near his house, and we swung on monkey bars and sighed about how gorgeous the night was underneath the big trees. I drove him back home. He hugged me and caressed my face before I left.
"Call when you get in."
We talked for an hour after that.
I keep having to tell myself that he is unavailable, and so am I. But I will not, I cannot,begrudge myself this happiness, even though this seems temporary. Even though the pull of our separate lives and our personal tragedies keeps this temporary, I do not regret not one moment I spend with him.
I was reading this article the other night that talked about what one might learn during their twenties. Number 16 on the list was:
"You’ll have moments with someone that are so intense, it’ll feel like you’ve been electrocuted back to life."
It’s only been three weeks since we’ve met again, but this is how I feel about Dante right now.
I have been sleeping so little. I have been driving a man to work. He responded to my intermittent rideshare ad on Craigslist. It’s been 8 days. He works nights, which means my day starts early and ends late. It’s an hour commute each way. My body’s rebelling against this harshly.
Other than the odd work shift and the smell of his Marlboros, I actually rather like the guy. We will call him Travis. Travis is of medium height and build, with large brown eyes and a wry, laid-back manner about him. He wears T-shirts with classic hiphop artists emblazoned on them— Run DMC and the Beastie Boys. In fact, he sort of reminds me of a young Ad-Rock— cheeky, dark-haired, hard partier. We spend the long drive from Warren to Saline waxing philosophical.
He has constant questions about God and Jesus. We talk about Jehovah a lot as we speed down I-94, watching the sun rise together. Stubble will cast a shadow over his face and his cigarette smoke will curl around him, shading in the lines in his forehead a bit more. I will rub my eyes and drink the coffee he buys me and play dubstep to stay awake behind the wheel.
Our partnership is odd but I enjoy him. He pays well. His family is hospitable too. On a night I was too tired to head back on the road, his mother allowed me to sleep on their couch, his housecat curled at my feet. My folks gave me grief about this earlier in the week, but it has been one of the more interesting gigs in recent memory.
I’ve also been minding petitioners. Out-of-state petitioners will collect signatures to put on state election ballots. On a day I babysit them, I’ll sit in my car for 8 hours and work on Spanish, Hindi, spiritual stuff and my novels. I received a check today and it was nice. I am there to make sure they are not forging signatures. It is tedious, but I choose my own hours.
I’ve yet to have a real sale with insurance yet, but I wrote a policy on myself last week. I am supposed to meet up with The Blond’s mum and work on it tomorrow morning. I dunno if I’ll have the energy to do it.
I will always and forever love the way he dances. Dante’s whole soul was ablaze on the floor last night. He moved with an elegant wildness,a smooth jaguar. His tall and slender frame twirled at breathtaking speed.
We danced together towards the end of the night and the chemistry was natural. I am but a beginner at ballroom but he barely had to tell me what to do.
The moments that stand out are clear— my Bedouin skirt fanning out around my calves, slickness beading on our foreheads and trickling down our necks to rest in the hollows of our collarbones, his hands on my waist, the throb of the beat curling up and down my spine. The sensuality of dance is contagious, and Dante and I mirrored each other’s wildness.
We went out to eat after. His friends looked between the two of us and then looked at each other knowingly. Dante and I are both still burning for our lost ones, so we insisted otherwise. But I’m sure we didn’t convince not one soul at the table of this, least of all ourselves. We shared an appetizer and got back in my car. We drove on the highway for a long while before I brought him back home.
I came in and hugged him tightly. I rested my nose in the nape of his neck again. I relished in the warmth of being close to him.
"I’ll call you to let you know I got home." I whispered, careful not to wake his mum upstairs.