Upon my marathon drive and midnight return from New York, I discovered I had no internet connection. I was too tired to care much, but in the morning after troubleshooting on my own and with Verizon tech support, it was clear that my line was fubar’d. Closest repair date was a week away. Interesting things happen when your connection to the world is mostly severed. (I still had the library WiFi and some data on my phone, if it were emergent.) I was unable to stream the news in real time, or the quasi-comedy news shows that put a reality-based spin on things. Imagine not seeing hateful political rants, memes, and fake news shares on Facebook for a week! So what does one do when one is unplugged? Fresh brownies in the pan for me and the neighbors. Longer walks, better writing, more reading, and interestingly… more intense dreams. By the way, DH Lawrence ain’t all he’s cracked up to be, mostly.
This week I saw the courtyard light catch fire and then burn itself out, triggering fear of another fire. Learned that a valued neighbor and apartment employee is finally ditching this place. Had a talking to in the parking lot (in the rain) by my downstairs neighbor who does not appreciate that I walk or breathe or fold my laundry a little too loud for her liking at all hours of the night. I spent a whole day pissed about that, but everything seems to have settled. Babysitting the neighbor’s cat for a week triggered allergies and asthma (or was it the lack of internet?) Cat-proofing the apartment was necessary and how interesting that my OCD has not kicked in. She bunched up the carpet runner, found the bath tub drain plug in the living room, knocks over the wood stool next to my desk… and I just leave it all there. Somehow I know that if I put everything back the way it was–immediately– she will take that as a challenge and take it all down twice as fast. Here she is occupying this card table that doubles as my dining room table, her luxurious, plumy black tail twitching on the keyboard. This week I learned that I don’t appreciate fellow tenants who let their movers damage our building and maintain an “oh well” attitude. Thanks, man, glad I don’t have to live with you. This week I learned I have been trying to diagnose and cure Henry Rollins of his anger and emotional pain, and that’s just a flat out waste of time. He’s a big boy who is living his life, the one he chose to build, best he can. Glad that’s out of the way. 😉
My internet has been reconnected, and all I can think about are emails from the lawyer who is waiting on information from me, and a reply to an email that should have begun in person instead of impersonal text. Of all the letters I have written in my head to people that didn’t matter, wasting my time and breath and energy, this is the one that needs the most care. And it should have been eye to eye.