Unreasonably happy

It turned out to be an inopportune day to reduce the clutter in my little apartment by grabbing all my empty grocery bags and taking them to the car. 

empty bags
Yay!  Move these empty bags back into the car, where they will be ready for groceries.  Our Battery Park residents lot is just a few steps, across the street, next to the expressway.

I – like so many other people in this building – seek opportunities to hang out with Diana by her throne in front of the building.  (I do so even when I am not smoking, which will be the case again soon, though I am not sure exactly when.) Earlier this afternoon, I needed a smoke break after talking with my great physician friend Steve Swearingen about my disturbingly mysteriously infected foot, including him making a very cogent case for why it’s a particularly bad time to be smoking. (“That infected foot is a long ways from your heart.  All the swelling makes it hard for the antibiotic and the blood to get in there.  Smoking taxes your heart – makes it harder for it to do all of that work.”)  Very cogent – really did get me thinking.  But not enough to not want a cigarette.  When was the last time you heard me claim to be completely rational or non-addictive? “Waking up” is infamous for not always taking away our human flaws.

I decided to go out back, across the street to our residents’ parking lot (next to the Basilica)

pkg lot
Our residents’ parking lot – across the road by the woods – accommodates most of the residents.  But if you get home late or are somehow just unlucky, you gotta go looking.

and drop my bags in my car before returning to the front to hang out with Diana.  Here’s a text I sent Diana at 4:35:

  • M: “Out front?  In ten minutes?”
  • D: “OK”
  • M (10 minutes later): “No – 10 minutes from now! Was incorrect about the location of our car. It’s not in the lot out back where I thought it was.  Going to go to the Flint Street lot (on the other side of the highway) now and hopefully will see you in ten minutes.”
  • D: “OK. I go back in at 5:30 to feed John’s cat Fluff (John out of town) and Barbara’s dog Bubbles (Barbara in the hospital). Then I walk my doggy and call mom.”
  • M: (ten minutes later) “Hopefully I will see you by then.  Certainly will at least swing by in about ten minutes to continue looking for a car which is not in the Battery Park Resident’s lot and it’s not in the Flint Street lot.  I can’t even remember when was the last time…Oh, shit!!  I know exactly where it is! It’s at Mission Hospital! I left it at Mission Hospital yesterday and John was going to give me a ride over there today to pick it up – but we both forgot!…Fuck it!…I’m laughing!!  I’m unreasonably happy!!!  Now that I know what’s going on, I can relax.  Somehow, we will make it work out tomorrow.  I’ll see you in about ten minutes.”


Published by Majo

These days all of my identities are converging: whether I am offering a blessing in the grocery store checkout line, offering a prayer in a poem or experiencing the kinship with all life while walking my or a client's dog - it's all the same. It's all Life.

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