Within the Cylinder


I am actually in a rather pleasant mood and I am loathe to break it with the tapping of fingers on keys and the spinning of straw into gold.   I am just here.  Being and not stressing.  I feel like this is required right now.

Still no news on my mom.  I send my parents a text message about loving them, thinking that if they had news, they’d reply with it.  They sent me one back saying they love me, too.  If they’re aware of anything more than that, they’re not saying.  I am 99% sure that’s not true.  They haven’t heard and that’s it for the moment.  I find it completely impossible to press the issue any further than that.  I think it’s got to be a good thing that it’s not so clear-cut, not the sort of result where they throw up their hands and just know it’s bad.  But maybe it’s the opposite of that. I have no way of knowing what to find hope in.

I did not hear any correspondence from work – good or bad or otherwise.   I also heard from my lovely, lovely Italian friend and just hearing from her made me feel much better about life and reality.

I had a pleasant day at the shop.  It was not hard to bear on my feet and I have money enough to pay for gas to get back there tomorrow and possibly a paycheck to get tomorrow.  Possibly.  I did have to sit in the shop and watch what the event I used to run be held right in front of me.  There were a few brief moments of wondering what it would be like to exist under this new regime, this new space where we hire everything out and everyone’s a stranger, and there’s lots of young dudes wearing matching t-shirts and hauling cases of beer around.  I would have,  I suppose, been quite bothered and interested by that.   Mostly, however, I thought about how nice it was not to have to worry if the storm was going to wash out all that work (it didn’t) or if some other issue was going to show up and need to be discussed in the street or if we weren’t going to sell much of that beer.  Now those are not my problems.  They are nothing my opinion is solicited on.  They mean…nothing to me.

And, then, out of the blue, you missed me.  Or…whatever.  You checked-in and our schedules did not coincide, but, yeah.  That was a nice half a second realization that my nebulous thoughts about whatever the fuckity fuck it is we were doing being over, well, that… they aren’t true.  Or they don’t have to be true.   So, yeah.  That’s good.

Other stories will have to be told tomorrow when I return for more fun and games.  I need to work on my short story.  But then, two days off.  Two luxurious days of independence and house cleaning, oh my stars.

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