| CARVIEW |
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| 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 |
| 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 |
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| 30 | 31 |
I woke up this morning to find the following scribbled sideways in my calendar, all the way across May 27 through May 30:
"She had once almost bought a chair. Knew exactly where it would go, how it would look. The ghost of a chair populated by her ghosts."
I know, right??? Where's my big bag of money from Random House? I'm the next Robert Penn Warren, only EDGY.
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I mean, seriously? Really? Come the fuck on.
I thought I had been okay with it, that I was dealing with everything beautifully, gracefully and with equanimity. Until I went to find a bagel this morning. Coffee shop after shop, no bagels. Finally, bagels. Do you have butter? I said. No, they told me. Cream cheese! they said. Okay, fine, I said. But we can't toast the bagel, they said. And I burst into tears.
Everything sucks, everything is terrifying. Right now, the loss of a steady source of income, that's the thing that's giving me this trap-door space, this yawning hole, in my belly. But the loss of my job is, someone I love very much told me, the start of something great, an opportunity to do what I really need to do, a space cleared out of junk to be filled up with something bright and beautiful. I think that could be true. Right now, I feel whatever the opposite of bright and beautiful is. Retarded and ape-like, probably. I want to drink a lot. and cry a lot and rage a lot and feel unfairly put-upon, snarl and gnash and howl and then cry some more.
It'll get better. All of it will. There are steps to take, measures to put in place, things to do and people to see. I might even do some pinging. We'll see. I'll make a plan, and it will be good, solve all my problems, and slot everything neatly into carefully labeled pigeon holes. But tonight, as is right and good, I am going to get shitfaced.
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