Well, it's been a few weeks, but I finally came back to this journal writing thing.
Tracy is moved in with her hoard of demon spawn cats. I wanted to like the furry little shits, I really did. But so far, Chompers has scratched the shit out of my couch, Dublin has pissed all over every surface that has ever existed, Frisky will not let me piss or shit by myself, lest I want to hear constant yeowling outside the bathroom door, and Jack has decided that 2am is the best time to start climbing on everything and knocking stuff to the floor. I want sleep, privacy, and I miss my home not smelling like an ammonia-laced hellscape. Tracy has been agreeable for the most part. She just sits at home and watches TV. Admittedly, it's been nice to have someone here to accept deliveries for me. Then I know my packages won't be stolen from my doorstep. Her and I don't really talk much. She knows that her cats are driving me insane, and that I would kill for a good night's sleep. We avoid talking to one another because I suspect she hates staying with me as much as I hate having her here. I can't wait for her apartment to be ready. In other news, an interesting thing happened the other day. I decided to go for a walk. Which felt weird for me, since I don't generally prefer to do any sort of physical activity, much less take in the sights and smells of the neighborhood. Same urine laden air, different variety of piss. I had a bit of a time convincing myself to head out the door. I am not sure what made me decide to go today. I don't know, maybe I am premenstrual. Maybe I am getting sick. I know I have been thinking a lot lately about how satisfied, or probably more like how unsatisfied, I am. I know I have also been feeling completely unproductive. I've been feeling angry at myself and disappointed in the current state of things. Feeling deceived by my own ambitions. In either case, no matter how shitty my mood, I guess I had intended on being productive in some minuscule way. Even if it was doing an activity that I knew I would later dismiss as not being enough to count toward anything remotely productive or consequential. As I was doing so, my neighbor, who my mother and I have nicknamed "DVD" walked out of his apartment. DVD stands for "Domestic Violence Dickhead". While it may seem a bit insensitive to give such a dismissive nickname to his atrocious character, it developed out of necessity for code names and a severe lack of consequences for his actions. As far as I know, he is on the verge of being evicted for repeatedly sucking at life. I share an alcove with him. I have no windows, neither does he, and we keep our front doors open. When violence erupts over there, it's like it is happening in the same room. As he walked past me, he begrudgingly let out a "Hello." I don't know if he knows I am the one calling the police on him when he throws his "manly" temper tantrums. I don't particularly care what he thinks. If he wanted to get away with being a repulsive dickhead, he should learn to close his front door. I hate bullies. And I don't tolerate bully behavior. I nodded to him and looked back down at my phone. As he passed me, I couldn't help but notice how good I thought he smelled. The smell was pleasant and comforting. Which I found amusing when contrasted with the cigarette butts and trash that litters our porch area and his parking spot, and the extreme violence I am forced to listen to. I tend to think too much. I notice stupid things like that. I put in my earbuds and began listening to Tori Amos' album Little Earthquakes. I had made the decision to hit the coffee shack that is the opposite direction of the route I was going to take. It is a literal shack that is right down the street from my home. I was feeling tired and needed a little pick me up. Everything about my choices this afternoon felt weird. Like I said, maybe I'm getting sick. And so I started to move. “Every finger in the room is pointing at me…” As I began my trip, I couldn’t help but think more about idiot boy’s cologne. It got me wondering what it was about the fragrance I found so appealing. I suppose it seemed familiar. Was it a scent I recognized? I was already on the street and almost at the crosswalk. Walking toward me were two men who, while talking to each other, were looking at me inquisitively. They were both very dark skinned, and dressed in business casual attire. They had lanyards hanging around their necks and looked as though they might have been on their lunch break. One of them was taller than the other and thin. The shorter one was still taller than me, and much rounder than his friend. He wore glasses and his head was shaved. He was holding a sheet of paper and he stopped in front of me and pointed to some writing on it. I couldn't hear him over Tori wondering why we martyr ourselves over the expectations of others. I paused my music and removed my earbuds. He asked me," Do you know where we can find this address?" he pointed to some handwriting at the bottom of some directions printed from a maps website. I didn’t feel much like being friendly, but what the fuck was I going to do? Tell him to fuck off? I guess I could have. I look at the address on the paper. I recognized the street address and the cross-sections. I let him know that if he continued walking straight down the street we were on, he would hit the cross street he was looking for and that his destination would be in that area. I asked him if he knew where the main road it was connected to was located. It’s seriously a big ass street. Can’t freaking miss it. He looked back up at me from the paper and said," No, we are from Nigeria, we do not know this city. We are trying to find the Islamic Center." By looking at the address on his paper, I had no idea that was where they were headed, but I knew the place. I pass the Islamic Center every day. I told him," Oh! If you follow this street all the way down, the Islamic Center will be on your right. It's a bit of a walk from here, but you are on the correct street. Just keep walking that way." I pointed toward the direction I had been walking from. The direction they had been walking to. They thanked me, and began their journey. I continued to the cross walk so I could obtain something with some caffeine. I didn't bother putting my earbuds back in. I was about to have another human interaction anyway. After purchasing my beverage, I made my way back to the crosswalk and to the lady eagerly waiting to ask a rhetorical question. “Why do we crucify ourselves? Every day…” I hate to admit it, but it felt good to be outside. I realized that I spend a little too much time indoors. I actively leave my home and am a fairly busy person, but I tend to wait until the late afternoon to begin my activities. This was sunlight of a different caliber. It was slightly overcast, but it was still warm and bright. I started to realize that I love the way the neighborhood looks during the day. I love the houses. The well-maintained upkeep that translates to "pride of ownership" in some homes, and the contrast of deterioration in others, and how the term "pride of ownership" implies control over poverty or worthiness to the privilege of owning a home. The juxtaposition of stable middle income families and those living in poverty is a sick sight, but I guess I kind of like the toxicity. Of course I got back on DVD’s scent. The more I think about it, I guess I am not surprised that he would be wearing something so appealing. He is a predator, and pleasant smells are invitations into a predator's trap. As I considered this, I recalled that my instinct toward feeling familiarity with his cologne was correct. An ex-boyfriend of my mother’s, who was not unlike DVD himself, used to wear the same cologne. I believe it is something of the Stetson variety. This amused me. I had walked a couple of short blocks and soon, I saw my Nigerian pals. The taller one had crossed the street. The shorter one who had engaged me was still on my side of the street, but had made a small detour down a cross street. He was walking back to where he had started. I involuntarily smiled at him, and he noticed me approaching and smiled back. "Are you lost?" I asked him. "Yes, we are so confused. I don't understand the post code. It doesn't seem like we are going in the correct direction." His accent was thick. I find accents intimidating. I have a hard time hearing people with deep voices. Everything sounds like it's being mumbled. Add an accent I am unfamiliar with, and you get a lot of me asking you to repeat what you had just said a million times. I feel terrible about it every single time, though I don’t know what exactly is wrong with having a hard time hearing. Somehow I am programmed to believe that I should feel guilty about that sort of thing. I told him," If you stick to this street and keep walking, you will make it to the Islamic Center. It's a long walk, but it's literally on this street. I can walk with you that way." UGH! Why did I offer to keep a stranger company? "Oh, thank you! I really appreciate it!" he said to me. UGH! Why did he accept my offer? I could hear the gratitude in his voice. He introduced himself. “My name is Yakubu.” As we began walking toward the Islamic Center, he asked me a bit about myself. Whether or not I was married, had children, or had any plans for children. Each time I answered his questions, I could sense a little bit of judgement, but not as though he were trying to be disrespectful. He seemed genuinely interested in learning about me and what I had going on in my life. I couldn’t help but notice that his friend, who had crossed the street in an attempt to find his way, stayed on that side of the street. He was following along with us as we walked toward the direction of the Islamic center. And whether it was my own judgement or prejudice, I wondered to myself if it had anything to do with the fact that I was a woman. And then I immediately stopped caring about anything he was doing. After a lot of friendly banter between Yakubu and myself, we finally made it to his desired destination. He was very grateful and thanked me for all of my help in getting him unlost. I felt somewhat elated after the interaction. It was strange because I don’t generally feel anything these days. But here I was, feeling like I had just done something remarkable. I don’t mean that as though I did something worthy of praise. I mean that in the way you would experience an aurora borealis for the first time, or witness a bird land on the podium of someone who is giving a speech about fixing all of the flaws of Capitalism and a government that has forgotten the power of its people. That kind of remarkable. Anyway, so that is how my day went. It was weird and I don’t know if I will go for another walk for a while. As far as consistency goes, I guess keeping up with this regularly is a bit of a problem for me, but this is my second entry in this journal. Which is two more entries than I ever would have done had Doctor Findle not urged me to do so. She thinks she knows me well, and sometimes I think she does. Okay, well. I am going to go try and take a shower. Let’s see if I can make another entry happen in less time than it took for me to get to this one. Bye, Pollyanne Morgana Applewood
0 Comments
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorHeather Jacobs is a creative professional with over a decade's worth of experience in content creation. Her skills range from, but are not limited to, creative, copy, instructional, and technical writing. Archives
January 2021
Categories |