My company is looking for new office in this bustling city square. Our competition is seated at one end and our options are either a beautiful modern building overlooking the square directly opposite, or an upper level suite in an older Parisian-style row home along the adjacent side.
We're walking as a group inside the new building when suddenly, I find myself walking alone, outside, headed away from the square, down a lane that runs diagonally to this building. (How did I get here?) Then I notice that I'm walking my parent's dogs, Pheobe and Chester. (Where did they come from?) The questions leave my mind as soon as they enter. The question of how Chester came back from the grave never enters my mind. We are going down a countryside residential road, like what you'd see in Tennessee, where people actually cluster in the hills. Everything grows wild here, and the dirt path is marked on both sides by rows of grass, weeds, flowers, and ivy. There is a wire fence which separates the road from the fields, and occasionally this is interrupted by a driveway into the occasional run-down 70s-style American ranch home.
Pheobe is staying with me but Chester has run off way ahead. I can't find him, and I'm starting to have reservations about walking alone this far away from the square, so I turn around, calling him, figuring that he'll eventually come back. Phoebe's happy to head back there too, her spirit obviously raised by the decision.
We're almost back to the square, in a modern city, nowhere near this walk through the countryside, and Chester returns with another dog. This one is white, very homely, and not altogether friendly looking. I think he's some kind of English hound. I try to pet him, but he doesn't like this. Instead of biting me however, he returns from where he came.
Suddenly, I'm transported instantly to a bedroom, like a dorm room, with concrete floors, two beds... perhaps in the basement of the row home on the side of the square that looked like it came directly from Montemartre. I have a roommate. She's doing something - I can't recall what - and we're talking about something- I can't remember that either. She's helping me with some kind of problem, but then leaves me alone and, having nothing to do, I clean the room and put away some things before lying again in bed and relaxing into a deep sleep.
I wake up from my dreams. From the amount of light coming in through the drawn shades, it's early, maybe 9am. Having nothing better to do this Sunday, I brush my teeth and get back into bed, content to just lie there. I go back to sleep, hoping to continue the dream and explore the surroundings a bit more. I've been there before, and the elements of this unexplored world are coming together into a whole, but the puzzle still misses too many pieces. I can tell though that this realm encompasses several recurring dreams over the past few years.
I wake up again, and again force myself to stay in bed... what is there to get up for?
The pattern of waking, realizing I'm depressed, and sinking back comfortably in bed continues, but this time, without the dreams.
Now the light from the windows is hinting that it's mid-afternoon. I get up and head into the bathroom. I look like a woman, but I don't feel like one. I grab the tweezers and start plucking hairs from my face - my daily routine begins. Around 100 hairs later, I disappear into the shower. Upon returning, I grab the epilator, pluck the rest of the hairs on my face, wash, exfoliate, and moisturize, and finally emerge fresh, clean, and smooth.
I put lotion on all over my body. I'm too poor now to afford the scented lotion I love so much, so instead I'm using a cheap one that is moisturizing, but doesn't smell pretty. It's game day, so I put on a pair of jeans and a pink Dolce & Gabanna long sleeve stretch under a pink Colt's jersey, #18 - Manning. Sandra gave me the shirt; I never would have bought the D&G shirt, but now I love wearing it, and it's the perfect compliment to the jersey. It has become my weekly link to her and to Italy.
I go back into the bathroom and quickly apply some makeup- blush, eyeliner, shadow, and mascara. I don't need foundation anymore because I'm pulling out my facial hair instead of shaving it. I curl my hair. I see a pretty woman in the mirror now. We smile at each other for moment. Satisfied with what I see, it's time to make lunch.
No one is coming over today, but nonetheless, I still go through same routine as I do every day. No one comes over on those days either, but that doesn't matter. I'm not getting myself pretty for anyone but me, which is a good thing, because me is all there is.
Lunch today is going to be a healthy stir-fry. Noodles, carrots, water chestnuts, peas and broccoli with a light teriyaki sauce. Not my favorite meal, but nonetheless the highlight of the day... my one meal. One meal is all I can afford now, so I thoroughly enjoy the process of cooking it and eating it. Even cleaning the dishes and appliances is a meditation to be enjoyed.
Eating one meal a day isn't not so bad; you get used to it quickly. Oh, my stomach growled at night or the first week and there were hunger pangs that came with it, but a hungry stomach to me feels like a muscle that's exercising, so in the same way that a slow burn from a workout feels good, so too did the lack of food become tolerable. The hunger gradually subsided and now it's no big deal. I'm also eating around 50% fat, 80% carbs, and 50% protein of the USRDA. There's not much activity going on here, so my body doesn't need a whole lot of calories to function.
And then I notice my nails. It's time for a manicure and pedicure. Since I can't afford to go get one, I give myself a French manicure (in tribute to the dream) with iridescent pink base. This is my entertainment while watching the Colts lose to Green Bay.
It's almost 4pm and I've started coding. Working on the weekend, sure, but what else am I going to do? I'm tethered to this house, might as well work instead of watching commercials, I mean, TV. There's nothing good on TV anymore anyway. The occasional Science Channel peaks my interest (I'm a sucker for learning) but outside of that... well, there are so many commercials, and since I can't afford a DVR, I just chose not to watch anything at all.
There are no mirrors in this house; just one in the bathroom. It's such a change from Vegas, where every room had multiple large mirrors in them. I make myself pretty and I can't even enjoy looking at myself! All this consciousness sees are the blank walls around me and Web 2.0 codes on the screen. At least the fingers making the letters appear are now pleasing to my eyes.
Welcome to my Walden. Just me and my shadow.
Desperate to feel like a woman, I ring the jewelry store owner I met at LaGuardia back when I was jetting around the country. We shared a fag, he bought me a drink, and I left for Seattle. What makes him special is that he only knows me as Clio; that cheery woman at the airport.
He's not there; I leave a message and he calls back. He wants to come over tonight! Oh dear. That means he wants sex... he thinks I have a vagina. I'm depressed all over again. I tell him I can't tonight, but that he should call me later in the week. Maybe by then I'll figure out what to do.
Business is no longer profitable enough to pay for an internet connection. This is troubling on many levels, but for the time being, I will be out of email, IM, facebook, and news (no cable either).
