Gift
My bird, a nine-year-old cockatiel, just laid an egg. While sitting on my shoulder. Egg. On my shoulder.
I feel a little violated. ![[WS]](/blog/media/end.gif)
Short story
I am not feeling much up to writing right now. I hurt myself pretty badly today. Not physically, I mean, except for that ache–you know that ache–but more in an emotional way. Despite the ache, I need to write. Or maybe because of the ache, as a distraction. Either way I must write every day, for habit’s sake. I also said I would tell a story. Here it is, as promised:
I left Boston on a 7:45 PM bus out of South Station. The bus was almost on time, which was nice; it also wasn’t full. We made great time up to New Hampshire, and when I looked out the window to see the tollbooths at Hampton, my brain was rapidly flooded by home-feelings and memories. I was almost excited. As we neared the bus terminal, I began to pack my things, as is customary. But, what was this? We’d missed the terminal exit, only to pull off the highway two exits later headed for downtown Portsmouth. I was confused but sure things would just work out. Dropped off near Portsmouth’s major municipal parking garage, my suitcase and I were left to fend for ourselves. At least we were on time, arrived at our “station” at exactly 8:50 PM. I used the garage guard’s phone to call for a cab, figuring I’d meet up with my mother at the terminal one way or another. Ten tense minutes passed, the taxi showed up, the meter ran to $15, and we arrived at the terminal to find…no one. My mother had left a few minutes prior to my arrival and was headed to downtown Portsmouth. I contemplated my next move and quickly decided to go back to the garage. She decided she, too, would return to her previous location. Undoubtedly we passed each other on the highway en route to just miss one another one more time. Exasperated, I called home to leave a message (remember, neither of us are modern folks with your cellular mobiles and what-have-you) instructing her as to what she should do when she arrived home, which was something like “call this taxi driver, then turn your shit around and get back here.” I believe I may have phrased it more delicately, I’m unsure. The cabbie had waited with me all this time, and so the two trips and the standing drove my fare up to nearly $35, and this is for a net distance traveled of zero feet, mind you. I gave him $40 and asked him to cruise by the garage if my mother ever managed to contact him. This turned out to be unnecessary; his phone rang as he was getting ready to leave, and a link was finally established. I spent about a half-hour Tailor sitting on the sidewalk, reading my novel, while drunk couples meandered past me, directing inquisitive looks toward me but never speaking. Mom and I made it home just before 11 PM.
The end. It worked for a little while, but now I’m hurting again.
Weltschmerz
The title of tonight’s blog post is a German term meaning, essentially, “world-weariness,” a depression or apathy arising from the comparison of reality to a more ideal state. It was also the word that cost Finola Mei Hwa Hackett of Tofield, Alberta, Canada, the championship in this year’s Scripps National Spelling Bee. Oddly enough, she blew it on a very simple mistake, choosing to begin the word with a V instead of the more German-appropriate W. I liked Finola; I would have loved to see a Canadian win the title. I also happened to think the word particularly good. My mother, upon hearing the definition read aloud, exclaimed, “Willy! That’s you!” I’m not sure it’s an entirely appropriate assessment, but it certainly tickled us at the time. “O, how terribly sad is this existence!”
Kathy pointed out that I (and I’m paraphrasing from memory, here) “can’t be saying I’m going to blog and then not keep up on that shit.” She’s right, of course. It’s been ninety-eight days since my last post, and even that probably should not be considered a real post. Well more than a hundred days have elapsed since I last wrote anything of substance. A great deal has happened in that span. Here is a list in a roughly chronological order, although some items don’t have a specific date associated:
- I learned how to dance and promptly forgot
- I went to New York to celebrate the life of a family member, my great-grandmother, who passed on at the age of 98
- I vomited off the back porch at The Ruck for the first, and hopefully last, time
- I quit my job
- I traveled to California for a ten day stay, spending time in Big Sur, San Francisco, Marin County, and Napa Valley
- I attempted to obtain a position at Metroland, and was rejected
- I have been unemployed for approximately sixty days
- I determined my car to be unsalvageable
- I used nitrous oxide as a recreational drug for the first time
- I visited Boston and New York once each for pleasure on two consecutive weekends without my car
- I have had four unrequited infatuations, and one more likely soon-to-be (though only three of these total five were with straight men, an improvement!)
There has to be more that I’m forgetting, and maybe over the next few days if I think of things I will add them to the list. That, however, more or less catches you up on things. I am currently in New Hampshire at my mother’s home for the week. We have been spending a lot of time here and I am helping her with a number of chores and tasks around the house that she has had trouble doing. I don’t mind doing them; it’s nice to be able to help her out. I do sometimes feel as though it would be better if I were closer to her, if only because her physical limitations make it difficult or impossible for her to move heavy objects or reach certain things, and I can easily do them. There’s also a degree of support she provides that I find seriously lacking when I am living in Troy. We plan on having some good mother/son time tomorrow and Saturday as she has those days off. Even over the last few days it’s been easier to spend time with her since she works from home now and I can pester her while she is “in the office” (her bedroom). I think she likes the idea that business casual for her now can be a nightgown.
I am rambling.
I promised at least one person that I would blog on my recent Boston trip and the subsequent folly (see AHD def’n. 2b) of coming to New Hampshire immediately afterward. Unfortunately, I am tired right now, and so I won’t be doing that until tomorrow. Check back.
As an ending note, I am in the final pages of Eggers’ You Shall Know Our Velocity!, and thank God. I am really having trouble with the end coming so swiftly, and I fear, not unfoundedly, an utter lack of resolution, which I loathe. Maybe I’ll let you know how it turns out.