I ate a "bowl" yesterday after the gym. Went to a place called "Bol." Black rice, broccoli, mushrooms, chicken, pickled red onions, and cilantro. Maybe it was the mushrooms. Or maybe it was that I had worked out too hard for too long that day as I try to bring myself back from the brink. After I ate, I dropped into a hot Epsom salt tub. And then I began to feel. . . weird. My stomach looked like a zeppelin. It was fairly terrifying. When I drained the water from the tub, I just sat for a very long time. I was in some kind of dazed trance.
When it was time to go see my mother, I was tempted to call her and say I wouldn't make it. I decided to have a Campari for digestive purposes first. And when that was done, I thought it would be a mistake to simply sit in the house for the rest of the afternoon and evening, so, stoically, heroically, I climbed into the car and drove through the rain.
But I wasn't feeling well, and so I told my mother.
"It might have been the bowl I ate."
"What kind was it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Was it Chinese?"
I got flustered.
"It was a bowl. What do you mean?"
"When Sylvia came over the other day, she stopped at a Chinese restaurant."
I looked at my mother with a silent "?!?," palms up, eyes wide, head forward.
"She got a bowl."
"O.K. What makes it Chinese?"
"The restaurant, I guess. They have different kinds. . . Chinese, Mexican, Italian. . . ."
"I don't know. . . it was a bowl."
"But what kind of restaurant was it?"
I was feeling worse.
"A big limb fell in my yard. I can't move it. It was half in the street, so I pulled it into the yard."
"You should have pushed it into the street."
I sat for awhile watching the clouds.
"O.K. I'm going to look at the limb."
It wasn't big. I pulled it over to the place where the garage collectors would get it, then put my fight foot on it and pulled the end up with my left hand. Holy shit. . . I'm getting old. My right knee is the bad one. My left side is all broken. My back is tweaked. I pulled the limb and about fell over. WTF? I tried again and got it to crack, then break. I stepped on another part and went through the same ballet. When I piled the pieces up to put them in the can, I was huffing and puffing like I'd just run a sprint.
I started to get the trash can, but my mother told me not to. The trash guys didn't come until tomorrow.
"Thanks. I'll put them in the can tomorrow."
Her phone rang. It was her friend, so I took the opportunity to say so long. I was feeling punky. All I wanted to do was lie on the couch and watch television.
When I got home, the cable was out. No internet, no t.v. Great. Maybe a whiskey would help. I got my phone. It would be my lifeline the rest of the evening. There were texts. I put on my Apple Music station and connected my phone to the bluetooth speaker. At least I had that. I sat back on the couch and sipped the scotch.
"Surviving the storm?," my friend texted.
"My internet is out. Sucks. Everything is on my phone tonight. Do you have Spectrum? Thank god whiskey is analog 😂
But I have to make a liquor store run. I have the best Apple Music playlist in the universe, though. It is, though, as is my nature, very melancholy and romantic. I don’t know anyone who has Apple Music, though. So tonight it is sad songs and drink."
"I still have a few playlists on Apple Music. Sometimes my car Bluetooth will randomly default to it.🤣"
So. . . maybe it was the sickness. . . maybe it was the drink. . . but I foolishly sent her my Apple Music playlist.
"You may or may not like it, but here it is. . . . Music is so personal, though, it is weird to share. You never know what sounds will speak to someone."
"Agreed. But it’s a window into another person’s soul."
"So—there is my soul 😱"
"I'll let you know."
I sat listening to the playlist. . . and I didn't recognize most of the songs. Jesus. . . what was I thinking? This was a horror show. Nothing sounded the same. I was like some drunken teenage boy sending that to her. I really needed to either quit drinking or remember not to text when I am. WTF?
Oh. . . the line went dead. I haven't heard back. Whatever. I'll bet those grapes were sour, anyway.
I slept well enough and got up at six. The maids come today, so I had things to prepare. I went to the kitchen and started the coffee, then came back to strip the bed. That is when I remembered the internet. Shit. What if it wasn't restored yet. I put the bedding in the washer and went to my computer. Bingo! I read the notice from the cable company. It had been restored. . . two minutes before!
And so, my friends, I am able to share with you my tale.
I should have simply told my mother, "California."
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