Steph left for Florida Tuesday night to see some old and new friends, so between working (both my “real world” job with the State of Ohio and my part-time bookstore job) and being with Susie, my idea of leisure time has been sleep. It’s not that I don’t love my readers, it’s just that I’ve been so exhausted that the end result of any session at the keyboard would not have resembled English.
Today begins my last week at the bookstore. (I must be good at what I do, because twice my supervisor has emailed me and asked me to stay longer.) I am eager for the 13-hour days to end, but a look at my finances made me realize I’d be crazy to turn this down. Today was the one Sunday per quarter the bookstore was open (albeit for only four hours), and every time a cart full of returns and buybacks materialized, yours truly was in and out of the stacks, shelving them.
Susie and her drama class went to see a matinée performance of West Side Story at Eastmoor Academy last week, which was a welcome break from the regular school day. When I came home from work, Susie left a stellar report card on my keyboard for me to sign. (The keyboard is the only place where you can leave something and be sure I’ll find it. The rest of this desk makes me look like I’m auditioning for Hoarders.)
Tonight I served lasagna for dinner, and put my culinary skills to work. Preheat the oven to 375º, put the lasagna in, set the timer for 45 minutes. I’ve downloaded the recipe for tuna casserole, and that may be dinner tomorrow night. Quite a filling meal, and none of its ingredients are that expensive.
|Never saw the show, but the title card is appropriate
for describing my life since Tuesday night.
Susie and I went to the First Friday potluck at church on–when else?–Friday evening. We were invited to a soccer game at Crew Stadium (against FC Dallas), but declined. I am not a sports fan, and neither is Susie, plus we were under-dressed. By the time the game ended, the temperature would have been in the 30s. Susie was already starting to nod off as we were on the bus headed to church, and I wasn’t surprised when she headed straight to bed once we came home, save for a cursory glance at her email.
Pat took me to lunch at the Saigon Palace Friday afternoon, and the sesame chicken meal was filling enough that I debated not eating anything at First Friday.
Susie’s godmother Cynthia took her to Cirque de la Symphonie last night at the Ohio Theater. I ate dinner at the McDonald’s on campus, and was so wiped out that I considered taking the bus the 1.3 miles. But I didn’t. I hoofed it the entire way, and even made the trip a little longer by using side streets and back alleys, instead of going all the way to High St. and walking north. (I know how contradictory it sounds–walk a mile to eat fast food. It’s like running a marathon where the prize is a carton of cigarettes.) I nursed a few Diet Cokes, read a chapter of Secrets Can Be Murder, and wrote in my diary, and made sure I was home before Cynthia and Susie returned.
Next Saturday will be my last bookselling day, until spring quarter winds down at the beginning of June. I have accounts at SnagAJob.com and other job-search sites, looking for part-time work, but I’m not sure just how much my heart is really in it. I’m pleasantly surprised by how much I’m enjoying the bookstore job. As I apply for part-time jobs, my attitude resembles a line I read in an old “Family Circus” cartoon. The friend of one of the boys in the comic says, “Go ask your mom if we can play on the roof!” The little boy reluctantly walks toward the house, saying, “Okay, but I hope she says no.”
I switched my Facebook status to “single” just before Steph departed for Florida. We are still married in the eyes of the law, but we are, at best, roommates right now. We posted a joint letter last fall about our intention to divorce, both as a Google document and as a Note on Facebook, but I could tell that not everyone had seen it. A co-worker of mine, who is also a Facebook friend, asked me about my new status when she saw me at work the other day. I knew that she did not know about our divorce plans–she hadn’t read the letter. I could tell because it wasn’t common knowledge around the agency within minutes. (In 1948, Tex Williams recorded the song “Don’t Telephone, Don’t Telegraph, Tell a Woman”, saying this was the fastest way to spread news. Dated but true.)