This morning tapped itself into consciousness just a bit too soon, but I was nonetheless well-rested. I was ready to take on the shower that, for two days, scalded my skin. This particular shower is the kind where you twist the nob to the left for hot as coded by its red color and the right for cold in blue. I turn to the left hoping I wouldn’t be poached by the end and it immediately the steam poured onto my unlucky toes from the faucet.
“Why are you trying to kill me?” I asked.
I tried to deal with the heat, assuming other people must have survived it. I shaved, shampooed and prepared to condition when I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided I would rather have a freezing cold shower than a boiling hot one and turned the knob determinedly to the right, into the blue.
The water shot down faster, harder, with a vigor I had never seen on the hot side. I’d curled myself away from the stream to escape the steamy waters, this new setting piqued my interest enough to step proudly into the center of the tub where I found the most delightfully warm, perfectly pressurized shower of clean Washington water.
Problem solved, regular shower standards and practices were reinstated and I felt great as I stepped onto my brand new Miller High Life bath mat (that I got for a dollar. One dollar, people). I used my new blow dryer to dress these tresses with fancy product from Aveda. I, Instead of getting the gloss like I usually do in the dark blue bottle, went for the bottle of a lighter shade and it’s product is a bit sticky. I didn’t have any soap by the sink yet so I reached across the tub for my body wash and fell on the side of the tub, right across the middle of my stomach. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt for more than five minutes, but as the wind was knocked out of me I felt a little defeated.
I’d evidently won a battle, but not the war against this new tub. I’m plotting my revenge accordingly.
Butterfly picked me up for meditation and we headed down a road that I have a feeling I’m going know like the back of my hand one day. After a few blocks we realized the traffic lights were off. Most people, the ones who at least skimmed their driver books way back in their teens, treated each intersection as a four-way stop. One did not. So there was a car accident right in front of us on the next block. We maneuvered around the scene unscathed and made it to meditation.
Our leader was an exceedingly happy Canadian man with white hair, white teeth and white pants. He almost gleamed at us and told stories about his family members. One of this guy’s cousins won a car. He taught us how to find our “peace twinkies” in the styles of fixed point mantric and visualization meditation. I learned that my imagination has a tendency to run away with itself when I visualize, so mantras are definitely the way to go for me.
At the farmer’s market I got a call from my Aunt Gloria. She asked me if I’d asked mom to send me something, which I hadn’t specifically but may have unintentionally implied something about anti-frizz serum.
“Oh well, she must have been looking for something when she went through your boxes and found a pouch with a pipe in it and asked me if it was a crack pipe.”
“Yeah, and she asked me if that might be why you lost all your get-up-and-go.”
“What?” It was the only thing I could think to say.
“What?” My aunt Gloria makes nothing easy.
“Oh she found the pipe. Yeah, no. That’s not why I got depressed. I was depressed because I gave my all to corporate companies who all eventually dumped me, never went to college and because I couldn’t even get a job at 7-11. The pipe was a gift (which wasn’t technically a lie) and I still have get-up-and-g0 because I got up and went [to Seattle]. I’m going to call her.”
“No, no, no,” she said, “don’t call her,” which, to me, implies it wasn’t that big of a deal.
The conversation ended awkwardly.
I waited about an hour before I got up the nerve to call Mommy. She didn’t answer on the house phone or either of her cell phones.
“I’m not on crack,” I promised the answering machine.
Butterfly and I lunched at Tandoor. There’s nothing quite as comforting as Indian food. I ordered the curry chicken at a heat point of 5. Butterfly had this amazing chicken in yummy spinach sauce.
Next there was coffee at Trabant on “the Ave” which is really called University Avenue. Guess what’s nearby. A university! In fact, THE University of Washington, Seattle. So the coffee shop was filled with Huskies. Some Huskies were studying. Some Huskies were doodling. I watched the Huskies in their natural environment while sipping a vanilla latte breve, hold the ice.
Life is different now, I thought.
Down the Ave we met Mary at a vintage shop where Bruce Lee’s studio used to be and an international shop where everything was too cute.
Too cute, indeed.
Urban Outfitters is still that store for the hopelessly trendy stuff I see on mannequins and in coffee shops which is all cool, but could be made easily at home yet I still feel inclined to buy. I left there with ideas for our new home.
The day was good and ended with hugs all around. I have apples and bananas on my window sill thanks to my newest sister, there are at least four beers and my inner hippy purrs to Stuck In the Middle with you.
Brianna Estella Brumfield