Luminous Viscosity

Today was MLK Day. I was expecting a day off work (very entitled of me). That didn't happen (we're on call) and logic didn't apply.

That set me off. Last week the unraveling with job #1 started. It'd been weeks in the making. I joked with RJ that, hey, the honeymoon had to end sometime, right?

That was indeed part of my borderline diagnosis: that black-and-white assessment with people. Either I put them on a pedestal or, once they've crossed me, I scorn. Often with no turning back.

This could explain why I have never stayed at one job for long. I always wind up disillusioned and dismayed. I cut people off before they hurt me some more. The three and half year stint at Merry Lore was a miracle.

Once again, feeling disrespected and disregarded was eating at me. I was just a hot pot about to boil over. I tried not to take it out on RJ, but suffice to say he was not unaffected.

Off to work I went, like a trooper, trying to stay positive. Or, should I say, "turn" positive. That bitter taste of resentment was not cool.

I discovered that many changes had occurred over the weekend with no advance notice. I do not like change. I tried to cope without looking like it was a great challenge.

This morning, while waiting for word on whether I was to report to work, I had major anxiety, again, regarding food, present and future, driven, always, of course, by fear of hunger. Having a semblance of control is crucial to my sanity.

I dreamt of making chicken adobo, arguably the national dish of The Philippines, with variations and versions of it across the Pacific. I missed my piggy friends (who happen to be Filipinas). It's one of those very tasty one-pot-wonders that are oh-so-simple to make. I mean it's practically a five-ingredient recipe. Yet, 1.5 decades after I've been introduced to it, I've never attempted. Until today.

I hadn't been sure if I'd have the will left in me after my shift. Yet, I shopped, I came home, I cooked. I was determined to have (real) food for the next three days, I guess. I surprised myself.

Again, the dish is a no-brainer. Minimal prepping and supervision. Hey, I'm blogging now while the sucker is simmering, aren't I? (And it's smelling mighty good around here now, might I add, like a real home.)

Food is never about food.

Tonight I just wanted to know I could take care of myself. And my hubby (or feel that I could). I just wanted to feel worthy aside from who I am at work. Work doesn't define me.

Happiness shouldn't be relying on an external source to validate you. Work hasn't been validating. So I turn to food. Still not very enlightened. But it's all I've got for now:

I don't have any children, I don't have a definite career path, I don't know where my life is going. But hey, I can cook.

Idyllic

16 months ago RJ and I moved into our condo from the house he was renting, where we spent most of our time together for two years. For the longest time, I couldn't love the condo. It was quite an adjustment.

Don't get me wrong. It's a great condo. Great view, comfortable square footage, brand new appliances. Hot water heats up virtually instantaneously, and the climate control is efficient and economical. All factors that arguably trump the house.

But there are things I miss about the house. The backyard, mostly, spending time out there with supreme privacy, watching RJ with his charcoal grill, Alley rolling around on her back on the green, "applying perfume" as I would call it. Some nights I miss having a heater that runs on gas. The rustic kitchen. Gas stove, real fire. The swing on the front lawn.

For Christ's sake, this was where I fell in love with RJ.

For months the condo did not feel like home. And boy, I tried. We tried. RJ the handy man has done numerous things to make living here convenient. But I never walked around the condo with a sense of wonder like I did at the house. The house was like a permanent fantasy vacation and I was a dream guest who never wanted to leave.

And now, post-sabbatical, what could compare? Of course the condo is drab.

At the house, I once took a self-portrait of my reflection on a hanging colander, M.C. Escher style. I thought it was brilliant.

Last night, I caught a glimpse of myself on the same colander. I surveyed the reflected environment. It was not boring. I just never looked.

It's all perspective.

Now that I am working two jobs, some days are incredibly hectic. I went from running out of ways to kill time to bemoaning not catching a break to take a shit cuz I'm always out there in transit. Some self-pity set in. I did not like that.

Earlier today I found out that I was not needed for the dinner shift tonight. I was overjoyed. Oh, the much needed rest! I had practically gone 8 straight days of always being on the go.

And then the anxiety hit: I must do something productive with this extra time! So much I'm behind on: reading, house chores, projects, financial maintenance...

Ideas ran amuck in my head. "Only so many hours!" I tweeted.

The best thing about my day is coming home to RJ. I've told him that time and again.

Today I was extra happy to come home. I verbally listed a few things I could be doing later in the evening.

"Home sweet home!" I exclaimed, beaming.

A moment later, I realized: I really meant it. This is home. And I am glad.

It took two jobs for me to find having a roof over my head a beautiful thing. Having a moment to breathe is a beautiful thing. Breathing... is a beautiful thing.

Oh, Homo Sapiens

Last night I made a quick stop at a mini mart for milk. As I walked in, I greeted the shopkeeper, who didn't respond in any way. I proceeded to check out the place even though I had only one item on my list (and would wind up getting more than one thing, as usual).

The slightly dim place was big for the inventory it was holding. The shelves looked sadly far from well stocked. A couple of freezers were empty with a sign that read, "Ask for frozen food".

When I was getting ready to pay, another customer entered the store who also happened to be an Asian female. Quite cute, too, might I add. She greeted the man of the house with the same smile and upbeatness as I had, and again he was stoic.

"Okay," I thought. "It wasn't me."

Finishing up the transaction, the shopkeeper reached for a black plastic bag intended for my loot. I informed him I did not need a bag, holding out a hand à la "Stop! In the name of love..."

The man's facial expression never changed. Maybe he didn't hear me. Maybe he didn't care. I didn't hold it against him.

I went for my goods to lift them off the counter, thinking that it must be lonely to watch this store in such a hidden away strip mall in a quiet neighborhood. I smiled again as I thanked the shopkeeper.

Just then, the man flashed a BIG GRIN.

I couldn't believe it. That really made my night.

As I've always believed: be kind, be appreciative, be considerate. Add to the positivity of the universe. Don't expect anything back.

Incidentally, I suppose being green is all of those things. Glad to be part of that force.