The morning routine is shaping up as pretty comfortable, not greatly changed from the old one. Make a cup of coffee in the apartment; sip it while reading the paper and watching the pre-recorded TV news. But in order to get anything to eat, I need to dress and leave the room. This kinda messes things up. The flow would be better if I could just eat adequately up here before dressing.
I just may in future start breakfasting on a meal-replacement drink. Not Soylent, although that would work. There’s another of the meal-replacement companies I follow that will sometime soon release a low-carb drink that I’ll try.
Today I wanted to drive to the YMCA. So I dressed in exercise clothes and went down to the dining room. When it is open, there is also an area with take-away food in a refrigerator. I had never checked it before. The selection for breakfast was not great. I took a bag with half a raisin bagel and a squeeze tube of Philly cream cheese. I noshed on this while driving to the Y.
On return from the Y, I did two errands. One was to stop at the UPS store and hand in the AT&T modem. They had sent me instructions and a sheet with a bar-code to print, and return was just that easy: hand the device and the sheet over the counter, get a receipt. So that was nice.
Not so nice was the next item: I went to my former home on Tasso street to pick up a couple of items. With many of the furniture items gone it has a vacant, neglected air that is really saddening.
Here I need to write about something that happened Saturday. There was so much to describe on that move-out day, and I skipped this, but pulling away from the house today I remembered it and think it was important to put down.
Saturday, after the truck had been loaded, I got in the car and started the drive to Channing House, and no surprise, was hit by strong emotions at the thought of leaving home. I was weeping as I drove, but part of the emotion was a kind of rage and determination. I was shouting our loud, lecturing myself, about You planned this; you mean this; it was a great house but and at this point it turned into a kind of chant or curse, no more fucking a/c breakdowns, no more fucking roof rats, no more fucking earthquake insurance, no more fucking noisy refrigerator, no more fucking worn-out dishwasher … and on for a couple of blocks naming all the irritations and stresses that came along with home ownership. So when I headed down the ramp into the C.H. garage I still had wet cheeks but was also felt oddly purged. During the last couple of weeks there were so many occasions when “This is the last time I’ll ever…” But there were lots of things that were good to never do again.
Today, pulling away, I was sad, but mostly sad because the place that had been home, didn’t feel like home any more. Another shard, falling away.
Back at CH I took a shower and got ready to go out again when the Wanda the 6th floor housekeeper knocked. I’d met her in the hall yesterday and was told that Tuesday was the day for her to clean my unit. I’d suggested Thursdays would be better because I was out all day. Now she told me that Thursdays at 2:30 would be her time in the future. Very accommodating.
I drove to FOPAL and put in an hour culling, pricing and shelving computer books. Then I felt rather feeble and tired, and realized, oh, right, I hadn’t had anything to eat all day but half a bagel. I got a sandwich at the nearby store and sat in the car to eat it. After a bit of rest, I put in two hours sorting before coming back.
Deborah had told me that someone was coming to see the sofa tonight so I planned to go out once again for that. But while I was eating dinner, I got another text; the person wasn’t coming. That left it open to stay at CH and see the second in a series of Hollywood musicals, Fred and Ginger in Swing Time. It’s the one with “This Is a Fine Romance”. Silly plot; two or three spectacular dance sequences.
Back in the room at 9, I realized I have SYTYCD on the DVR from yesterday. I think I’ll sit up and watch it.