2.9
It sounded like I was eating an apple, she said, although they were only radishes, raw and whole. She used to have a garden for lettuce (and household help and a husband (now dead) and a business (now defunct)). For dinner, she eats lean cuisine and does most of her shopping at Ralph's. She said she's never seen a radish that large. The small ones have more spice. Does she have a green thumb? She doesn't know. Perhaps for house-plants. She has many; I told her I have none. She looked fresh today - she had been to the park to work on the machines. On our way out, there was no light, and she tripped on the concrete, and fell on her hand, and sat there, legs in-front, saying, "Where is my phone? Where are my keys? My hand couldn't break my fall."
3.2
3.10
She comes in with a jug of milk and a cinnamon-roll from the 7/11 and takes the roll from it's bag and begins to eat at the aluminum table. She rests the roll on the bag on the aluminum so that it sticks a bit to the table. Milk, today, I say: and she says yes. She feels light-headed. She takes a strong inward sniff - a perpetual interior mucus. I look in the eyes: wide bright-blue. She gives a nice impression, of pale pinks and blues and an arched brow and scattered bangs and hair pulled off in a low ponytail. But it repels a closer look - her skin grows fuzzy, muddy, a sweaty over-tired sheen and thick mascara and the blue eyes glassed over. She has glasses with no rims. She drops all the papers and her phone rings, like a horn. Which she doesn't answer. I complain about the others. She tells me I need a perceptual shift. She is certified as a life coach. She listens to her children sometimes, like a coach, rather than a mother. They're grown. Her speech is all sh'sch'ssh'sch's, all lips and tongue, none of the hollow depth of the throat. She reaches out to me. I move away. Like a mother or a friend, she touches my knee. She says "now" "now" "now" and jerks to the task at hand. Her arm aches. She licks her fingers to shift the papers. I called her last-week while she was vacuuming. She is setting up the home-office. All her clients came with her (a boon). I haven't yet mentioned her age - she is senior. Her hair is platinum- dyed - and her lips look like she might have gotten them pumped but I can't be sure. It all went down when her husband grew ill. They'd had three houses (one in Tahoe) and a cook who made eclairs. They had a good run: this is how she put it: like a good run at the casino. She bares no ill-will. She crunches and sucks her life-savers. I smell the fruit.
3.11
I will lather myself and wash it off. I will lather my body and then lather the dishes in the sink. I will drink tea. I will drink the pink water from boiling the beets. I will sit in my thin cotton robe and listen to the birds and the cars and the smell of wooden earth and sage coming from the outside. I will let the exterior light mix with the interior lamp.
3.10
J and D have matching ziplock bags of pretzels. I told J I like his bag more. It's true. I sit between them at the table. J copies my phrase onto a post-it-note and draws around it: I was talking about the person N is writing about: I said it's all about masturbation - "marxist masturbation." So he wrote that down and drew around it. All his drawings are the same - neat interlocking black-and-white lines. He thinks its spiritual: this inter-netting of lines: multiple strands becoming one. He doesn't get it, what I'm talking about. I tell him he's a reverse elitist. D does not hear us. She thinks out-loud and so I help her. She feels my anger towards her. I sit with her and tell her what she's doing is no good. There's a glitch in the system. It is through no fault of her own.
4.20
She got milk and lemon-cake from Starbucks on her way in. J told me they like to hear us argue. It's a form of entertainment, to listen. They put ice in the milk. J asked: is that a new drink they do? The white seems enticing until you know what it is.
We print out a P&L. Separate the cars out so she knows how much she spends on each. I say the cars aren't about functionality they're about aesthetics. Just like the rouge on her cheeks - although the rouge gets locked in sweat. She laughs at me. She says: I know I bother you. Jane is in a bad mood today she says. Jane: You haven't had your coffee. I have I say. I point to my cup. Everyone in the office except for her have a name that begins with "J." J: she says. J: we went to China Buffet. I was meaning to tell you. We had the hot-fudge-sundae.
I complain to J about D. J complains to me about J#2. J#2 complains to me about J#3. J#3 begins to cry. I put my hand to J#3's shoulder. She calls J#2 cold, horrible. J#2 gets in a fight with D. He says to me: what was that about? Did I order the brass stencils? J opens the small box that contains the brass stencils. J#3 will label the molds with the stencils. J#2's eyes are red from overwork. He says it's about getting the job done. Why grow emotional? We are not children.
Rice Pudding
BY A. A. MILNE
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She’s crying with all her might and main,
And she won’t eat her dinner—rice pudding again—
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
I’ve promised her dolls and a daisy-chain,
And a book about animals—all in vain—
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She’s perfectly well, and she hasn’t a pain;
But, look at her, now she’s beginning again!
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
I’ve promised her sweets and a ride in the train,
And I’ve begged her to stop for a bit and explain—
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She’s perfectly well, and she hasn’t a pain,
And it’s lovely rice pudding for dinner again!—
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
At the end of the day, I tell J#3 that D&I bicker. K says: yes, like you're sisters. Earlier I spoke with J#2. I, too, have walked away. He caught her in lying. She mirrors the people she likes. I tell them I spend all my time analyzing people. I provide little comments about myself to build sympathy-empathy-I-too-see-you but instead it pushes me apart.
The light was still bright out. The room had gained a slight chill. The metal desk was being cleared of paper. My body was leaning over the drawer - the height of my chest, looking inside, putting the paper away. K's hair was fresh and soft about his head. He said people assumes he eats organic food. Someone asked him if he models - because of his hair, this way, soft.