Personally, I'll be very happy when the weather ebbs into the soothing sanctity of sweater weather re-acquaints itself with the Northwest Louisiana area. I only wish it would hurry up and get here. In fact, I'd be willing to wager that each and every non-heat enthusiast is praying from some rain-soaked relief in any form, even if it makes its venture in the form of a decaying tropical storm weakening from its initial coastal impact; however, the two storms that promised us torrents and mild relief melted to nothingness before coming too far inland.
Meanwhile, the ways and means and pursuits of my life are anything other than miserable or unfortunate. I managed to accumulate thirty-six clocked-in hours by the time I clocked out from Thursday's shift; so, I knew that I would be able to only work a few short hours on Friday morning before taking the day off to accomplish the list of to-dos that have been staring at me from the pages of my personal calendar/planner and the gleaming face of the dry erase board affixed to the back of my bedroom door. In a few short hours after leaving Garden Park around eleven in the morning, I'd managed the one-way streets of downtown Shreveport and braved the hoi polloi mixing in the Caddo Parish Courthouse to pay an exorbitant amount for copies of all reports and records related to my past, I'd driven out to the Pines Treatment Center to pick up the discharge papers from the August day of my graduation (five years ago, tomorrow, as a matter of fact), and I came home to write up a full narrative history of what my life was like, what happened, and how things have changed up till today. It's not like I've never told my story before, nor could I argue that I've never had to write it all down. But working and writing your responses to step work is much different, just as writing a brief autobiography is different.
With step work, you're just eager to get it all down, confirming the parts that make up the whole of your life story. Writing the narrative which could, honestly, either make or break my career and on which all future endeavors to success are based is an experience in and of itself. In my desperate attempt to stand out from the others who are submitting similar fragments, I struggled to create something as interesting and honest as possible. When I read the rough draft aloud to Ragan and Mandi at their Saturday morning brunch, I felt that my mission was accomplished. Now, I just have to re-write the copy and make a few here and there tweaks before tying it up and printing it out, ready for submission. Should I be so bold to state that I believe my future's in the bag? I'd like to write just that, but I won't because pragmatism tells me to be a bit bashful and unassuming, sit back, be honest, and jump in whenever I'm asked. Only time will tell.
Yesterday was just as interesting and productive. Following brunch, I ran to see Gena at the Peace of Mind Center to re-up on all my favorite incenses and was turned onto a new option: Moldavite, which Gena assured me was quite popular and well worth the expense. Although I burned two sticks simultaneously last night, I'm planning to save those remaining for relaxation, meditation, prayer, higher powered thinking, and sleep. The packaging suggests that Moldavite is the result of an asteroidal impact with Earth millions of years ago whose benefits range from more positive thinking, more vivid and powerful dreams, proven strength to relaxation... all the stuff that sounds wonderful and alluring and well worth the five-fifty or so it took to purchase the package. After Peace of Mind, I braved the aisles at the Gucci Brookshire's on Line Avenue, spent much more than I planned, then came home to complete the August issue of NSU Shreveport's SNA Nightingale, the student produced, student nurses newsletter, our back-to-class issue.
Finally, I received my late-afternoon, early evening phone calls from Daniel, who seemed a bit distant or aloof or maybe just pensive. I decided to shrug off any definitive plans early on in favor of climbing on the couch and watching a truly amazing and thought provoking documentary circa 1978 called "Word Is Out," billed as twenty-six conversations with gay men and women. Although the hairstyles and clothing and some the idiomatic expressions are a bit dated, the power of these brave souls discussing life and love and growing up gay is apparent. The topics of truth and loyalty and self-confidence and self acceptance and love are beautiful no matter from the time or person they are emitted. Before it was over, Daniel called again, ready to roll and eager to get together. We planned to come back to my house, veg on junk food, and watch one of the DVD's that have been sitting on my shelf for more than a week and begging to finally be watched. Instead, we ended up in the kitchen all night. I made tuna and he told me stories about his youth. We ate intermittent tuna sandwiches sliced into triangles and he eagerly devoured his pieces exclaiming how great the tuna was. We smoked a bunch of cigarettes and I downed a Monster and we talked more. And talked. And talked. And talked. When the sun began to make its early morning appearance, we snuggled together on the couch (funny how much cooler the house is in the pre-dawn hours... in fact, it's downright cold at times), watching a re-run on TVLand and fell asleep there before jumping up around eight and deciding to move to our bed where we slept late. Inexcusably late. Wonderfully late. So late that by the time we finally decided to work our way from bed to caffeine, the house was already hot and we both required showers and shaves and re-donned jogging pants and tee shirts and old running shorts. He fell back asleep under the ceiling fan that's rotating on its highest setting; below its light breeze, he played with Mary Louise until, it seems, the heat overtook him and he gave into a nap.
Chicken's on the counter, defrosting for pasta salads. Sunday afternoon NPR is running through Windows Media Player on my computer. The sig fig is starting to move around. I just looked back there and Mary Louise is passed out beside him. A couple of lazy lugs. But I love 'em.
Life is really good today. Really hot. But really really good.
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