Cafe Hitch-hike

2020-07-14

There's also today

Rather than spending a good chunk of a Saturday with cleaning house, I finally came up with a system where I stagger it. Tonight's chores were dog washing and grooming (dang, that dog's hair has gotten thicker with age), some laundry (which includes putting it away), and changing the bedding. There's all kinds of crap I can't do with the same manic gusto with which I'm used to running on. I reluctantly embrace the changes that come with my late 40s.

The drag is I still do a full day's of work, and then jump onto chores like this for a couple of hours. But, it means I can spend Saturday morning languishing from my chillax Fridays. It also means that I finally get to tasks that remained undone forever (like the little box of broken necklaces and bracelets... they made it into a box, so maybe I can get some clasps to fix most of them myself).

The virus... I inhabit the region of one of its hotspots. I attended an online meeting of my employer who do have plans (which are subject to change). I should had asked if their PR has a gameplan for when a student kicks up a fuss about the mask requirements, gets disciplined (which they will, according to plan and current rules), and then we're harshly rebuked by national right-wing news. Well, the grand pubahs said they are planning for civil unrest and inclement weather since we've been in hurricane seasons for a month and a half. I can hardly wait.

We were told we could had reported to the building this week, but that changed thanks to the spike in positive cases. It's ok, I don't have to go back. I've continuously found something highly productive and educational to do. Now that I have a more refined taste for what my building was really like, I have very little appetite to return to it or what it was. If this virus makes the building tumble, it would not be a bad thing. It is so toxic that the energies of destruction and rebirth would be appropriate for reconfiguring it into something better, or even adequate.

The mother of my friend, College John, passed away earlier today after a long battle with lung cancer. Marla came from a blue collar background and attended a two-year college course while John was a wee little one, and that was where she discovered she was a genius (no kidding). She became a mechanical engineer and wore the pants in the family. John and Marla had a close relationship where they talked about science and other intellectual pursuits. She was always good to me, and I'd usually stop in to see her and John Sr. when I'd drive through their town when I was on my way to the west coast of Florida and visited John.

I talked to John over the weekend to see how he was doing, and I thought he could use someone to talk to. He was supposed to come over last week, but his mother's health took a turn for the worse and she was put in hospice care. Marla, who was used to always being commander-in-chief, had an extremely difficult time with her diagnosis and all the complications it brought. She routinely told John she wanted to die, she hated her life, and would had left his father if she were in a better state.

Marla entered hospice with the same sense of command; she wanted to pursue other treatments so she could get some tasks done before she passed away. Knowing Marla, I was sure she took care of the most important matters. I told John I was sure he and his dad would figure out what to do. She had a will, so that probably would had taken care of the most important matters. I wasn't surprised that she would try to handle her end-of-life matters the same way she handled everything else.

I felt very sad for John and his father. I also felt a sense of relief to imagine Marla not being in that pain, and for John not to endure more of it. It also pokes my heart to have to say goodbye to another person. If they have a funeral for Marla, I sure hope to go. I understand fully that funerals are for the deceased, and especially for the people they left behind.

It's one of those times, again, where life hints it can give me something to really cry about. It's all right here, it really is. My newly bathed puppy is curled up next to meet and smells good (at least to the human standards), and I'm listening to some good trip-hop and drinking a cold beer.

And my mind sometimes hops to a delicious memory... Maybe the first time Rafael and I had a beautiful dance at a graduation party, or the time the chemistry between me and someone else literally filled my living room. Riding on the back of Remy's Harley through The Keys under the blazing hot sun. Dancing and putting up Christmas decorations with my niece at my sister's house. Or, there's many times where Miss Marley slept peacefully in my lap over... There's those, and then there's times when going out for a burger with Rafa feels like an adventure because we found something or had conversations with strangers we never anticipated. There's the memories, and there's also today.

downwind | upstream