My absolute favorite time of day – weekday noontime alone in a house full of people. I seem to have slept off what was getting to me. I overslept my usual 9AM by two hours – which is very unusual for me. Last night Rafal appeared at the movie theatre five minutes late.
– Where have you been, late boy?
– It has been crazy day. I am almost in tears all day.
What appears to have happened is that when Rafal went to school, he just unloaded all his problems onto his friend Salla – the Libyan with whom Kate is planning to stay until she leaves. He then goes downstairs and Kate appears to check her email and ends up talking to Salla who relays to her all that Rafal told him. You know, all the stuff they should have been saying to each other the whole time.
Rafal had told Salla that he loved Kate and Kate was surprised and evidently it may have a chance of working out. Of course, neither of them have said ANY of this to each other – it’s all from Salla’s mouth. And to be fair, who knows if he’s not telling each side what they want to hear?
So Rafal’s hopes are up, and instead of walking home with me after the movie he went down to Kate’s work to wait for her to get off at ten so that he could walk her home and talk to her.
He did walk her home. And he did NOT talk to her. Evidently this was the full extent of the conversation:
– Would you mind if I walked you home?
– No. I don’t mind.
Then 30 minutes of silence until they got home and she went to bed. I’m not seeing a whole lot of hope in this one.
Anyway, I got home and there was a bit of a party going on. Declan and Fiona and her sister Sinead and Sinead’s boyfriend the amusing dirty scam job Rory. I had something in my head so I ended up writing for a good spell in my room. I’ve been trying poetry lately, and have fantasies now of going to readings in New York coffee shops. Be part of a scene. Though I am intimidated by how good my sister’s poetry is – lightning never strikes twice, after all.
A character in a 50’s movie in the other room just said, “I only make a hundred dollars a week, and you know I can’t live on that.” Amen, brother, AMEN.
My poetry is horrendously shallow. It’s either unrequited love shit or depressed suicidal shit. I don’t feel especially suicidal right now, but as the adage goes – “old adage” would be redundant, wouldn’t it? – “Write what you know.” It becomes obvious to me that I need to experience a whole lot more until anything I have to say will be of any merit.
When I came up to the living room they were red-eyed through a few joints and strawsipping on a Brazilian concoction knows as a “Caprini” or something like that. It was some Brazilian sugar cane rum mixed with Demerrara sugar and poured over ice into a glass FULL of hundreds of little segments of lime. It tasted pretty good, as long as there was enough sugar in the mix. The nicest part was that all the limes and their juice spilling over the counter to the floor in fragrant water fountains gave the kitchen the nicest, freshest smell. A wonderful departure from the usual dank mould smell.
Demerrara sugar is wet sand crystals thick and heavy, bits of windshield crass glass brown like molasses. The rum is in a tall basket woven bottle – Ypioca Ouro. Aguar dente de Cana – distilled from sugar cane. 39% alcohol. Productores desde 1846. Mummified in wicker caning, like the bottom of an old chair. There’s a picture of an old bearded man in a turtleneck and jacket looming in the room, sipping appreciatively on a tumbler half full. An interesting advertising idea – their market must be grizzled sailors and those who want to live their lifestyles.
I ended up telling the whole Rafal/Kate story to the assembled masses as Maeve knew there was a fight but wanted to know the details. She just thinks that Kate is manipulative and is using Rafal for his room. She was there at the Kitchen Nightclub when she was dancing dirty with other boys. Everything happens when I’m not around.
Then we watched the second half of the Matrix – which really is AMAZING on a digital screen – and then went to bed. I went to bed – no one else, of course. I am the only lame one. My stomach hurt again, and all I can deduce is that alcohol is now a full-out poison to me.
So here I am – at the end of this notebook with just five shifts until my 3 day break – SEVEN until I am DONE.
So where am I?
Well, my skin blemishes disgust me, I am still lonely, shit job is almost over, our house is BURSTING with people, we have an apartment in New York, mom sent me a bit of money so Europe looks brighter on the horizon, and I’m off to notebook four!
Thank you. –