For no real reason, I get a little grossed out by how often my neighbor uses his air conditioning. There is the nicest breeze right now and it's only 73° out. Open your windows, man! Let the outside in!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Morning, 9.21.11
I'll tell you the story of this morning now, while it is still fairly fresh:
This morning I was walking to the busstop and I passed a crazy person. He was a man in his mid-to-late 50's, wearing denim overalls. As I got closer to him, I realized he was talking to himself. Passing him, I heard him say "God bless America. God bless Donald Trump. God bless Tiger Woods. They know how to get their shit." At this point, I said quietly, "God bless crazy people." I am not sure if he heard this, or was responding to it, but as the distance between us slowly widened, he raised his voice to make sure I heard all he said--and it began to seem directed at me, instead of just into the space. "God bless 'em. God bless the lesbians, they like to lay down with 14 year old girls. God bless the Bay Area, they let the perverts walk the streets. God bless the Bay Area, full of queers..." On and on, relentlessly, as the distance increased. At one point, I thought I'd lost him. I wanted to cry. I was exhausted physically/mentally, and this barrage of text was exhausting me emotionally/spiritually. I breathed. I focused on the blue of the sky. I did not cry.
At the crosswalk just before the transit center, waiting for the light to change, I felt a person inches from my left shoulder, and heard a woman's voice say, "It's your hair." I turned and saw a vagrant woman, shorter than me by a few inches, eyes aligned with mine. She said "I thought you had bruises on your neck, but it was just your curls." I put my hand on her shoulder and said "I won't let anyone bruise me." We smiled at each other. The light changed, the group of us waiting crossed. Peripherally, I noticed the overalls man. He was momentarily silent, it seemed, but as the group crossed, he started in on his litany again.
But this time, I couldn't really hear it, and it wasn't touching me. That woman's concern -- thinking that I may have been bruised, and seemingly grateful that I was unharmed -- it protected me and helped me let go of his anger. It was never mine to take on in the first place. I got on the bus, knowing instinctively that he was going to get on as well, and so I sat next to a young female student, so that he could not sit next to me. Sure enough, overalls man got on the bus, still muttering his mixed blessings. I got my headphones in just before he sat in the seat behind me, and Beirut filled my ears, rather than his voice. When I got to my office, I discovered that beautiful "My Favorite Memory" video and this time I did cry -- but they were tears of gratitude and joy, not the tears of frustration and exhaustion I nearly cried earlier. I was at peace. Peace. It's a gift we get to give ourselves.
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