falling up

hilarious avalanche of metaphor aside, and no chicken little looking skyward and saying otherwise, the floors are falling. and weaving. and undullating. he mentioned it in our 1st meeting and showed some of the damage wrought in our 2nd. cracked plaster; massive crown moulding growing ever more independent from the ceiling; banquettes divorcing from the walls; the floor in the bar caving centerwise; drawers and doors refusing to stay shut. more often than not i realize my toes are higher than my heels while standing still. or i'm navigating soft gullies and hills on the formerly gorgeous teak floors. numerous cracked pipes have been leaking hot water for years and the foundation is a complete wreck. we'll close in a few weeks, lift the place up and build a new stronger base.

ironic, eh?

no longer can i sleep past 7:00. 8:00 seems a long-gone fantasy of indolence. if i were a dilbertessa and home in front of american idol, it would be one thing, but somewhere along the corporate cultural curve 55+ hours became the norm for people like me. why do so many of the other managers in the company have trouble meeting this standard? i MAKE myself go home, knowing how early the alarm is set. however, i now steadfastly refuse to work from home. i'd rather go in 2 hours before anybody else gets to the restaurant or office to work in solitude. and clock my damn time.

part of my restlessness comes from having to train my superiors and assistants. accustomed to doing all the ins-and-outs of admin myself, i sometimes have assumed these people would *know* information i need, or should have retained for me. well, we know where that ass-word has led me. 2 steps forward and 1 step back. ayuh. the owner has compassionately said i don't need to climb everest in a day, and he's pleased with my output. fine. but the myopic snail's pace of certain developments makes me nutty. i sent pages to be typed and sent to all the stores. it took 6 days, were not the in form i approved, had typos and went out anyway. why can't i do it myself, right the 1st time, in a few minutes? arrrgh.

i'm on a learning curve too. these incidents have shown me everything, no matter how seemingly small, needs to be articulated. write it down. keep the e-mails. hard copies of edits and approved drafts. be 10 days ahead of where i'd like to be. p-r-i-o-r-i-t-i-z-e.

the shut-down of this location will bring me some mercy, and allow me to focus on beverage more than i've been able. not enough rungs on the hat-rack lately. it will also give my spine a chance to straighten the hell back up, since it's like treading jello all day and night.

however, i can thank the crushing clock for pushing away the indulgence of introspection and my wont of pulling everything inwards. the sadness, the frustration, the uncertainty and the pretend-it-just-ain't-so of all that led to some very unpleasant manifestations. in the months between march and may i crashed badly. so much was out of my control, i let go of even the few things i could. productivity, a more positive outlook, physical activity (finally), schedules and again being part of the fabric of work and society are bringing me back around. there are certain ways i want to see myself. sooner, rather than later.

fútbol en la medianoche

mostly, it's been incredibly early mornings. he lives just a short drive by lexus from where he's got me based. although not many miles, clearly by "t" it takes me many more minutes.

this was my first late night out there and i was frantic about catching the last (better still, 2nd to last) train. i did. i cannot miss it; it will be 90 million dollars. or something. the equivalent really, since every cent now is ledgered and promised.

until i switched lines, it was empty and quiet. soooooo late and now sharing the destination of my neighbors: big hands, swollen, gnarled and bleached, pruney and sore; forearms scarred from sautee pans, hot fry grease, knives and tatts. men. brown men. bleary-eyed and smelling of cleanser, oil and too much cologne. loud. noisy. chatter. guys who work ridiculously hard, blowing off a bit of steam. i'll get used to it.

my stop. fresh air.
the last fields are nearly finished, the turf laid. goalposts and fences not quite.

handful of guys kicking around a ball. in the dark. extra dark. it's a dawn to dusk kinda thing. all sorts of inflammatory nonsense on the building message board. gates, locks, constables. ack. i was glad those guys were there. it meant i wasn't wandering alone too late at night. i kept thinking another sort of person would have called the cops.

i hope they enjoy the summer nights too. the park and playing fields aren't just for us. ya know?

where we find ourselves

from fretting about t-fare to 14-hour days, my schedule has gone from zero to 80 in a blink. yesterday at last entirely free, i refused to heed to the hounding calls of projects and salespeople. bah. it can all wait. at least a day.

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in spike heels and a power suit, obviously pressed for time, she scolded and pulled. he twisted in his collar and backpedaled fiercely. one more painful yank and he finally surrendered. he tried to show her he wasn't ready to come home, so he had to now plop, plop, plop three big turds on the marble floor. she cooed and comforted. a magnificent husky, his evacuation mid-stride would have been admirable if he'd been at his proper latitude, leashed to a moving sled team, but was hardly acceptable in an urban lobby. her actions and reactions were so backward and bad, i wanted to kidnap the dog then and there. why did she have the quintessential team/work dog who must spend all day alone, cooped up and purposeless? hasn't she read or watched anything about training him? he couldn't choose in whose home he wound up, but shouldn't she have ethically considered a dog more suited for her lifestyle? or perhaps no dog at all?

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a walk in the sun and then an australian movie based on a carver story. quietly intense performances burned with the author's familiar theme of love, its absence burdening lives and marriages and the consequent eroding of self and identity. a person who suddenly realizes him- or herself in a thoroughly unsuitable situation or companionship -- unfit as mother, wife, workaday dad, small-town neighbor. how sudden tragedy affects change, but not really. people and place remain the same at their centers. yes. they do. the puzzle pieces do not always fit. no matter how much we thought they would and wish it so.

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when the movie broke, i needed room to breathe. the sun was clear and friendly, the air bright, the river shiny. i meandered along the charles and let the same breeze that powered all those sails carry me home at last. i'm a piece of just one. always?