Sky rockets in flight, aftertnoon delight...

There are lots of things that remind me of my old job. Particularly, strawberries in a white bowl---in the afternoon. Most days I used to prepare platters for clients or potential meetings. An afternoon snack if you will. Strawberries and almonds, crackers with a peppered goat cheese or maybe some brie. I'd always sneak a few back to my desk so I didn't have to be seen by clients---nibbling. That's the last thing anyone wants to see, the fat receptionist canoodling with a strawberry and expensive cheese. Actually that's a fear of most over weight people---to be seen eating while others are not---especially on the west side of Los Angeles. 

So while washing these beauties I began to feel a twinge of sadness as I looked out the kitchen window. Remembering how I used to look into the window of Angela's office when I did it at work. It always made me laugh how concentrated she was, rarely looking up at me. Sometimes I'd make faces at her to see if she'd break or if I could do it fast enough without her noticing.This happens sometimes. I'll be somewhere or doing something and it will instantly take me back. Back to when-I-had-a-job land. And its not even that it was the best place or time on earth, but it was important, vastly different from now...for obvious reasons and some untold but close to my heart.

This feels like getting over a bad breakup, losing a job. Mourning over the loss of the everyday, the drifting of friendships, memories floating in and out of the current tide. Like a raft I can't seem to get my damn leg over. For those who know me this is a hard notion to understand. Because like a bad relationship, I was at odds with the entire operation when they let me go. Most say, "but you hated it so much there, wasn't it time for a change anyway??" Sure it was but that doesn't erase the position that that job held in my life. It doesn't answer the question of what am I supposed to do now? How long can you really be on unemployment? Am I really like the millions of other Americans out there without a job and an outlook decidedly pretty fucking bleak?

Not that being a receptionist was making any waves in life. But it felt good when people asked me what I did, to say, " I work at a post house in Santa Monica." And leave it at that. Most people didn't push any further. And I got to walk away with them probably thinking somewhat highly of me and no one was the wiser. Which is just a charade I guess right? a lie. But it was a good one. Good enough for the time. And now I feel like I've got nothin.

And then I sit at the table and look across the room and see the boy, relaxing and playing video games. With the dog snuggled up to the side of his thigh. I think about how he's sitting there, loving me even when he's not loving me. How there's family and food in the fridge and time to breathe. Even if its spent thinking to much over a bowl of strawberries. Thank god they're sweet.


***listening to : The Police, So Lonely