Sunday, August 06, 2006

On Smoking, Solitude, and Crunchy Peanut Butter

I spent a number of years in Albany living by myself, and was happy with it. As a matter of fact, prior to the departure of my housemate (and older brother, Mr. Slapdash), I looked forward to having full run of the place.
I had it all planned out in my head for months before he left. I'd move into the bigger bedroom, arrange the couches downstairs just how I wanted, (paying homage to the TV, of course) and most importantly, I'd get a pedastal ashtray like John Odorisio and properly abolish the smoking ban from the premesis with a good old fashioned beer-and-cigarettes get together.
Alas, just weeks before he left, I saw The Insider. As a result, I developed a sense of self preservation and quit smoking. Truth be told, the couch layout turned out to work best the way Osman had it originally, so it went back that way. At least I got the big bedroom.
Nonetheless, I began to enjoy the isolation. I grew accustomed to the conveniences that came with the absence of another person sharing my living space. Home became my own private sensory deprivation tank. Sweet silence. Solitude. Solace. I found myself having a shorter and shorter fuse when it came to human interaction. When I had to go to campus and ran into some random schmoe from a class, I'd rapidly come to the point where I'd be thinking, Damn it, I don't want to chat with you for another minute. They'd keep talking, and I'd start to just hear a test pattern in place of their voice. I can't wait to get home. Away from these people. . I was far more content to just explore my thoughts, uninterrupted.
The one exception to this aversion was Tahera. Through all my years living alone, the daily phone chatter was a constant. Sharing with her, a basic need. She was my other self, connected to me by hundreds of miles of telephone line. In fact, she had always, always been that. Even in the beginning, with her in High School, talking on a portable phone until the battery died.
Like one who finds themselves blind and heightens their other senses to compensate, we learned the subtle nuances of each others tone, inflection, and pause. I could hear it when her eyebrows were up. I could feel it through the static when she was pensive. The bond was so close, so pervasive that she wasn't like a virtual roommate, but rather a continual double-take for anything that I'd experience... Just me looking, and me looking again.
Our bond grew closer as the years went on and continued that steady course even after we were married. It wasn't as much of a transition as I'd expected when we began our married life under one roof. I was so incredibly comfortable with her; with her central place in my life. I didn't miss the quiet house. I didn't miss the autonomy. I accepted the change from one-alone to one-plus-one absolutely. Even when we'd argue (often) about dishes or her being the "cleanliness gestapo" or me the ever-aloof pig. Even when we stocked the shelves with herbals and natural foods. Even when Pepsi disappeared and a cache of 'pika's chocolate' emerged. Even when braces were donned and crunchy peanut-butter had to go. Even when acoustically optimal speaker arrangements had to be compromised. I never ever longed for those former years of isolation.
So now, I find myself 1 week into a 2 month odyssey through New England as part of my education. Back to being one-alone. This first week in Worcester has been one of unpacking, working and otherwise settling. I've gotten my bearings here in town and have developed as much of a routine as my ever-changing shift schedule will allow me. Necessities such as those must be taken care of before one can fully reflect on their situation. Now that I know the business of settling has been done, I can finally talk about this state I'm in.
This evening as I scurried through the ER witnessing people whose day-to-day lives have been interrupted by life itself, I found myself accompanied by Death Cab for Cutie singing about the hospital and the lives that end there. I thought of how alone patients (formerly just people) must feel when they're surrounded by us, the workers. We forget that the familiar department in which we spend the better part of each day is an alien world to those people confined to the beds. I kept hearing the song in my head, and I kept seeing patients; thinking about how this place must make them feel alone. Then I thought about how I'm alone right now.
It's a lot like it was in college. I go to work, and do my work thing. I then come home, settle in with the computer and do other work, check mail or just decompress. I haven't spoken to anyone for the last 4 hours and haven't even really noticed. I've let my mind wander and have had the time and absence of interruption to really let it go wherever it wants to. The only constraints are the ones I've put on myself by deciding I'm going to try and make a coherent blog entry.
It's 4 a.m. and I'm 4 days into a marathon streak of "swing shifts" which run from 4pm-12am. I've adjusted to the phase change as completely as I had when I was working in Albany to buy an engagement ring. I haven't had a friendly conversation with a single person who isn't somehow related to the hospital, school, and my grades.
Except of course, Tahera. Each day we find time to reconnect through that old familiar static. The phone conversations aren't how they used to be because of all the other things we both have to do. Her schedule and mine don't coincide well, so 10 minutes a day is about as well as we can fare. We haven't been "blind" like this since we've been married, and it's clear that we're still getting the rust off. I've said "I miss you" so much that it's officially become meaningless. I keep saying it.
I think we'll get back to how it was when I was in Albany. When that happens, she'll see how much I miss her right through the phone, and that picture's worth a whole thousand times saying it. Until then I'll just say I'm feeling sad music more than I have in years and the extra-crunchy Jiff I bought tonight after work hasn't made me feel any better.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

My Kids


I have 20 kids. Okay, they're not actually mine but Shortie and I refer to them as "our kids". Shortie and I have been friends since the 5th grade. We've done everything together. We founded a club called AAA together. We didn't know there was already an AAA and had we known it probably wouldn't have mattered. Our AAA was the "All Against Alison" club. Along with couple other select 5th graders, we would meet once a week to share in our hatred for our classmate (who really shouldn't have been our classmate 'cause she failed like 10 times), Alison. I know. We were mean girls. But she had it coming. I don't know what she did but it must have been awful to necessitate weekly meeting minutes dutifully recorded in the AAA notebook. TOP SECRET. 15 years later we're neighbors in Buffalo and we work together. We're still working on one day living next door to one another and having water slides from each of our bedroom windows that lead to a super cool pool. Anyhow, I digress.
Our kids are hilarious. They are 6-9th grade Buffalo Public School students enrolled in a NYSED funded after-school and summer program. These kids are something else. I don't know how many " yous guys" and " I seen yous" I've corrected. At least several hundred. But they will call you out instantly if you slip up. I had a royal slip up in April. The last week of April is national tv turn-off week and I wanted all the kids to participate. I got up in front of the class and explained the rules: no tv, no computer, no movies, no video games, no play boy..........Did I just say what I think I said? Maybe they won't notice. Cue uncontrollable laughter. Shit. I meant game boy. No playing game boy. It's 4 months later and whenever someone brings it up the rest of them are soon rolling on the floor. They still say "yous". Sigh. I do love them though. Today was probably one of funniest days yet. The girls in the program are working on a Travel-Savvy themed curriculum this summer. Over the past two days they've been creating their own country. I gave them complete creative control. They could be princesses, presidents, czarinas, whatever. They could decide who lived in their country, what the weather was like, what the customs were, what buildings there were, etc. I decided to create my own country along with them. Today we did a little show and tell. All of the kids went, then Shortie, then me. I held up my colored pencil drawing and began describing my country "Island T". There is a lovely mansion protected by a grand iron gate with a disproportionatley large porch just meant for sitting under shade and drinking lemonade. There's a spa just steps away from the house. In the middle of the "T" is a great city where it's perpetually night-time so you can always see the city lights. Only 2 people live on this island, me and Johnny Depp. Hey, it's my country. At that point one of girls stopped me and asked very sincerely: "On your anniversary will Johnny Depp dress up like Captain Sparrow for you?" I had nothing. What could I say? It was my turn to laugh. I love them.