Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: charity, expectations, fantasy, homeless, homelessness, life, people, random, thoughts
This morning’s drink: more Starbucks.. I’m buying new coffee TONIGHT!
I think one of the insider things about being a resident of San Diego – particularly Uptown or Downtown – is that you sort of get to know the homeless people in your area. You don’t necessarily get to know them in a way that you’d call them a friend, or even an acquaintance. But you start to recognize their faces, their habits, their quirks, and learn to smile and/or avoid them as comfort levels require.
There is one homeless women on the walk home from work who I really like. It actually makes me smile to see her. She’s a large, black woman, with hair wrapped in a thin black sheet, and piled in an upward angle from the back of her head like a voluminous, charcoal beehive. She looks to be in her late 30s, but she could be much younger. She wears layer upon layer of black coats, pants, skirts and robes, so that her dress almost looks to be from the costume room of Labyrinth. She sits or sleeps on the same bus bench around 5 p.m. every evening, with large, black hefty bags, and usually a magazine or something to read. And she always has a kind, mellow look of contentment about her. Every day.
I’ve never spoken to her, for two very flimsy reasons:
1. I always want to give her food, and I never have any.
2. I don’t want to ruin the illusion that she is sweet, complacent and wise; and that she speaks with a Southern accent.
My relationship with homeless people has evolved tremendously over the years. When I used to smoke, I’d give them cigarettes. When I used to wash my clothes at the laundromat on Washington, I’d buy them tacos when they asked for money. One of the more frequent taco/cigarette customers used to think I was going to law school, no matter how often I told him I wasn’t. Everytime he saw me (and he recognized me no matter what), he would ask me when I was going to pass the bar so I could get his uncle’s money back from his evil widow, who apparently screwed the whole family over after his death.
One night, as I was walking into Henry’s, a new homeless man asked me for money for food. As always, I told him I would buy him a sandwich, but no money. This offer is usually met with a disgusted grunt, but he eagerly accepted, and began to follow me into the store. Uneasy from the frantic look in his face, I asked him to wait outside, then carefully picked out a sandwich, chips, a protein bar, some vitamin-enriched juice, and a bottle of water. When I presented him with the package, he didn’t even look inside – he just thanked me, set it down, and continued to beg with the wild look in his eyes.
I was immediately soured, and almost went so far as to take the bag back. Obviously I didn’t – I had to ask myself what I was expecting from the whole thing. Elation, satisfaction, relief – for both of us? Obviously, a tall order from a homeless man, or a junkie, or both. But I don’t even offer food anymore – now I start telling people the intersections for soup kitchens downtown.
I guess that’s what happens when you tuck expectations into sub sandwiches — they get eaten.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: happiness, life, love, random, relationships, thoughts
This morning’s drink: a blend of coffee grounds past.
I was supposed to get up for a run this morning, but I couldn’t.
Not so much because I was tired, or remembering the second glass of wine from last night. Or because Josh and I cruised up and down the Wild Animal Park yesterday for three hours while the lions lazed in our faces. Not even because the sheets are new, the bed is warm and it’s just now starting to cool off at night. I couldn’t get out of bed because I woke up and Josh was holding my hand in his sleep.
I am such a fatalist, because I keep trying to figure out what’s wrong with Josh and I. Even though I’m somewhat stoic as a single girl, I’m a classic lover of love. I know infatuation almost as if it were a dance routine I’d practiced and performed for years. Like the one throwback song you play really well on the guitar. Even love was starting to feel that way – like I was figuring out the chords and memorizing the changes.
But this love is totally different – it doesn’t feel like I’m in love with love. Rather, it feels like a natural side effect of something totally normal. Like, getting warm when you put sweats on; or feeling satisfied after a nice meal.
Every action has an equal or lesser reaction. So maybe our love is just naturally so.
Nothing wrong with that.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: books, characters, fiction, life, random, reading, thoughts, writing
This morning’s drink: Starbucks Sumatra
Karaoke and writing converge in my mind in one very basic way: I believe that everyone’s a singer, and everyone’s a writer. You don’t have to be good at something to be a something-”er”, you just have to do it. In a more existential way, maybe even the potential to do something is enough to make someone an “er.” Even kinetic energy gets factored into the equation.
So, like everyone, I’ve always considered writing a book. I’ve dabbled in some really bad short stories in the past, and always come full circle to a kaleidescope of frustrations: one dimensional characters, a plot that never blips above a flatline, lack of inspiration, and a wavering perseverance to get past all of the above. Almost out of nowhere, however, I ran into a character that I am starting to really enjoy. And she’s standing on a city corner, bathed in a streetlight, dressed sort of like Carmen Sandiego, looking straight at me, and pointing in the direction of a storyline.
She’s been doing this for a couple of weeks now, and I don’t even know her name. Feeling unprepared to go, however, I went to the library and picked up some books on writing fiction, and character development. I’m already halfway through Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott, which is really very good, whether or not you are a writer.
It used to REALLY bother me when fiction writers would talk about their characters as if they were real people. That they’d worked with these people for years; that they’d really started to love them, and care for them; that they protected them… all of these things used to just seem creepy, and psychotic. And yet, here I am, inspired by a character, and practically aching to barf her out of my head.
And at this point, that’s really what it is. I’m not trying to quit my day job, or become famous and revered. I just want to write this – create something good – get it all out.
Cue Rockapella.
