It took eight hours in bed to get just over six and a half hours of sleep Saturday night, but I got it. I considered missing the first half of the first football game to try and make it eight hours, but I knew it was useless. My brain and body were up, and my body was kind of tired of being in bed.
During the first, pretty good game, I did the usual Sunday morning stuff. Breakfast was a day-old cinammon roll, then the last of the broccoli-Brussels-sprouts soup with leftover hapa rice. Thank goodness. Worked on the Spelling Bee, did some writing, read the news, thought about work. I even did a few easy chores.
The second game wasn’t very good, and I got a little restless. Did a lot of snacking, mostly on Chinese roast pork, which I picked up when I had that Hawaiian plate Saturday. Also tortilla chips and kimchi dip, which was good but really, really sinful. I wasn’t sure I was heading to the office, but the restlessness did it, so as the game wound down, I got everything ready to go. I also packed up some bottles for recycling — $6.50 worth in a huge garbage bag. I also changed into board shorts. Worth a try.
I was out the door pretty much as soon as they awarded the Lamar Hunt trophy to the Chiefs. Got to the beach nearing six o’clock, and it was still pretty packed. No parking on the Kewalo end, which suited me fine — there were a lot of people there. The volleball courts were insanity. Do people not know about this pandemic thing?
I didn’t find parking until I got to the Magic Island lot, and had to drive up and down a few aisles before I got something. I knew it woudn’t be long before spaces opened up — it was getting close to sundown.
I slinked my way through openings in the crowd and got into the water. It was quite cold for the end of a day. It felt good. Swam from what I call the last lifeguard tower to the last buoy (my mind is oriented from the Kewalo end) and back. I went pretty hard for a little while then just kind of cruised. First time in the water in 15 days, dang it.
Dropped the bottles off at that Korean immigrant tribute park on Beretania, between Keeaumoku and Kaheka. Usually I look for someone to hand the bottles to, so there’s no fighting or whatever. Also to give someone a moment of human contact. But after dark it’s best to leave people alone, so I just left the trash bag near the trash cans, knowing someone would find them.
Someone did. A woman claimed the bottles and was carrying them to her spot in the park before I was back in my car. I said a quick, sincere prayer for her.
Got to the office to do some software updates and hopefully get some work done. I got the updates but really just thought about the work. Which could have been useful or not; it’s kind of impossible to tell. Ate dinner at my desk — a can of mackerel and some of that heat-and-eat brown rice I keep in my desk. A simple meal but satisfying and really enjoyable.
Stopped at 7-Eleven on my way home to purchase another money order for the second half of the rent, and got home at about ten-thirty.
The plan was to get to bed early because the Youth Media Awards at the annual Mid-Winter Retreat of the American Library Association was Monday morning at 4:00 our time. The presentation of the Caldecott and Newbery Medals, which I have never missed since they began streaming.
But dang it. I couldn’t put my brain to rest. I finally managed to quiet things down at about 12:30 for a 3:30 alarm. Great.
No texting again Sunday, making it the second day in a row. It felt like a relief, actually. I would have welcomed any messages from the usual people, but it didn’t bug me to be out of touch for another day.
I’m more bummed, bothered, and baffled by the miscommunication with Ali than I’m letting myself believe, but it creeps in every so often, like when I’m in the ocean all by myself minutes before the green flash I never see. I’m bad at letting things and people go, as I have probably written about in this space a zillion times. We could have a really good friendship, but it’s plain she doesn’t need that from me, and that’s fine, obviously. For a while I wished we could have come to that mutual understanding in some less contentious way, but then without the contention, why would we?
I’m backing off, which I think I wrote yesterday or the day before. If we keep it to smalltext, we can stay friends without these recurring miscommunications. Anyway, as I also wrote the other day, my last words to her a week ago were “I’m sorry,” and if that’s the fading note in the outro, it’s a good note.
My review of Class Act has caused the Commodores to be on my mind pretty much non-stop, so I finally caved. As I write this, I’m listening to All the Great Hits, their first compliation album, on Spotify. I talked my sister into splitting for the cassette when I was in sixth grade, making it one of the first albums we bought with our own money. I’m not sure, I but I think I still have it.
That’s why I’m easy
I’m easy like Sunday morning…
We bought it either at Gem in Waipahu or DJ’s Sound City in Pearlridge. How’s that for dating myself? I’m old. Too old to be messed up by the possible end of a friendship with an early-thirties grad student I’m unlikely to see again.
Connection. You might need it. If you do, leave a comment and I’ll send you some contact info. Don’t be put off my my apparent neediness in this texting relationship that’s gone bad. I promise it’s atypical! Maybe!