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Friday, March 14, 2003
I don't know if it's the day of the week, or the phase of the moon, or the cycle of my menses, or the fact that it's my first day off since... last Friday, but I am having a terrific day. Even the fact that the temperature is hovering around freezing isn't getting me down. It might also have to do with the fact that I slept twelve hours last night, and also that my apartment is clean. I just took a little walk around my hood, and the sun is bright and promising. The one thing that assures me that I will leave this apartment at the end of my lease is that I get absolutely no direct sunlight. I don't know exactly which way I face but the sun never touches even the bars that protrude from my windows. So even with my high ceilings, it is always a little dim. It also means that my window boxes can only be shade-loving plants. Hmmm. No basil.
I had my first and only training shift on the bar yesterday. It was fun, because it was a change, and because my beloved friend B (as we call her, that or Ms. B) was the one training me. She is about to start school to be a yoga teacher, and is in the throes of a new love, so we haven't had much time to hang out. And even though we were working the whole time, just being near her was lovely.
Right after work I grabbed a bite to eat at the bar (porcini gnocchi, creamy polenta, broccoli rabe, oh my god) and then sped off to my first real appointment with my analyst. And I have to say, I didn't like it much. I didn't really want to be there, I didn't feel like talking to her, I didn't feel, really, one way or another about the whole session. Halfway through, I realized that I didn't want to come back. I don't feel compelled to speak to her. It was really different than the first time we chatted. I am trying to talk myself into giving it one more chance, but I think I am going to look around for someone else. My friend who recommended her thought she was brilliant, and perhaps she is. But if I don't want to talk to her, it's just not going to work.
I'm going to continue cleaning my apartment, give my bike a loving wipe-down, and perhaps clean out the inbox of my mind as well. I had sort of a revolutionary conversation with my lover, but it's one I need to sort out on my own before I write about it. Suffice to say, today, I'm at peace.
Tomorrow, my beautiful bike and I are going to have our first long ride. I'm so very, very excited. Yahoo!
I had my first and only training shift on the bar yesterday. It was fun, because it was a change, and because my beloved friend B (as we call her, that or Ms. B) was the one training me. She is about to start school to be a yoga teacher, and is in the throes of a new love, so we haven't had much time to hang out. And even though we were working the whole time, just being near her was lovely.
Right after work I grabbed a bite to eat at the bar (porcini gnocchi, creamy polenta, broccoli rabe, oh my god) and then sped off to my first real appointment with my analyst. And I have to say, I didn't like it much. I didn't really want to be there, I didn't feel like talking to her, I didn't feel, really, one way or another about the whole session. Halfway through, I realized that I didn't want to come back. I don't feel compelled to speak to her. It was really different than the first time we chatted. I am trying to talk myself into giving it one more chance, but I think I am going to look around for someone else. My friend who recommended her thought she was brilliant, and perhaps she is. But if I don't want to talk to her, it's just not going to work.
I'm going to continue cleaning my apartment, give my bike a loving wipe-down, and perhaps clean out the inbox of my mind as well. I had sort of a revolutionary conversation with my lover, but it's one I need to sort out on my own before I write about it. Suffice to say, today, I'm at peace.
Tomorrow, my beautiful bike and I are going to have our first long ride. I'm so very, very excited. Yahoo!
Tuesday, March 11, 2003
It's sort of amazing how much my life slips by during my work week. This was a particularly silly week- basically a "quad"- two shifts on Sunday followed by two shifts on Monday- then sleeping 'till noon today and having enough time to do a load of laundry before heading out to work yet again. But one or two lovely things have happened over the last few days. I was in the middle of the Sunday morning lunch rush when a woman ran in the door, calling my name. She grabbed my arm as if she knew me like a sister and started yabbering about how I had served her. I just nodded and smiled and scanned my brain until I found a match: she was the secretary of a cop at the 13th precinct. Her boss and his wife had brought her to dinner two weeks ago to celebrate her retirement. I remember that she was quiet and sweet, and that the cop almost had to force her to order more than just an entree. If memory serves, I sent them a free dessert with "congratulations" or something written in chocolate. Anyway, I'm remembering the whole dinner as this woman clings to my arm, rattling off a story about how she got too drunk to remember what I looked like, and that she had called the restaurant and stopped by trying to find me, and that she had a present for me. She shoved a small package in my hand, and suddenly embarassed, sped out the door before I could entirely catch up to the situation.
I stopped for a minute in the middle of the rush, in throngs of people trying to get in and out of the restaurant, and gazed at this little package in my hand. And only then did I realize that it was made out of the postcards that we put in our check presenters. She had taken several of them and cut and pasted them into a cylinder. She filled the cylinder with Easter chocolates and then wrapped it in plastic, like a giant Tootsie Roll. And then- this was the kicker- the ends were wrapped in ribbon that matched the colors of the postcards- black, green, red, and yellow. The effort put into this small gift was staggering.
And then I noticed the small card (also cut from our postcards) that hung from one end. In it was a sticker that read simply, "One person can make a difference". Say what you will. These moments justify my life.
The next night, some of my new regulars (who I'd only met once) came in for dinner. I was only doing the wine that night, so I couldn't wait on them, but I spent a great deal of time at their table, making recommendations and chatting. At the end of their meal, the husband put his arms around me and told me that I was a star, that I was wonderful, that I was the kind of person who would do brilliantly whatever I chose to do. And then the woman searched me out and put $40 in my hand, on top of what they left their server.
It's strange. I guess when you are not dating somebody, and you don't have anyone around to tell you that you are doing okay, the universe sends you drunk 50-year-olds to remind you that you are loved, that you might even be extraordinary. If the universe forgets, then you have to tell yourself that you are okay, that you are doing the right thing, that you are cool or attractive or worthwhile. But when you forget to tell yourself, well. That's when you are in a world of hurt.
I also got the good news today that I've been promoted- I'm now also a bartender as well as server at the most popular restaurant in New York. As I've said a million times, if all I wanted in life was to be a waittress, I'd be the most successful person I know. As it is...
I stopped for a minute in the middle of the rush, in throngs of people trying to get in and out of the restaurant, and gazed at this little package in my hand. And only then did I realize that it was made out of the postcards that we put in our check presenters. She had taken several of them and cut and pasted them into a cylinder. She filled the cylinder with Easter chocolates and then wrapped it in plastic, like a giant Tootsie Roll. And then- this was the kicker- the ends were wrapped in ribbon that matched the colors of the postcards- black, green, red, and yellow. The effort put into this small gift was staggering.
And then I noticed the small card (also cut from our postcards) that hung from one end. In it was a sticker that read simply, "One person can make a difference". Say what you will. These moments justify my life.
The next night, some of my new regulars (who I'd only met once) came in for dinner. I was only doing the wine that night, so I couldn't wait on them, but I spent a great deal of time at their table, making recommendations and chatting. At the end of their meal, the husband put his arms around me and told me that I was a star, that I was wonderful, that I was the kind of person who would do brilliantly whatever I chose to do. And then the woman searched me out and put $40 in my hand, on top of what they left their server.
It's strange. I guess when you are not dating somebody, and you don't have anyone around to tell you that you are doing okay, the universe sends you drunk 50-year-olds to remind you that you are loved, that you might even be extraordinary. If the universe forgets, then you have to tell yourself that you are okay, that you are doing the right thing, that you are cool or attractive or worthwhile. But when you forget to tell yourself, well. That's when you are in a world of hurt.
I also got the good news today that I've been promoted- I'm now also a bartender as well as server at the most popular restaurant in New York. As I've said a million times, if all I wanted in life was to be a waittress, I'd be the most successful person I know. As it is...