Wednesday, February 06, 2008
I'm still having moments like this.
Last night I was out with friends listening to music. Another friend, who I don't see often, was also there. At one point, she turns to me and says, "Meredith asked about you last week."
I was dumbstruck for a moment. I heard myself thinking things like:
"But you didn't even know her!"
""What are you talking about?"
"Is this a joke?"
or "That's not funny."
When I finally spoke, all I could muster was "But . . . what?" That's when I realized that she was talking about a mutual friend named Meredith. A Meredith who lives in Florida. A Meredith who was recently married. A Meredith I, in fact, called on Saturday to say hi. However, in that moment, there was only one Meredith, and she did not ask about me last week.
I'm not sure if my expression telegraphed my shock and confusion. If she noticed, I didn't pick up on it.
Sunday, I watched the Super Bowl with my parents. After the game, I wanted a beer. Since my parents don't drink, there was none at their house. However, a cousin left some beer in my grandmother's fridge . . . in my grandmother's house . . . and that is exactly how I thought of it. I was going to drive one mile to Grandma's place. Completely normal to me. I visit Grandma every time I go to Savannah. However, this time I had to get my father's key because there was no one to let me in. No one gave me a kiss when I entered. The television wasn't on. Boxes of pictures and decorations and various other souvenirs of life were stacked on the dining table. All in all, everything was too quiet and too cluttered and weird. Weird. Everything was just weird and wrong, and I didn't like it at all.
I still have moments like these two. They happen rarely enough to deliver a consistently high level of confusion and discomfort, yet often enough to make me regularly anxious.
Tonight I'm staying in and baking. It's a good low-stress activity. The banana bread isn't good, and I may throw it all out. I'm not sure if the blame lies with the recipe or me. I've never used this recipe before tonight. I have zucchini bread in the oven now. I have a good success rate with that recipe.
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I was dumbstruck for a moment. I heard myself thinking things like:
"But you didn't even know her!"
""What are you talking about?"
"Is this a joke?"
or "That's not funny."
When I finally spoke, all I could muster was "But . . . what?" That's when I realized that she was talking about a mutual friend named Meredith. A Meredith who lives in Florida. A Meredith who was recently married. A Meredith I, in fact, called on Saturday to say hi. However, in that moment, there was only one Meredith, and she did not ask about me last week.
I'm not sure if my expression telegraphed my shock and confusion. If she noticed, I didn't pick up on it.
Sunday, I watched the Super Bowl with my parents. After the game, I wanted a beer. Since my parents don't drink, there was none at their house. However, a cousin left some beer in my grandmother's fridge . . . in my grandmother's house . . . and that is exactly how I thought of it. I was going to drive one mile to Grandma's place. Completely normal to me. I visit Grandma every time I go to Savannah. However, this time I had to get my father's key because there was no one to let me in. No one gave me a kiss when I entered. The television wasn't on. Boxes of pictures and decorations and various other souvenirs of life were stacked on the dining table. All in all, everything was too quiet and too cluttered and weird. Weird. Everything was just weird and wrong, and I didn't like it at all.
I still have moments like these two. They happen rarely enough to deliver a consistently high level of confusion and discomfort, yet often enough to make me regularly anxious.
Tonight I'm staying in and baking. It's a good low-stress activity. The banana bread isn't good, and I may throw it all out. I'm not sure if the blame lies with the recipe or me. I've never used this recipe before tonight. I have zucchini bread in the oven now. I have a good success rate with that recipe.
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