baggage's Diaryland Diary

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The Good That Won't Come Out

Walking out at noon was liberating.
I stood for a second in the shadow of the lobby listening to the breeze make whoosh sounds in my ears and, for a second, almost decided that Ciudad was too far away.
Despite the lack of deadlines and picture-perfect weather, I almost always feel a certain irresponsibility in leaving my desk-which means that wandering to places outside my normal territory (meaning, right around the corner for this play-it-safe traveller) is a rare indulgence. But, the pull of the sun was particularly strong this afternoon-and, needing some time alone, I quickly threw aside the hesitation.
The ride was cold-thanks to the constant running of the air conditioning inside the DASH bus, but it made the warmth shining through the tinted window a welcome bother instead of a bright annoyance. The subtle gleam of Disney Hall from my window seat reminded me of my last conversation with A. Why is that situation still in my life? For what purpose? The memory was unwelcome. Some questions probably could never be answered to any level of satisfaction anyway so I pushed the albatross away.
Cuidad is an expensive lunch. But, they have this stunning dish called "Frango Y Friga." A serious culinary delight. And, they have minty-lime coolers-like a mint julep but with no alchohol. And the chips? The hummus? Pure giddy served on a white table cloth.
Even bigger of an issue than the price is the distance. There is absolutely no way I can take the bus to Cuidad, eat, ride back and be back at my desk in the alloted lunch hour. It's more like an hour and a half (which brings back that pang of certain irresponsibility once more).
I'm racked over with guilt. Every thing I do-from playing guitar to enjoying "Frango Y Friga" to talking with the girl sitting next to me-leaves a hint of guilt in my psyche. It's fricking embarrasing. It's bad enough when people are limited by outside circumstances; either a bad relationship, or a bad career, or bad friends or bad parents. It's bad enough when the baggage is external. But, internal? To this extent? Geez. Pathetic.
So, well, FUCK THAT.
The hostess at Cuidad has, like, the best teeth ever. Dude-they're totally white and perfectly straight. I mean-she's attractive and all that but, man-her teeth...they're like miniature lighthouses lighting their way through the tables and chairs.
"Where have YOU been?" she asks in that shade of grey way that falls neatly in between flirty and insincerity.
"Well, I've been trapped in my own head see? And lately I've been thinking I need to get a brand new life or something. What I can't decide, though, is if what I'm going through is just inmaturity or a mid-life crisis. Have I mentioned that it's a little embarassing being a walking cliche?"
But, you know, nobody really wants to hear the truth when the conversation arises from the smallest of talk. So, I gave her the next best answer.
"I don't know. Busy I guess."
Which really isn't a lie.
I have been busy.
I guess.
My seat was next to a partition which blocked me from viewing the restaurant (bad, bad fengh shui by the way). I didn't mind. There were lots of couples around me. And groups of friends. The view was good enough for me to notice that no one else was eating alone and I wondered if it's weird to actually want to eat alone - that maybe I'm turning into one of those curmudgeons who slowly become anti-social as they get older and start mistaking weirdness for individuality.
Quirky or cheesy? That is the question.
Like I said, I'm tired of asking myself these weird soul searching questions. It's boring people-fucking boring thinking this damn much.
It was 1:30 when I sat back down at my desk. And you know what? I doubt anyone noticed I was gone.
I'm now on the first day of a week-long vacation, and I'm wondering what kind of hole I've left at the office. The Gulf Coast disaster has left me raw and irrationally sensitive-and I'm realizing that one trip to a favored restaurant wasn't going to be enough to satiate this need to be alone with nothing but a blue sky and some trees. The coming week should offer plenty of opportunity for both blue skies and trees as well as good friends. Today I celebrate a friend's 40th and cling on to Girl Unit like a baby koala. Tomorrow will be a hike (trees and blue skies abound) and a prayer of gratitude to whatever or whomever is controlling this blue world of ours.
Does anyone else feel as lucky as I do? That we have homes and electricity and running water and easy access to food and shelter? That nature hasn't sneered in our direction and taken our fragile world from us?
Or am I just being my typically wuss self and internalizing way too much for my own good?
Alas-I'll make an attempt to swallow my own advice and stop asking and start enjoying-to liberate myself from the inner-paranoya and dramatic within me (not nearly as easy as it sounds). Hopefully, one week away will be enough.

9:11 a.m. - 2005-09-03

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