Whole Foods on a lonely Wednesday night. It’s 8:18pm Pacific Daylight Time. It’s raining outside and has been raining all day. Yesterday was nice, though. Yesterday was heavenly. Yesterday we smoked cigarettes and stood and looked at Doug’s brand new 1981 Mercedes Benz. We drank margaritas and lived the high life, and it didn’t matter that it was raining, because we were together, young, and in charge of our destinies.
But that was yesterday.
After work today I interpreted and it went OK. There were scores of words I didn’t know, and my brain felt kind of fried. It’s always a strange thing, interpreting. You’re let in on the most intimate side of people’s lives. You see and hear things you would normally never see and hear. You learn cool words like “debride” and “Barrett’s esophagus,” and sometimes you even know what these words mean. Otherwise you don’t and you tell the doctor.
“Doctor, I have no idea what this means, do you want me to look it up?”
“Please let me look it up, doctor. Please.”
Nevertheless, I consider myself a semi-competent interpreter. I feel I retain the feel of what the person has said in addition to providing a (usually) accurate interpretation of what they said. This “feel,” cannot be more important, because when you interpret you’re not just interpreting the words. There’s so much more to language than that. So much more.
After interpreting I walked home along Greenlake and popped my last General snus. I’m going off the General, mostly because it’s expensive. I don’t need expensive habits right now. I don’t need habits. I need everything to be random, and willy-nilly. When I leave the house I want it to be like walking into a snow-storm, where I can’t even seen four feet in front of me. Because I’d take comfort in that. I’d take comfort in not being able to see even six inches in front of me. I’d go back to my apartment and crawl underneath the covers. I’d turn my alarm off. And when I woke up a few weeks later it’d be spring, and I’d be free. I always want to be free.
My apartment was quiet. My roommate’s gone. Nothing to do. I probably shouldn’t talk about my life anymore because when I talk about my life my writing always takes on the same tone, a cheap Knausgaard imitation that just sounds life me crying. This must be rectified. This must.
I don’t really have anything to say. I just wanted to type. It’s 8:28pm now at Whole Foods in Ravenna. I’ve typed almost 500 words in 10 minutes, and four of them are good. But which four? Which four?
My dinner tonight consisted of two burritos. Tomorrow’s Friday (Thursday).