Monday, June 06, 2011
Okay
I let my couch go, just so you know. It drove off to Indianapolis to the be first couch of another Kerri, a couch for the new place she got with her boyfriend Adam. It was time to let it go. And I'm okay with it. And I'm staying in this apartment because I do love it, after all, and because there isn't one part of me that wants to move again this year. Snickers and I are happy here, with our view of the sky. My heart only aches for Jedsen, for our week together, for the way he feels like home.
Welcome to Chicago
Among the first things we saw when started carrying boxes up the three flights of stairs to Jedsen's new Chicago apartment on Tuesday was a full-grown mouse walking leisurely toward the parking lot. It was brown and cute. I called out to Jedsen, who was ahead of me with a load of boxes in his arms, "Look! A mouse! It's so cute!" He looked back, smiled, and grunted acknowledgement of his cute neighbor before heading up the rusted metal stairs. I thought of the other cute mice I've seen in public places, such as the mice in the London Underground. I remember calling them cute, too.
At that point in the evening, I had driven a U-Haul for the first time across the Midwest over 9 hours. It was the first time driving a U-Haul and the first time driving more than 4 hours in a day. I had led us up Chicago's Lake Shore Drive at rush hour, Jedsen close behind me in his car, and savored the city and the lake after miles and miles of farm land. I had turned off on the right street, Montrose, but had missed the street sign for his street, Beacon, because the sun was blinding. We had dropped Jedsen's car at a small corner parking lot with a Subway and Dunkin Donuts so that we only had to find parking for the U-Haul close to the apartment and not two vehicles. We had driven back into the neighborhood and found Beacon but no parking spot and had then been guided to an alley by Jedsen's sister, who was waiting for us. In the process of trying to find the alley and prepare to turn into it, I had hit the mirror of a truck with the mirror of the U-Haul and said "Oh shit!" and kept going to find the other entrance to the alley because I hoped I hadn't done any actual damage. I had driven down the alley and pulled into a fenced parking lot behind the apartment building, where Jedsen's sister's boyfriend took over and backed the U-Haul into the space closest to the stairs. We had all walked back to get Jedsen's car after his sister said, "Oh, no. You can't park it there. You'll get towed." We had gotten the car and parked it in that back parking lot next to the U-Haul because his sister said that the apartment manager said it was okay for just that one night and otherwise he'd have to pay for the spot. We had all said hello and found his apartment and started unloading the truck as airplanes passed over on their way to O'Hare.
Two more guys came to help us, friends of his sister's boyfriend, and we got everything into his little one-bedroom. Jedsen offered to take them to dinner to thank them, and so having only spent about 5 minutes in his new apartment after a 9.5 hour trip and unloading, we got into his sister's boyfriend's car and he drove us into the city to get pizza, which his sister said was "cheap."
$104 dollars later, Jedsen writes his name on the wall of Gino's East: "Jeddy Bear." He makes his mark on Chicago on his first night.
It's 10:30 when they drop us off at his apartment, but we need to get milk and cereal before we go to bed, and so we walk to the Walgreen's that I saw just two blocks away. On the walk back from Walgreen's we pass a hulking black man going the opposite direction, and Jedsen comments that he thinks this guy could take Rocky in a fight. I bet so too.
We come around the front of the apartment building and see blinking and beeping truck lights in the back parking lot.
"Is my car being towed?" Jedsen chuckles.
I go through the gate to the lot and see that his car is still there but there's a tow truck backing up to it.
"Yes," I say without looking at him. I stare at the truck backing up to hook his car.
"That's our car," I yell. "We're here! Don't take it."
Jedsen calmly walks up to the tow truck and says, "That's my car, man. The guy Chris told me I could park it here for the night."
The tow truck guy gets out and says, "Man, this guy called."
Out of the darkness, the man who could beat Rocky emerges. "You're in my spot," he shouts, emphasizing each word with his hands. "I've been honking my horn out here for two-three hours. You can't be here."
"I'm sorry, man, but we've been out. We went to get milk. I just moved in today. That guy Chris told me I could park here for the night." Jedsen touches the back of his head.
"Nah, I've lived here for three years. I've had this spot for three years. Nobody can park in this spot but me."
"We'll move the car! We have the keys!" I yell past Jedsen and the man who could beat Rocky to the tow truck guys.
Jedsen walks over to the tow truck and asks them if he can get what he needs out of the car and where he can pick it up at. The bigger tow truck guy motions east and says it'll be $200.
"But we're here!" I say, more in a whisper of disbelief.
Jedsen gets a few things out of the car and then goes to the window of the tow truck. The tow truck guys are restless, rolling their heads and saying, "But we're already here. We have your tires."
Jedsen comes over to me and says "Do you have any cash? These guys want something for their trouble."
I give him a 20 and he goes back to the tow truck window. A few seconds later the truck moves forward and releases the car tires.
"I think they wanted more," Jedsen says as he stands by me and we watch them maneuver out of the parking lot. The guy who could beat Rocky had disappeared and gone to wait in his car with the lights on to come to his spot. We know we have to leave in the car immediately.
After spending 30 minutes trying to find a parking spot for the car, we finally park it in a spot that we think is legal about 6 blocks away. After parking the car, we walk back to get the U-Haul to return it because there is nowhere to park it. I drop Jedsen at his car so he can follow me to the U-Haul drop-off.
It's midnight by the time we leave the truck, and we drive the five miles back to his neighborhood to once again find a parking spot for the car. This time even more people have come home, even more people have parked, and all of the spots we see are not spots but empty spaces in front of fire hydrants or spaces for cars with permits or phantom spaces that we dream to be spaces because we've been driving around in circles for nearly an hour trying to park a car that Jedsen's going to sell as soon as possible because, as we've proven, Chicago is no place for a car. But he was already planning to sell it because I had already known that Chicago was no place to need a car, but I hadn't known it to this extent. And after 1am, when we finally decided we take the chance on a parking ticket just to finally be parked and go back to the apartment we'd spent all of 5 minutes in since we arrived in Chicago, we parked on the north side of the famous Graceland Cemetery. And as we walked away from the car, a large raccoon bounded down the sidewalk and sat to stare at us. And that was after I had seen a large opossum cross the street to the cemetery. And that was after we finally decided to laugh at the whole ordeal because, come on, it's Chicago and we're together and we're happy, if not utterly exhausted and sick of cars.
At that point in the evening, I had driven a U-Haul for the first time across the Midwest over 9 hours. It was the first time driving a U-Haul and the first time driving more than 4 hours in a day. I had led us up Chicago's Lake Shore Drive at rush hour, Jedsen close behind me in his car, and savored the city and the lake after miles and miles of farm land. I had turned off on the right street, Montrose, but had missed the street sign for his street, Beacon, because the sun was blinding. We had dropped Jedsen's car at a small corner parking lot with a Subway and Dunkin Donuts so that we only had to find parking for the U-Haul close to the apartment and not two vehicles. We had driven back into the neighborhood and found Beacon but no parking spot and had then been guided to an alley by Jedsen's sister, who was waiting for us. In the process of trying to find the alley and prepare to turn into it, I had hit the mirror of a truck with the mirror of the U-Haul and said "Oh shit!" and kept going to find the other entrance to the alley because I hoped I hadn't done any actual damage. I had driven down the alley and pulled into a fenced parking lot behind the apartment building, where Jedsen's sister's boyfriend took over and backed the U-Haul into the space closest to the stairs. We had all walked back to get Jedsen's car after his sister said, "Oh, no. You can't park it there. You'll get towed." We had gotten the car and parked it in that back parking lot next to the U-Haul because his sister said that the apartment manager said it was okay for just that one night and otherwise he'd have to pay for the spot. We had all said hello and found his apartment and started unloading the truck as airplanes passed over on their way to O'Hare.
Two more guys came to help us, friends of his sister's boyfriend, and we got everything into his little one-bedroom. Jedsen offered to take them to dinner to thank them, and so having only spent about 5 minutes in his new apartment after a 9.5 hour trip and unloading, we got into his sister's boyfriend's car and he drove us into the city to get pizza, which his sister said was "cheap."
$104 dollars later, Jedsen writes his name on the wall of Gino's East: "Jeddy Bear." He makes his mark on Chicago on his first night.
It's 10:30 when they drop us off at his apartment, but we need to get milk and cereal before we go to bed, and so we walk to the Walgreen's that I saw just two blocks away. On the walk back from Walgreen's we pass a hulking black man going the opposite direction, and Jedsen comments that he thinks this guy could take Rocky in a fight. I bet so too.
We come around the front of the apartment building and see blinking and beeping truck lights in the back parking lot.
"Is my car being towed?" Jedsen chuckles.
I go through the gate to the lot and see that his car is still there but there's a tow truck backing up to it.
"Yes," I say without looking at him. I stare at the truck backing up to hook his car.
"That's our car," I yell. "We're here! Don't take it."
Jedsen calmly walks up to the tow truck and says, "That's my car, man. The guy Chris told me I could park it here for the night."
The tow truck guy gets out and says, "Man, this guy called."
Out of the darkness, the man who could beat Rocky emerges. "You're in my spot," he shouts, emphasizing each word with his hands. "I've been honking my horn out here for two-three hours. You can't be here."
"I'm sorry, man, but we've been out. We went to get milk. I just moved in today. That guy Chris told me I could park here for the night." Jedsen touches the back of his head.
"Nah, I've lived here for three years. I've had this spot for three years. Nobody can park in this spot but me."
"We'll move the car! We have the keys!" I yell past Jedsen and the man who could beat Rocky to the tow truck guys.
Jedsen walks over to the tow truck and asks them if he can get what he needs out of the car and where he can pick it up at. The bigger tow truck guy motions east and says it'll be $200.
"But we're here!" I say, more in a whisper of disbelief.
Jedsen gets a few things out of the car and then goes to the window of the tow truck. The tow truck guys are restless, rolling their heads and saying, "But we're already here. We have your tires."
Jedsen comes over to me and says "Do you have any cash? These guys want something for their trouble."
I give him a 20 and he goes back to the tow truck window. A few seconds later the truck moves forward and releases the car tires.
"I think they wanted more," Jedsen says as he stands by me and we watch them maneuver out of the parking lot. The guy who could beat Rocky had disappeared and gone to wait in his car with the lights on to come to his spot. We know we have to leave in the car immediately.
After spending 30 minutes trying to find a parking spot for the car, we finally park it in a spot that we think is legal about 6 blocks away. After parking the car, we walk back to get the U-Haul to return it because there is nowhere to park it. I drop Jedsen at his car so he can follow me to the U-Haul drop-off.
It's midnight by the time we leave the truck, and we drive the five miles back to his neighborhood to once again find a parking spot for the car. This time even more people have come home, even more people have parked, and all of the spots we see are not spots but empty spaces in front of fire hydrants or spaces for cars with permits or phantom spaces that we dream to be spaces because we've been driving around in circles for nearly an hour trying to park a car that Jedsen's going to sell as soon as possible because, as we've proven, Chicago is no place for a car. But he was already planning to sell it because I had already known that Chicago was no place to need a car, but I hadn't known it to this extent. And after 1am, when we finally decided we take the chance on a parking ticket just to finally be parked and go back to the apartment we'd spent all of 5 minutes in since we arrived in Chicago, we parked on the north side of the famous Graceland Cemetery. And as we walked away from the car, a large raccoon bounded down the sidewalk and sat to stare at us. And that was after I had seen a large opossum cross the street to the cemetery. And that was after we finally decided to laugh at the whole ordeal because, come on, it's Chicago and we're together and we're happy, if not utterly exhausted and sick of cars.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Open
I've been sleeping with the blinds open again. The window on the far side, the side with the most city light. The side with the parking lot light that blares orange even when the blinds are closed. Last night I woke and the light was brighter than I could handle, than I remembered. It's brighter than ever, I thought, and I squinted across the bed to let down the blinds a few more inches.
I've been sleeping with the blinds open again. Not on purpose, but not accidentally. I used to do it all the time, but that was when the lights seemed comforting, necessary, and less bright. Since, I've read how even a little bit of light at night can disrupt your sleep. I haven't been feeling well in the middle of the day, and I'm always tired, but I don't bother to put down all of the blinds. Just like I don't bother to wash my face at night half the time because it's easier not to. Just like I ignore my birth control pill at the hour I'm supposed to take it every night and lazily take it some time the next morning before work, so that I'm always one behind.
I always feel one day behind.
I went shopping yesterday afternoon for shorts, which took me to the mall in Spartanburg, a mall I haven't been to in months. The mall left me listless and grumpy--there were no shorts long enough for a 26 year old but short enough to make me feel tall and potentially cute. I went to Target and ultimately found one pair of shorts but no tank tops, which had been a late addition to my search. Today after work, with my one success of yesterday, I went straight to the mall, convinced I would see with fresh eyes and a fresh waist line. But it was all the same and even looked worse on hangers than the previous day. Target again, after, to buy the same successful pair of shorts in a different color. But my size was all gone except in the dark khaki, which created white rings on my things where the shorts ended, clearly a different kind of 5 than the ones I'd already bought. I debated sandals, then, because I needed something new. I debated sandals in colors I didn't want but felt good. I carried three pairs around, then only one, and then none when I realized I couldn't think of a time when I would wear them over my other sandals.
As I drove away from Target, I was immediately anxious about the two hours I had wasted searching the same places for the same thing I had already searched for and, partially, found the day before. Two hours evaporate like they were never there. And all I have to show for them is a bottle of Ibuprofen and a sympathy card in a plastic bag. Once home, I need to cook dinner. I need to cook dinner because I know there is fresh chicken in the fridge that has a sell-date of May 10, thirteen days ago. I need to use this chicken that I spent $5.13 on over two weeks ago, and I need to use the green pepper and onion I bought on the same day to make fajitas, my favorite dish that I don't think I've made once in the near year I've lived here. The green pepper feels slightly wrinkly. The onion is soft and puffed with mold.
This reminds me again that I should never go on a true grocery shopping trip and buy fresh food. I won't eat it. And when I want to it will be too late and it will be because I have to because I know it will soon be too late. I am always a day behind.
On Saturday I will fly to Kansas City to see Jedsen for the first time since the afternoon we shared in mid-February. We will move him to Chicago next week. He sleeps in the dark. In a dark so deep I wake drunk and hungover and sad because I don't know what time it is and when I find out I will be mad because I will have slept all morning. Jedsen thinks it's good that I sleep all morning, but it makes me feel behind, lost, like I have to recover who I am and what I mean. Waking to a forced dark closes me in. Tells me I should forget my love of the sun. Means I am alone even though I am less alone than I ever am.
The lights mean I'm here. The lights mean, are real. The only real time is at home or in nature. In nature, I tend to forget time.
I've been sleeping with the blinds open again. Not on purpose, but not accidentally. I used to do it all the time, but that was when the lights seemed comforting, necessary, and less bright. Since, I've read how even a little bit of light at night can disrupt your sleep. I haven't been feeling well in the middle of the day, and I'm always tired, but I don't bother to put down all of the blinds. Just like I don't bother to wash my face at night half the time because it's easier not to. Just like I ignore my birth control pill at the hour I'm supposed to take it every night and lazily take it some time the next morning before work, so that I'm always one behind.
I always feel one day behind.
I went shopping yesterday afternoon for shorts, which took me to the mall in Spartanburg, a mall I haven't been to in months. The mall left me listless and grumpy--there were no shorts long enough for a 26 year old but short enough to make me feel tall and potentially cute. I went to Target and ultimately found one pair of shorts but no tank tops, which had been a late addition to my search. Today after work, with my one success of yesterday, I went straight to the mall, convinced I would see with fresh eyes and a fresh waist line. But it was all the same and even looked worse on hangers than the previous day. Target again, after, to buy the same successful pair of shorts in a different color. But my size was all gone except in the dark khaki, which created white rings on my things where the shorts ended, clearly a different kind of 5 than the ones I'd already bought. I debated sandals, then, because I needed something new. I debated sandals in colors I didn't want but felt good. I carried three pairs around, then only one, and then none when I realized I couldn't think of a time when I would wear them over my other sandals.
As I drove away from Target, I was immediately anxious about the two hours I had wasted searching the same places for the same thing I had already searched for and, partially, found the day before. Two hours evaporate like they were never there. And all I have to show for them is a bottle of Ibuprofen and a sympathy card in a plastic bag. Once home, I need to cook dinner. I need to cook dinner because I know there is fresh chicken in the fridge that has a sell-date of May 10, thirteen days ago. I need to use this chicken that I spent $5.13 on over two weeks ago, and I need to use the green pepper and onion I bought on the same day to make fajitas, my favorite dish that I don't think I've made once in the near year I've lived here. The green pepper feels slightly wrinkly. The onion is soft and puffed with mold.
This reminds me again that I should never go on a true grocery shopping trip and buy fresh food. I won't eat it. And when I want to it will be too late and it will be because I have to because I know it will soon be too late. I am always a day behind.
On Saturday I will fly to Kansas City to see Jedsen for the first time since the afternoon we shared in mid-February. We will move him to Chicago next week. He sleeps in the dark. In a dark so deep I wake drunk and hungover and sad because I don't know what time it is and when I find out I will be mad because I will have slept all morning. Jedsen thinks it's good that I sleep all morning, but it makes me feel behind, lost, like I have to recover who I am and what I mean. Waking to a forced dark closes me in. Tells me I should forget my love of the sun. Means I am alone even though I am less alone than I ever am.
The lights mean I'm here. The lights mean, are real. The only real time is at home or in nature. In nature, I tend to forget time.
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