zinnidad zidane.

didn't blog earlier. didn't go to work until noon. set up an ira account. didn't really know much about it. just trusted the asian woman whose daughter is a teacher on a maternity leave. didn't work on my story. just transferred from print to computer. computerized it. technologized it. let it sit. it's got energy, at least. a voice i haven't really heard or used before. cramer asked me to teach a part of class tomorrow. i haven't prepared much. i'd rather wing it. passed my cset, surprisingly. never took a linguistics class in my life, but i passed it. wonder what that says about california's teaching standards. made lumpia and rice for dinner. meant to bake salmon, didn't know marinading would take an hour, then another to cook. jesus valadez walked into the filing cabinet today. i laughed, then asked if he was okay. he was. yenny couldn't answer simple questions about her spring break. i helped her a little bit, and so did silvia, but then she gave up, started talking with baudel when i walked away. asked erik if he knew who zidane was, but didn't recognize who i was talking about until i pronounced it the right way: "zi-dahn." "yeah, he's a good soccer player." "i watched a movie about him," i said. "oh. have you seen gold?" "no." "it's a good movie. you should watch it." "i will." joanna cut her hand, and i got her two bandaids. people who fund the after school program showed up. kathryn was annoyed with myra for talking on the phone, alex, for being late, not taking initiative. "it's just thousands of dollars we're dealing with here." it's strange to see her annoyed. saw her at nobhill yesterday. she had her daughter sitting in the cart. what do you call the little spot where kids can sit? it was an awkward moment. in those moments i babble like i blog. "i'm just trying out this chicken curry recipe my mom gave me." "oh, so you're making it from scratch?" "yeah. well, i do have this curry powder." i hold it up and show it to her. "well, i'll see you tomorrow," i said.

what is a day. the day, the event is not remembered in 'real time.' it is fragmented, broken in pieces. how did i breathe? did my heart race at any one point? how often did i blink? i remember an itchy eye. trying to get the eyelash out of it, as i often have to do after a shower. i remember killing a mosquito with my black slipper. i read claire's poems on meagan's laptop. i did not understand them. it was hot today. i couldn't take off my sweatshirt because my shirt reads, "everything's dirtier in the south." i'm not very professional. i don't intend to ever be.

i've taken up cooking. i've got my salmon marinading now. marinading over night's gotta be better than an hour, don't you think? i'm experimenting with new voices in my writing. "you're probably just sick of hearing your own voice," meagan explained to me. "yeah. you're right!" i said. the first insight i've had about writing since college. i'm sick of it.

1 comment:

sproutometer said...

i couldn't take off my sweatshirt because my shirt reads, "everything's dirtier in the south."
thank you, that made me laugh.