Sunday, bloody Sunday

Ah yes, Sunday it is, though tomorrow there is no class and no "work" in honor of the most beautiful Dr. Martin Luther King. If there were a day on which it were more apt to begin again, with a dream, I am quite sure I would be hard strapped to think of one. I. gesticulates vehemently, "it is RIDICULOUS!" she proclaims, "that people should be unkind to other people just because of the color of their skin." I nod vigorously, "I mean," she pauses for effect, "I'm a little brown, but that doesn't mean I can't be friends with people who aren't."

Oh, my sweet baby, I must be doing something right. Even if I can't seem to steer clear of drama in my life. Today has been like raking my soul across the coals, long and ending in that warm haze that comes after several glasses of vino tinto.
This is no state in which to make life changing decisions, and yet, those decisions, I think, are already made. Perhaps it is better to let sleeping dogs lie.

Mom left this morning, not everything that was aimed for accomplishment was acheived, but then, when is it ever? I did, however obtain curtains for both my kitchen and my bedroom window (Mom was adamant about my not flashing the neighbors. I insisted that I didn't care, but she finally won.) Of course, the power tools, along with half of our acquired goods have fled my home, as well as the hands that know how to use them, but on autonomous fronts, I did drive the stick shift all the way home without stalling or crashing once. A feat for which I wish I felt a little more glee. At the car dealership the men were very nice, and thy suggested I try to sell it to a third party, but frankly it seems exhausting. But little trips to the supermarket aside, I don't think I want to take a 6 hour drive up north in the RAV, having to constantly be thinking about when to shift which gear and when to leave it in neutral in order to slam on the brakes (you are all cringing... I know, I should never do that, ah yes...). K. is waiting to make some waffles for me, and I would like to be alive to partake of the goods, but I am in no real rush, otherwise to sell it. Though a nice new car smelled so good, and... No, Ilana, you must stop this. Used car, used car, it is just that I don't want to deal with repairs and unreliability in cars, with men it is bad enough.

I spent the afternoon speaking Portuguese, I know that sounds stupid, but it made me really happy to spend several hours conversing in a language not my own. I felt this sense of pride in my ability as I. played with a little girl a few years her elder and I spent the afternoon celebrating the filing of a colleague's dissertation. An incredible woman, 60 something, she has worked with inmates in several correctional facilities and started her own publishing company and poetry magazine. I got to speak with some of her guests from Açores, and I really understood, and I really was able to communicate in more actual Portuguese than Portuñol (I am learning, little by little, but then when we tried to speak French it just all fell apart, my French is truly dismal, but next year I will start classes again, that is, if I don't find an Alliance Francaise this summer to whip me back into shape like so many years ago.)

Ah yes, so the evening ended with a wine party at my friend, the sociologist's house. She just had her floors redone, it is hard not to harbor ill will towards people who can afford a house in this market, but I will forego my petty envy. Some day I too, will be able to own a house, and maybe even be happy with someone in it. I'm not holding my breath. I am cold and a little tipsy, so it is good that I was driven home by other than myself. I. is off with her daddy, and that means that I have the entire day tomorrow to do work. Will I remain undistracted for the balance of the day? We shall see. I could do worse things than to get distracted a little, and in fact I have done some of them today.