When you have clean sheets and all your underwear is washed and neatly folded, you can’t help but feel terribly efficient and it can force you to act in a very responsible manner. Hence, firing up the laptop after a day out, when I really want to be sinking down into my sofa bed and reading my book.
However, since it was a successful day (I have decided to deem the word successful to mean ‘to manage to get through the day without feeling ridiculous on less than three occasions’), it is best I make a note of it as it may come in handy later as a reminder. Despite getting up at six and running through my yoga sequence, in the slither of space between my sofa bed and the drop leaf breakfast table, I was very slow to crank myself up today and the clock was racing towards 10:30 before I got outside to go for my morning run. The rain had been kind and fallen in the night so it was bright and crisp and perfect for running up and down the steep sidewalk to Dolores Park. I decided it is far easier to run up the bloody hills than it is to walk them. Momentum is as momentum does. ‘Jog’ Tick box checked, I forced myself to go and be sociable in the local cafe, deciding it was a sofa and book day rather than my usual writing day. I write to make myself feel as though I have a very important job to do and, even though the use of it is not at all apparent, I tell myself it is the doing that counts and not the…erm, something or rather.
I am becoming quite a local in the cafe and the girls are getting used to my order of ‘green tea in the white mug and can I have a few ice cubes in it please, so I can drink it now’, I’ll soon not have to say a word. It will be done upon my entrance, at this point I will probably go off green tea and decide I like the blue mug best. I sit laughing like a loon as I turn over the pages of a book I considered making a new dust jacket for as a disguise, it not being a classic or stamped with a Booker or some other prize of note. The title, High Maintenance, really not doing it justice. Honestly. I giggled conspiratorialy with the author when I read the passage about her forcing herself to go to the cafe and read whilst trying to snatch eye contact with people eating croissants and bagels, just to prove she exists. Life imitating art. My project to become one member of a romantic double act has so far failed to produce even one date or even a mild flirtation, despite efforts. I get quite desperate and bore my stares into mens faces like the sun through a magnifying glass, I’m sure they go home feeling scorched or temporarily blinded, which is probably why I fail to garner even a flicker of interest. Mexican UPS drivers and untidy, drunk men have shown some appreciation, so I know, at least, I am actually alive. I admit my behaviour is a bit weird and with this in mind I think it is perhaps very telling that I am currently unattached. I silently rake over a guy in the cafe, who has not even once looked in my direction, taking preference to be absorbed in tiny pictures on his computer screen, and conclude I am not interested in him as, for some reason, I decide he is not attractive because his trainers (sneakers) are too new. The fact they didn’t display any scuff marks or watermarks, over rode the points he scored for having the correct density and shading of hair on his arms and manly hands. My behaviour made me feel silly and I had to strike off one of my ‘ridiculousness tokens’ for the day and it left me with only two remaining. I think I may still have the others intact, though I could be delusional.
I rode the Bart the Rockridge, for a treat of a Breema massage. I’d had a five-minute sample a couple of days before and yearned for more. After witnessing on the news, riots in Oakland at the weekend, I was a bit reticent to travel across the Bay but thought it worth the risk. Karen welcomed me in, even though I was half and hour late, and got to work on me straight away. What is so nice about the experience is the use of their body to stretch and kneed yours; using elbows and toes, just the intro of her standing on my inner ankles was enough to melt me into the Persian rug on which I lay. Fifty minutes passed far too speedily and I wished I could stay in the womb, I mean room, forever. Well, at least for another hour anyway. It was dark when I stepped back out onto the street and I walked up into the little town, window shopping and getting a feel for the place. Its cute little shops and busy cafes made me conclude it was worthy of a thumbs up.
Forty minutes later I was back on 24th Street in San Fran and inside the tiny Mexican Grill called Papalote (God knows why as translated it means ‘kite or ‘hanglider’, I fail to see a connection). Graced with five stars on Yelp and with vegan options I was very excited to eat there. I paid roughly $7 for a duo of soft corn tacos and my first experience of Mole sauce, a Mexican concoction of basically onions, chillies, spices, flour and chocolate. The place was packed with tables of families and couples. I looked the odd one out, sat all on my lonesome. My expectations were left unmatched and the food was disappointing. I ended up scraping the sweet sauce from my tacos and dousing the watery salad and tasteless gauc with hot pepper sauce. I felt cheated and headed down Valencia to the Ritual Roaster to console myself with a pot of green tea and read a book I selected of the free bin outside Dog Eared books. I felt better for looking at pictures of supposedly budget, ‘secret’ hotels in exotic places and dreamed of being an owner of a small boutique vacation rental somewhere gorgeous. My daydreaming even managed to stop me from being pathetic and trying to make eye contact with guys who I wouldn’t normally be attracted to, but, out of sheer desperation of another day chalked up in Singledom, become fiercly attractive and I conclude have a very high IQ and the wit of a shed load of comedians. Thus saving me being stripped over another token.
So now, as the little clock in the bottom of my screen hits 23:14 and the fridge is getting ready to crank up the volume for when I turn out the light, I name this day a success. I got by with one ‘ridiculous’ token remaining; the second one just being used up by my utter perplexidness (yes, that is a word..now) as to why I am writing this for people to read. Or, even worse, ignore! In my defence I am but a mere human and I remind myself that I’m not alone in trying to record my existence; just like graffiti artists or paintings by cave dwellers back in the day, I too want to show I once walked the Big Blue. Oh dear, a familiar feeling is rising, best get to sleep before I use up my last token for today.