Day 45: The day I lost it.
Hotel staff treated me "politely" but with thinly veiled contempt when I made a very basic request. Clearly they despise "the show people," no doubt based on past experiences with the road shows that cycle in and out of Proctor's. The show people ask for things. The show people keep wanting stuff. I could tell the desk girl was "sick of this complaining." Sick of this "needing things." So I learned not to ask the staff here for anything.
I've been feeling directionless and purposeless, perhaps because I have no direction or purpose. I really want some kind of goal and keep trying to manufacture one for my new gypsy life. I haven't succeeded at that yet, so I'm frustrated. Getting back on the elevator after being summarily denied help by the people who are in charge of the closest thing I have to a home, I was squinting off tears. What, I'm gonna cry because some idiot desk girl gave me smiley attitude? No, no I'm not.
I sought out the nearest grocery store to our new location. It felt like a third world country. People were eating handfuls of fruit and discarding the pits on the floor, opening packages in the aisles, removing some of the contents, then stuffing the empty shells back on the shelves. The checkout girl simmered with rage at each person in line as they approached. The man before me, because he couldn't speak English. The woman behind me, because she was angrily berating the girl for moving so slowly helping us all. And me, well, I tried to be polite, efficient, helpful. She threw my yogurts at me with contempt and heaved my grapes into a bag as if she was trying to squash them. It's important not to take this kind of thing personally, I'm sure the majority of her day is struggle and displeasure.
The day's only other activity was a choice: meet my husband on his coffee break at 6pm, or take ballet class at 6pm. Sucks that they had to fall at the exact same time. I chose ballet class. And then I got to the studio and discovered that they had emailed me an incorrect schedule. The class didn't start at 6pm, it ended at 6pm. Breathing heavily and thinking, "Don't cry, don't cry" I texted my husband to see if he still had a minute before going back into rehearsal until midnight. He did, just barely. I waited for him at the bakery by the theater. In he walks. With his boss. Who I've never met until this moment. But that's how everyone likes to make a first impression, isn't it? Wiping the tears off your cheeks and keeping your sunglasses on so that it's only passively obvious that you're having a breakdown.
What kind of baby am I, I asked myself as I walked back to the hotel. Time to do something that feels productive and inspiring. I went to Barnes & Noble to kill some time and get out in the world of the living. Why was the parking lot totally unlit? At least the store was still open. It felt strangely deserted inside. I browsed everything, circled tables, read first chapters. It was hard not to notice that I was being followed by a large, ungainly man. I think he wanted to talk to me. He knocked over a display then lumbered away. I looked for a chair to sit down but found they were all occupied by sleeping, old, foul-looking men. Barnes & Noble Homeless Nap Center? I remained standing and got engrossed in the Steve Jobs biography. But a person was very close to me, saying, "What you readin'? What kind of books you like, huh? What kind of books you like to read? What you readin'?" I looked up in surprise. He was small and not old. He looked at me intently, shifting from foot to foot slightly. I opened my mouth but couldn't say anything before his phone rang. He fliped it open and walked down an aisle, mumbling into it. I went back to reading.
I read a page and he was back. "What you like readin', huh? What kind of books?" It felt like a dirty question. Ignoring him seemed like the wrong answer. This person needed to be told to move on. I shrugged, shook my head, and tried to make my body language say, "Go away." And he was gone.
But he wasn't gone, said all the hair on my skin. I glanced over my shoulder but he wasn't there. Nor was he over the other shoulder. But he was definitely somewhere, because I knew he wasn't gone. I was still kind-of-sort-of-reading and it was when I looked down at the book that I figured it out. He was crouched on the ground behind me so if I took a step backward I'd tumble over him. As soon as he was caught he pretended to be examining some chocolates that were low on the opposing display, then scrambled to his feet and took off down an aisle, deeper into the store. I got really, really mad. It was time to go.
In the unlit parking lot I could hear, but not see, that there was a lot of activity. Music, raised voices, laughter, anger, life. The large, ungainly man who followed me earlier had followed me out. He kind of tripped as he stepped off the curb then gave up the chase and went back into the store. It was hard to navigate the car back to the main road through the confusing layers of parking lot access avenues. When I was back in a place I knew I started crying and I let the tears fall as they would all the way back to the hotel room, the place I feel trapped in, the place that I wish I hadn't left as soon as I go out.
So now I'm going to read about Steve Jobs.
