I have given myself permission not to wash dishes. Or clothes. Or surfaces. Just for the week. Every morning, I wash a bowl for my cereal, and then I throw it back in the sink. The good part is that I soak them thoroughly, so they are easy to wash the next morning. Today I bought the cheap trouser socks from W@lgreens so that I don't have to do laundry tonight. (Also, I was running out. For serious. These things disappear when you put them in the washer. It's bizarre.) The counter is covered with crumbs and packaging.
Guess how much I care?
Bingo.
I am doing far more interesting things instead. Mostly, I'm going for long walks in the golden evening light. Also some job search-like things. But mostly, the walks. To this park, where people are playing soccer and frisbee and softball and kickball, and I'm tempted to ask if I can join, any one of them. I might, soon, when there is no job search-like thing urgently awaiting me at home.
...
This morning on the bus, which was packed, a man from Southern Sudan was standing next to my seat. I wanted to greet him, but it took me four blocks to remember the Nuer greetings that flew out so quickly nine months ago. "Male. Male midiit. Male migwa." And he was Dinka, not Nuer, and I've never figured out if the greetings are the same. So I kept quiet, and I looked down at his cheap plastic African sandals, and I wished I had said something, wished I was brave enough to say hello, but it was my stop, and I still wasn't sure what to say. "Hi, I've been to your country! No time to talk!" It's awkward.
Guess how much I care?
Bingo.
I am doing far more interesting things instead. Mostly, I'm going for long walks in the golden evening light. Also some job search-like things. But mostly, the walks. To this park, where people are playing soccer and frisbee and softball and kickball, and I'm tempted to ask if I can join, any one of them. I might, soon, when there is no job search-like thing urgently awaiting me at home.
...
This morning on the bus, which was packed, a man from Southern Sudan was standing next to my seat. I wanted to greet him, but it took me four blocks to remember the Nuer greetings that flew out so quickly nine months ago. "Male. Male midiit. Male migwa." And he was Dinka, not Nuer, and I've never figured out if the greetings are the same. So I kept quiet, and I looked down at his cheap plastic African sandals, and I wished I had said something, wished I was brave enough to say hello, but it was my stop, and I still wasn't sure what to say. "Hi, I've been to your country! No time to talk!" It's awkward.
No comments:
Post a Comment