My Vein, My Blood – 8


I can’t believe how awesome God is.  I walk through the Vineyards and marvel at the beauty He’s created.  The water, the sky, the trees and flowers.  Spider web strings dangling with a single leaf caught at the end.  I don’t know how anyone can be in this world and not be in awe.  And imagine heaven is somewhere more beautiful.  You can’t imagine it.  How can that be?  I had to go to the bathroom so bad this morning.  The bottom fell out of my stomach.  I thought I’d have an accident.  The club was closed when I got there but I’d been praying for God to let me get to a bathroom.  And I saw a woman approaching the side door who worked there and she let me in.  Thank you, Jesus.  He never lets me down.  Even in small things such as this.  Okay, God, Jesus.  Help me finish Phantom.  And then help me sell it.


Why can’t we all just do what we’re supposed to do?  It’s 10 a.m.  Where’s M?  Is he here working?  No.  Does he often not show up or not do as much work as I want him to?  Yes.  “I forgot.”  The common excuse.  Just like D’s “I forgot” to clean the bathroom.  It’s Tuesday.  She’s supposed to do it Saturday a.m.  But she doesn’t.  I let it go.  And then I’m pissed.  Like today.  So I have to eliminate J from the picture.  That’s the only way to get her attention.  Then she’s mad.  Well, DO WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO AND THERE WON’T BE ANY NEGATIVE CONSEQUENCES.  It’s so beautiful out here on the deck.  Birds are screeching in the trees.  The sun is shining.  I have my coffee.  Okay.  And a ciggie.  Bad habit.  I’m so lucky.  So blessed.


I’ve been thinking a lot about personal conviction lately.  How we all develop our own personal code of honor.  What’s right for me may not be right for someone else.  Like divorce.  Why I won’t do it.  What does it say about me if I give my word, take that vow, make that commitment and then I walk when the going gets tough.  What does that say about my word?  That it means nothing?  That I can’t be trusted to keep it?  And my weight.  Do I really have to eat everything in sight?  Including things that just aren’t healthy for me?  Isn’t it about developing a certain amount of self-control and self-discipline?  Isn’t it about gluttony?  What does it say about you that you can’t say no?  You’re not being the best you can be, the best God wants you to be.


I am in a weird mood.  I felt like I got run over by a truck by the time I got home from work.  I slept but I still don’t feel too energetic.  I’m in a funky mood.  Annoyed for no reason.  I guess J drank all the milk.  Again.  If he’s going to do that I wish he’d buy more.  There goes the phone.  Which was in D’s room. Even though I’ve banned her from using it.  It works about as well as U.N. sanctions on Iraq.


I like cities.  All those tall building we don’t have in _______.  Unless they’re condos along the beach.  The natives step off the sidewalk just a beat faster than the tourists.  They’re conditioned to know when the light’s about to change or all the traffic has dissipated.  I personally am too busy looking around to pay complete attention to the traffic.  Things go on here (in Baltimore) that probably wouldn’t in _______.  For example, in the café I’m breakfasting in the cook put his bare hands on top of my sandwich on the grill.  Right in front of me.  Then he took my money and gave me change. So I dread to think where his hands have been, what he’s touched, prior to me ordering!  I imagine my sandwich contaminated by every germ on each piece of currency handled by him and other customers this morning.  But I’m eating it anyway because I’m hungry and it’s good.  I always forget about the homeless beggars in cities.  I should keep change in my pocket for them.  But I forget.  This guy was behind me today and I kept walking because I’d have had to dig through my backpack to get to my wallet to give him money.  I put the $2 change from the drugstore in my pocket, but by the time I came out he was gone.  Oh well.  Maybe I’ll run into him again later.  This café is odd.  Lottery tickets are apparently big business.  The walls are painted a bright sort of salmon color and there are two framed prints—one Van Gogh and one Monet.  It’s more like a lunch counter place with just a few tables (and a TV tuned to CNN) in the back.  I guess I’ll walk down to City Lights and get D a necklace and get Duck tickets.  I hope we get to go to Fells Point.  I’m more interested in that than the Duck tour.


Who designs airplane seats anyway?  And who are they designed for?  And what’s with the loudspeakers?  The captain and flight attendant announcements about blast me out of my seat!  Luckily a cart lady saw us limping along and made us get on.  Or else we would not have made it to the gate.  We landed on E and had to get to D concourse.  It was a long, long way.  I noticed when I was waiting at the Sacramento airport for the others to arrive that even while you’re watching all these strangers arrive, milling in front of you, crowding down the escalator that you scan and dismiss, scan and dismiss because you know they’re not part of your clan.  You automatically recognize them because their gait, their posture, something is ingrained in you.  A familiarity with them even if you haven’t seen them in a long time.  It’s weird.  And K!  Oh.  My.  God!  Can you say victim?  About a thousand times.