Another Open Letter

I thought about, and had the intentions of emailing this to you, but lately I've felt annoying enough for a lifetime, so with that said, I decided against it. I was a bit off today, not in a bad way, just as I have been. I rode my bike to work today for the first time, and it threw me off more than I had hoped it would. I've just been off-kilter, wearing new shoes today did not help. Lance said nothing, meaning he did not notice, Brent was first to comment; he laughed at me through the break room glass, then said that he liked them, before walking away. Ricky came up to my desk to explain the plate set-up for A2 and A7 sized envelopes, and to look at my SHCP invites, he rested his hand against the side of my desk, then pointed down, saying, "You look much better in those." Surprisingly, Seth was actually the last to make note, telling me to walk back to him to he could look at them, he explained that it was very different to see, when you see someone wearing other shoes most days. The ride home was nice, and nothing like the ride there. Seth stopped what he was doing, and stood outside in the doorway, he asked me about a helmet, to which I took the sunglasses off of my head, and put them over my eyes, before crossing the street I asked, "Are you going to watch me ride off?" He said yeah, he was. As I glanced back, making my way down MLK, he was still standing there, with arms crossed at his chest, smiling, like the paternal figure he is to me.

Before I clocked out, but after 3 o'clock Lance walked up to the side of my desk, asked what I was doing, then told me that he knew what I was doing, that I was double checking every single thing that I did because of the mistake that I had made earlier. I said that I was, but lied by following it up that I "am confident in the plates that I have made." In the back of the shop, as I finished the plates I was so confidently making, Lance approached me again, he began to talk to me about me, which I do not normally like at all, but he used the phrase, "You've really been put through the wringer this week". I appreciate people observing that, and am fond of the saying. I told him that it wasn't exactly true, but that today had been intense (couldn't come up with any other word), he assured me that it wasn't my fault. I'll always admit I do love to be coddled, but my bosses sugar-coated the truth, in order to avoid me crying in their face (again), is just not something I could ever feel anything aside from disdain for. But, he kept going, he reminded me that the CEI letters had changed so many times, he reminded me that I have had to assist Scott a lot more than they would have wanted, as he sits in the hospital every day, watching his wife go through chemo. I couldn't tell Lance how truly it had been affected me, "Scott's situation", as he put it. It's difficult for me to decipher if these extreme nausea is the result of food poisoning, or emotions, but either or, yesterday was hard to get through.

After I get home, I clean up a bit, and hop in the car to Berkeley Bowl. Every single time that I walk into that store, the exact same way, I get to the exact same spot of the store, at the very, very beginning, seconds after grabbing a basket, and I choose the speed that I commence walking in, because that will be the way in which I carry myself through the entire trip. The last time that I went, I was quickly, to the point of aggression, today I wanted to be faster than mosey, but wanted to get out of there all the same. The first thing that I see, after the sea of people, the bread,the customer service guy, the cheeses, I see a girl. Viewing from a distance, the back of a strangers head, especially female, would just about never instill interest of any kind in me. This person was different. I actually stopped walking, paused almost transfixed, looking at the back of her arms as time stood silent, and still. The first tattoo that caught my eye was a red door, fairly large, and on the back of her left arm, on the inside. As I looked, I saw more, and more. I wanted to know so very badly what the tiny vertical hammer represented, on the back of her right arm, above the elbow. Disappointed, I realized that I had not one reason to stand at the cheeses, and felt too bizarre for the reasons I was about to do so, so I kept walking, just hoping somehow I could see her face. I stopped at teas, juices, and soups, I even felt like I wanted to treat myself to a pre-package snack, so I chose chipotle yams, with caramelized onions, 3.99, and continued along. My next destination was eggs, I get the same dozen each time, because they appear to be perpetually on sale, and are organic too. Standing at those eggs, attempting to open the top of one, was this person. I stood to her side now, observed her face, clear bright and radiant, she was beautiful, but I honestly do like to think it was her energy that interested me. I like to let people take their time, I am patient in these times, and feel gross when I am reachy. She checks for cracks, and I hope that it isn't strange that I wait all this time. She looks up, and apologizes, says that you have to look for cracks, in this really funny tone, like we are grown ups now, or maybe we have just dealt with busted eggs. I was not expected we would speak, I tell her it is fine, and start to say something about how last time I didn't check, when suddenly I hear the loudest sound imaginable. I do not like to think about how much I probably jumped. My first thought was what could even crash and fall, so large, and from so high. I turn my head, and make eye contact with the woman who did it, and feel so fucking awful, because that level of embarrassment, those many people, hating you for scaring them so pubically. The woman says she is so sorry, and everyone in eyesight is still, as deer in headlights. I was beyond jarred, it reminded me of how I jolt when horns honk, how my mom told me once that she swears I have PTSD from a former life, where I was shot, and killed. I felt terrible, humiliated for everyone, and triggered, somewhere I did not like. We all look around, wanting to fix this sinking feeling, erase the look of the guilty woman's sweet face. "MOZEL TOV!", a bold woman yells, I turn my head to her now, unable to look my attracted person in the eyes. I smile, mostly at this pretty black woman's flawless skin, and perfectly white teeth. I then felt nothing at all, trying to figure out if the conversation was alright to be left as it was, and leave anyway. I wanted to see how I acted from a separate point of view, but gave up, kept walking. I thought maybe I could see my girl again, somewhere else, somewhere later, once I gathered my bearings, I could finish my story, and it would be funny, and make her forget how upset I had gotten, standing there, holding eggs with her, in a ground of broken glass. Someone had already come to sweep it up before I had even gotten to the milk. I wondered what it all meant, and I did not see her again, but I promised myself that I would write down that I hope to speak with the person with the little hammer tattoo, soft hair, and cutoff sleeves, again. I promised myself I would tell Lizz, about how I fell in love, and was going to tell her my egg story, I was telling her, and how the loudest noise I had ever heard shattered my head, and scared me half to death. The last time that I loved a cute guy on the street, I told Austin that it was sad I would never, ever see his face again. I saw him a second time, two days subsequent. Maybe my energy will work in my favor, maybe we all live off of Adeline. 

Oh, you rode your bike to work," Scott shoots me a look, "how green of you".