So I head over to Denny's because DSW, Bed Bath and Beyond, and Sports Authority are all still closed. I sit at the counter across the way from where the servers pick up drinks. There's a faucet right next to it...and by the time I leave, I don't see anyone using it. Two seats to my left is a man browsing through his smartphone and I'm reminded of how out-of-whack I feel without mine, having left it in the car when the battery died. To my right in a booth is a cop. If the posture and haircut weren't a dead give away, the tamed K9 at his foot sure was.
The server brings me my hot chocolate. Years ago, I'd developed the habit of dipping my spoon into the top of the drink, taking in more whip cream than actual chocolate. Today, I pick at one side of the drink before putting the spoon down. Without my phone, my hands are twitchy and need something to do, so I take the placemat and make an origami heart the same way the Baby taught me how when I was 14. When the heart is finished, I draw cartoons on it. When I leave this seat, I'll make the last-minute decision to leave it behind.
Once I finish drawing, I'm distracted by how shiny the countertop is. Without really thinking about it, I pull off my ring and spin it on the surface. I know what I'm doing and it bothers me that I have to do it: allowing myself to be distracted for the hell of it so I don't think so much. So I let the ring spin and spin and spin like the top from Inception and before long, my whip cream has dissolved completely and I'm astutely aware that yesterday wasn't a bad dream; just another bitchslap.
I thank the waiters at the restaurant and drive back to B&N and just get lost.
My fingers graze over covers, titles, plot summaries and random chapters as I move between the aisles. This place has always been my candy shop/solace: a place to be simultaneously excited and at peace. I float between back-to-school requirements, Monsieur Poirot, A Thousand Suns, too many historical fiction titles, and comic books [apparently, there's an actual hero called Marijuanaman].
In The Five People You Meet in Heaven, the protagonist says that everyone's heaven is their idea of what every single day should be like; he spends his afterlife reliving marrying the love of his past life. My version, I think, would be a little like this moment, endless stories, mysteries, romance, laughter. The mean part of my head that scolded me for spinning my ring speaks up again and reminds me that I'm here for a reason. That I sought out my place of solace, essentially a cornucopia of thousands of lives and thoughts, to keep out my own.
I've said before that I've gotten better at knowing my limits, at knowing when "a little bit" turns into "too much" and how to keep it from getting there. This, I think when I pile a novel on top of a storybook, is how I'm keeping from going there. Some people have drugs, I have shopping and I do it for a few more hours until I feel like the weight in my chest doesn't feel so all-encompassing.
"Smile! Crying is for ugly girls." The Baby texted me before I fell asleep yesterday. It's appropriate then, because I'm expunging the appeal of flaming shit. By the time I'm picking out a new set of running shoes, "too much" turns down to "a little more." It's not a fix, I'm aware of this, but it's nice and I let the feeling roll over me when I come home. We read one of my purchases, the hilarious, Go the F*ck to Sleep and I idly wonder if I can sneak it into work next time one of the babies don't feel like going to bed.
The first time this happened, I almost didn't come back. This time, though, the blow wasn't hard enough to knock me out. Or, maybe [just maybe], I'm a smidge stronger than the last round.
Once I get home, I get some news that hurts a little even if I had anticipated it. I guess it's only the appropriate way to end a week of having people disappoint me. But, I figure, if someone's life is so boring and bleh that they have time to look at my thoroughly dull existence and laugh at it, hey, all the more entertainment for the world. :)
