Today was a crazy day. I decided to skip all my classes because my bus was at 10pm and I didn’t want to cut it too close. (My classes were from 1 to 4, so you can understand where I was coming from). So, to deal with the stress from that and our once again malfunctioning dishwasher, I took a mental health day.
The mental health day started off strong, I “preserved my peace” by finally getting back into my old TikTok. I made an emotional video about our dishwasher to Let You Down by NF to cope, which helped me a little. I then spent an hour watching my old videos and laughing.
I continued my morning by sitting at my kitchen table. I scrolled for a bit on instagram, albeit it uninvested when I saw a reel about the bedbug infestation ailing Paris. I jumped from my seat, quick to rush to Alienor’s side - I hoped to provide her comfort she needed and deserved in these trying times. As an empath, I shed a few tears before moving on with my morning.
I was so wrapped up in being such a caretaker that I didn’t even realize they have taken MY city, New York, as well.
This, believe it or not, was not the only instance of critters overtaking my safe space today. A few hours later, I was Alone in the house. As usual when I’m by myself, I was on guard, alert to any mysterious noises.
I’ve always had gas stoves, but my apartment this year is electric. I’ve found this journey to be exciting, as I love learning. I’ve been told by many I’m inquisitive by nature.
I sat at the kitchen table, eating my dinner, running through the list of things I’d packed and the things I would need to bring back to Canada.
All of a sudden, my ears perked up. There was a rattling noise coming from the stove. Of course, as I mentioned, I wouldn’t hesitate to compare myself to a modern Sherlock Holmes. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that the stove was off, which crossed my first hypothesis of a burner heating up off the list.
I got closer to the stove, not sure what I was looking for. It took me a second, but I realized the mysterious grey line along the side of the burner was a tail. So we meet again, dear mouse.
My first instinct, naturally, was to do my best cat impression and make a hissing noise. The mouse was unmoved by this, and the tail stayed. I banged my hand against the top of the stove, and she retreated into her cave. I sat back down, and my heart rate returned to normal.
I continued my dinner, and a mere five minutes later, BAM. She was back. Bobby McGee and me. I was Tom and she was Jerry. We played the game of cat and mouse a few more times, and then I heard the creak of the front door, a sound much like the flapping of angels wings. Alienor and Jaimie had returned, and the mouse took her leave for the night. Sleep tight sweet Angel.
An hour or so later, it was time for me to set sail on the rocky seas of the west and begin my pilgrimage to Brooklyn.
My trip to 1717 rue Berri, the glamorous and famed bus station was nothing short of rocky.
The man beside me on the 80 kept calling me a slut - as I tuned him out, staring at the woman in front of me’s knee, I wondered why? I was wearing pants and a t-shirt. Then, as if the clouds parted above me, I realized - it was probably my Patagonia backpack. I’ve heard red is a slutty color, and this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve experienced envy at the hands of this bag - jealousy comes out in cruel ways.
Also, I was thinking my hair dried differently than usual - maybe he was saying I looked like Lindsay Bluth from the episode of arrested development where she visits her George Bluth in Jail. I hope this was the case, then in real life I could be married to Ellen. Dreamy!!
A transfer and short walk later, it happened. I had arrived. Rue Berri!! How I had missed her fluorescent lighting. We lined up almost immediately, and as I settled into the bus, GASP. The chargers didn’t work. It felt like a knife to the throat. I crumbled to the ground and let out a wail. Gone were the days of me blogging- me playing sudoku. Gone, before they would even begin. Me, living alongside all of the tragic love stories of the past. Me, Romeo, Juliet. I threw my fist into the ground as I mumbled, Et Tu, Brute?
(Caesar had a tea for lunch and Brutus ate a rat. This one’s for my Latin language lovers. Rawrrrr).
I laid on the floor for what felt like hours, shrieking, and much to my dismay, no one gave me a second glance. So this is what heartbreak feels like?
I shook my head as I rummaged through my bag and realized I forgot my slam poetry book - the greatest art comes from the greatest pain.
Luckily enough, the lady beside me asked the bus driver about the outlets and a few hours later I was saved.
The time before this bounce back, though, led me to some serious pondering. When Ila pointed out to me the quotes on the top of the pages of the US passport, I decided on a new goal in life - to be featured. I’m not sure what I have to say, but I think I could up with something. I always have lots on my mind.
Really, I would like to be featured on the Canadian passport, but one, I’m not sure if their passport has quotes, and two, I worry you would need to be a citizen.
Soon after, I watched the freaks like me music video, and my spirits were uplifted.
“We are we are we are the quirky ones”
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