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New age gay hard on.

I went for a walk to stretch my legs, get my head together (There's a bunch of things up in the air right now, and as light as that expression makes it sound, it all in fact weighs down on me. And the writing's fine, thanks for asking, but I still feel like I'm not doing enough. It's never enough.), not be in my house. And I was in such an agitated state I didn't feel like cooking, so I wanted to pick up food. Something with grilled vegetables. And cheese. (Ah cheese, my old friend. The ultimate stress reliever.)

I ended up at the Israeli cafe on Grand. I stopped going there a while ago because they don't have wireless and I am sullen without my internet teat. But today I was mobile and free, a girl on the go. I ordered a sandwich and waited. A couple next to me sat, shoeless, legs wrapped loosely in a yoga position. They were wearing loose clothes, exercise pants on both, a t-shirt, cut off at the sleeves and neck for him, a tank top for her, layered on top of an athletic bra. She wore her hair (dirty blonde, clean) in a ponytail low around her neck, and he wore his hair in a ponytail up on top of his head. Zippy the Yoga Pinhead.

They had either had pancakes or waffles because there was syrup on the table.

She was telling him a story about her lovelife. He was making soothing new age gay noises. It had something to do with her going out with a man who offered to spend money on her and take care of her but he never did. Eventually he bought her a gift, a knife holder. She was appalled by this to the point that she could not even finish her sentences - "I mean, could you? Everything you know? What would I?" - her eyes wide and shocked, hands in the air, fists clenching and unclenching.

And then finally she said, "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I always let the darkness in, but never the light."

And he said, "I didn't want to say anything but. Yes."

"I know, I know, I always do that!"

"It's ok," he said. "Now you just need to notice it, be aware of it in your life." His words poured out smoothly.

Listening to them began to make me feel anxious. I had a wide range of options to take care of this anxiety: I could move to another table (although they were pretty loud), I could stand outside, I could tell them that they were complete idiots and they should shut the fuck up. I rehearsed several variations of the last option in my head, which allowed me to tune them out, and I felt calmer.

And then she started crying. And he rubbed her legs soothingly and I imagined with pressure - this was his new age gay hard on moment - and said, "That's right, let it out. Let it out." He embraced her with fire, wrapped his arms around her, and stroked her. When he released her, they both leaned their hands forward for a moment, foreheads touching, and held. Hold it for twenty, people. Hold it for twenty.

Meanwhile where was my fucking sandwich? I hate the Israeli cafe. That's why I stopped going there. Fifteen minutes for roasted veggies and goat cheese? What are they, roasting the vegetables? Milking the goat? Were they letting the dark in again instead of the light?

Finally the sandwich was ready. With every ounce of desire for social acceptance in my body I manage to walk past the yoga twins without saying anything. He was nodding, she was clenching.

This is why I don't leave my house, don't leave your house, don't ever leave, don't ever, don't.

(5/12/05)