I was up at 4:30am with pain from my pinched nerve. Did some good writing for a new zine. Said things I really wanted to say, that I never said before.
Went at 6:10am to the Catholic Worker to pray then serve the hungry. I did bread. My back didn’t hurt to speak of. I didn’t have any good conversations. Gave bread as quickly as possible. Sometimes the line was a bit long. Sometimes people huddled instead of queuing, but not too bad.
Some people came back over and over again. Many wanted the soft, white french bread. Yeah, I know about them. Their teeth are bad.
I made up an aphorism. “Once the donuts come out, no one wants the bread anymore.” But it’s not really true. There are still a few bread-takers.
Then I helped a friend make breakfast. When properly buttered, even the cheapest bread makes nice toast! I was the toastmaster. We were using individually wrapped butter pats in the bumpy golden foil. They must have been donated.
Then we had a meeting. Then our friend did a presentation on tiny house villages. Wow, he knows his stuff. He was comparing seven different villages. I went upstairs to the prayer room, cried, and wrote two letters. The letters were real, heartfelt, and articulate–but very sad. I hope it’s ok.
I have a new shirt. I don’t like it, but Ming does. I like the rusty orange color, but it’s super long and hangs funny.
The worker at the Jolt seemed to be having a quiet crisis and / or need coffee. Ming’s expensive coffee drink was almost all ice. I just asked for my water bottle to be refilled, considered free books and didn’t take any, and used the bathroom.
There was a mental health textbook in Arabic I considered grabbing for a friend. But it’s probably all mainstream claptrap.
The long list of bathroom prohibitions made me sad. You can wash your hands there–that’s it! No washing your feet. No brushing your teeth. Can’t do anything lewd.
I thought, Can you look in the mirror? I considered writing that on the paper sign, but there were probably cameras. They’d kick me out. I never could return again. That means I’d have to miss the zine fest.
I did look in the mirror. My hair is a little grayer on the edges. But I’m still me.
Then we made some copies.
Summer is a pain in the ass.
No good books at the gay center.
A sad letter is better than nothing at all.