I’m of two minds when it comes to getting over something sad. And whether we’re talking about loss or loneliness – neither a very cheerful topic – distractions seem like a good idea. Be busy and occupied with other thoughts so I can't dwell upon sadness that at times seems overwhelming. The problem I have with this is that the sadness still comes – sharply surprising me at odd moments, and the pain catches me off guard. But at least there’s other stuff to talk about. Distractions are helpful and help with the whole time thing.
So! Today there was football with my Unnamed Friend, which was … good, I guess. First, my team is, um, not so talented. I found myself laughing more than once. "And there's another flag!" turned to "For crying out loud." I did comment to my Unnamed Friend that I liked sporting events in the south. Rabid loyalty for the team mixed with a certain politeness when trying to scoot in front of people on the bleachers. Uncivilized seating – bleachers. I don’t enjoy it. Then again, I’m not sure how polite the little blonde woman was when she screamed at the referee that he should go back to the farm animals (he either was like the pigs or liked to do things with the pigs – I’m not sure. Neither is very nice though.) There is, however, something delightful to me about hearing vile threats and lengthy insults shouted in the drawl that can otherwise be so sweet.
After I was sure I was getting burned on my right side (my face isn’t as bad as I feared, but my arm is much worse), I nodded when my Unnamed Friend asked again if my complaints of excessive heat, discomfort or hunger meant I wanted to leave. Carefully carrying my souvenir cup in one hand while my little blue purse (it matched my flip flops!) was tucked under the other arm, we headed back across campus then to a Farmers Market.
“It’s an actual structure!” I exclaimed upon seeing it, my initial ‘eh’ attitude fading when I saw the pretty building instead of scattered stands placed outside. I coveted the huge mum plants, but decided against them. I bragged about my flowers – how they’re filling in the entire bed and growing so tall though I didn't plant them – until my Unnamed Friend asked if they were weeds.
I paused, considered then shrugged. I guess they might be weeds, but we’ve already covered my thoughts on that. If the weeds are pretty, they may grow in my flower beds. I just want flowers, and my pretty orange/purple/pink/white mix is as pretty as the purple plant I liked before. Then I smiled, thinking of how I spent time earlier today pruning my three bushes, and pulling weeds from around my pretty flowers.
“I wonder if the neighbors think I’m weird. Out there every weekend, weeding around my weeds.”
I was leery of the Greek stand – incredibly hungry, but unsure of the quality of our proposed lunch. But it was busy, so I comforted myself with the thought that it should at least be OK.
It was the most fantastic food I’ve had in a long time. I ate quickly so that I could consume as much as possible before getting full, then continued to eat until I was slightly ill. Then I had my piece of baklava and felt miserable. But the food was wonderful – I just got too excited and ate too much of it.
The excessive fullness prohibited me from wanting any of the produce we revisited before leaving, and made the oriental market experience slightly surreal. Foreign languages printed and spoken, so much tea, gross pictures, an overwhelming corner of incense. It did serve as a contrast to my experience in Japan. When I was there, I was hungry but grossed out by the offerings. This time I was stuffed, but could imagine some mild interest in the international food had the thought of any food not been somewhat revolting.
I did buy 3 blush pears before leaving – it seemed wrong to leave without any produce at all when I was so pleased by the market in general.
After about an hour on her couch, I traded a wonderful blood orange soda/tequila drink (that she made weak for me! Such a good Unnamed Friend.) and a gorgeous, small cat in an apartment closer to town for my 52 pound dog and a glass of Chardonnay (oh, yes, I’m tipsy now.) in my house outside town. They appeared to have reopened the only large road out here – the parade must have been completed while I was off at the game or market or Unnamed Friend’s apartment. I hope it was a good parade for the folks who lined the sides of the street as I drove off this morning. I enjoyed seeing the man and his grandson on the bright green tractor as they waited to start, so perhaps everyone else did too.
I have more thoughts on the post from last night. I appreciate the comments and will consider them further. Later. For now, I’m tired from a very nice day. I’m quite pleased I’ve found a friend who lives in my current location. Greek food is amazing, though it’s in an inconvenient location. My football seats aren’t bad, and perhaps eventually I’ll figure out if the officials are pigs, or if they just really like them. I’m a little tipsy too, and some subjects call for sober reflection. But there are days of silly fun among the ones filled with work and worry. It’s important to remember those, I think. So the time I took to write this all down (hoping all the while it’s coherent) might have been well spent.