I try facing the day with my head held high but i’m just too damn bitter. I can’t hear laughter without suspecting it’s directed at me. the success of others, whether real or imagined, makes me weak with envy and despair. another’s success brings my own inadequacies into sickening relief. I take everything personally. If someone crosses the street ahead of me I take it personally. if the waitress fails to smile at me I take that personally. being an egotist is fucking, exhausting.
yesterday there was a hurricane. I kept waiting for the terrible moment of impact to finally be upon us but as far I could tell it never came. there was no terrible impact. I had been waiting inside most of the day due to the rain but an hour or so before sunset I decided to venture outside.
the air had that odd yellowish quality that happens during a storm. there was a constant breeze. not too strong, but steady. and big. i could see every tree on the street moving at once. trash flying everywhere. there was a little rain — quintillions of tiny droplets falling everywhere. at first it feels like the little things don’t even get you wet. the small little drops just ball up on the surface of your skin and hair. it felt good and cold.
I walked to the park. I was not the only person outside taking in the air, not by a long shot, although every business along my street appeared to be closed. I made it to the park and walked a lap, reveling in the weird atmosphere of the storm, watching the joggers and the couples. the cops.
when I left the part and looped back to paseo de montejo, I paused to contemplate a street vendor, basically the only one I had seen during my walk. it was a marquesita stand. and the line practically stretched around the block. he had been one of the few businesses to open up on the night of the hurricane and now he was raking in business with no competition. the bastard.
i went home and cooked dinner. i called it a night pretty soon after
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