Two Weeks in the Life – Sunday

(From time to time, I’ve chronicled a week in my life, based on some internet project.  I find this whole idea kind-of interesting…and the next two weeks promise to provide a lot of fodder for writing.  Hence, Two Weeks in the Life.)

It is Sunday, and the dog seems to have learned that we sleep in on one weekend day, and we go to the park on one weekend day.  We slept in yesterday.

It is a crisp, spring morning, but the temperature gauge on my iPhone, at 7.45a reads only 3C.  This, in my view, is complete BS.

roo in the park

We gambol around the Conservatory Pond, and we bump into Rebecca and Henry, her Welsh springer spaniel. The boys play, and Rebex and I discuss, in no particular order, our upcoming travel, a pair of flats I recently purchased (Did you buy the leopard print ones or the jaguar ones?  I bought the jaguar ones.  I stop myself short of saying Of course I bought the jaguar ones!), and eee’s new place, which is in Gramercy, and where I had visited the night prior.

I wonder if this is anything like being a parent, where you run into other parents in the park, and the kids play while you talk about Stuff and Things.  But then off-leash hours end, and I go to spinning, but not first without misfiring a text message, in which I ask the wrong person: Have you seen my cycling shoes?

Not me.

I spin, and I work with the trainer, and then I shower, and change, and reply to emails, and do some work.  I negotiate with the doctor, who doesn’t want me to travel to Asia.  The trip has already been delayed by a day, for a variety of reasons, but only one of them medical.  The doctor does not want me to go to Asia because my lungs are still weak and I am susceptible to flu.

I think about the week prior, when I had asked Jade: Will it bother you if I give myself an injection in front of you?

I had not thought about that previously, having lived alone for so long.  I do not think about the fact that there is a sharps container on my windowsill, full of spent syringes.  I suppose I never really wonder if it bothers people when they place dishes in my sink.

sharps

I am aggressive about putting myself out into the world as a Non-Sick Person.  But in my home, there is the daily pill box, filled with the 10+ medications I take, and the B-vitamins that help with energy and (surprisingly) nausea.

And I don’t think about it.  Until I have to barter with the doctor to clear me to fly.

My initial negotiations are interrupted by Katka coming to collect the dog for his two-week stay in Connecticut.  I have taught him the word “Connecticut” and it makes him dance in circles awaiting Katka’s arrival.

They leave, with him happily prancing down the hallway.

I begin, half-heartedly, to pack.  Which, for some reason, I find depressing. Which I shouldn’t, because I’ve been flightless since February, and the whole of America is getting on my nerves, but the prospect of Hong Kong is upsetting me too.

So I leave to shop for odds and ends.  I try to make myself feel better by going to Diptyque to pick up a travel-sized Eau Rose, and the guy throws in four baby-sized ones.  And I go to the drug store to pick up a bottle of my beloved Mustela Hydrabebe very emolient face creme.  I have recently graduated from “zits and wrinkles” to “very occasional blemishes, wrinkles, and dandruffy-dry skin.”  I wonder, idly, if they offer certificates or medals for this.

This must be why A thinks I smell like talcum powder and roses…because I do.  It’s a nice way of saying I smell like the non-Diaper Genie parts of a nursery.

I head back home.

I could teach a course on Packing For International Travel at the 92nd St. Y.  Which is like the Learning Annex for the new millennium.  I rarely check bags — not because I’m morally opposed or because my bags have been lost, but because I find the waiting at my destination generally irritating.

packing guru

The trick is a lightweight suitcase with a frame that doesn’t take up much space inside the bag; shoe bags for shoes that match several different things; workable, versatile outfits.

Behold:

two weeks

(I think my briefcase is the size of my suitcase…)

I am worried; spent.  But I am ready, I suppose.  Always ready.

2 Comments

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  1. I would love to take that course of yours at the 92nd. St. Y. Teach me your ways, packing guru. Safe travels, with plenty of time to rest and write on the plane.

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