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August 18, 2006
THE PROMENADE
Each morning, I make it a habit to take a walk to the Brooklyn promenade to grab a seat on one of the good benches in the shade before the yuppies and their gargantuan baby carriages take them over. Besides, I'm reading this book about writing that tells me I need to get in touch with myself, get in touch with nature so that I can finally write this damn story that's apparantly stalking me. It's fucking up my life because apparantly, until I tell it, I'm going to be one miserable human being. I don't want to be miserable forever so I figure it's about time to start telling the story but first, I need to write. Just observe my surroundings, don't think about it. Just write...
...O.k. I'll try.
It's my lucky day-I get a bench all to myself, right in the shade. Now I can get down to business. It's nice, quite and peaceful here. Nobody surrounding me, bombarding me with their overwhelming presence. I'm not all squished up beside someone, there are no armpits in my face and life is good. Great. Time to write. I put my headphones on click my Ipod clicker to Ben Harper, press play and I'm in writing mode. Time to create. Yup. That's me. The writer. Getting ready to write...Look at me. I'm a writer. I am in touch with my surroundings...I am...writing...See my pen touch paper...See me observing...
I'm sitting here on this bench staring at stupid pidgeons beacause I'm tired of work. I'm tired of working at work. I'm tired of being tired of working. I would rather sit here on this bench and watch pidgeons fight over bread crumbs. What is the purpose of pidgeons? Why are there so many of them and what do they do? O.k...so I'm getting in touch with something...ewww, that pidgeon is not attractive. It has black gnarled looking feathers and It's just perched on the fence with a blank look on it's face, staring out with beady, calculating eyes. It looks tired and miserable. Actually that damn bird reminds me of my grandmother. A few minutes pass with me noticing the many similarities between this funny-looking bird and my grandmother when I notice my arch nemesis approaching. She is the first of many that will appear today.
She is the prima donna baby mama strolling down the promenade lookin' cool in her oversized shades. One hand casually pushing the gargantuan stroller, the other hand holds some kind of latte. Don't ask me how I know it's a latte, I just do. She looks like a latte kinda mom. She sits on the bench in front of me and instantly I'm pissed at her for enjoying the view and not having to go to some dreadful nine to five locked up in a cube somewhere listening to someone spout irrelevant bullshit in your ear while you pretend that what they say is of importance to you and will somehow impact your life in some meaningful way. Meanwhile you already know all the shit they are telling you but your too polite to correct them, or tell them that you already know what they're telling you.
Thank God I have my shades on, I'm sure if I didn't I would burn a hole in her back from the glare I'm giving her. Now she's digging around in her bag. She pulls out a cell phone. Flips it to answer. Her conversation is animated. Her ponytail bobs up and down as she smiles broadly. Quick phone call. She hangs up and throws the cell phone in her bag. She leans into baby and makes what looks like goofy baby talk. She straigtens back up, stretches her arms, and puts her feet up. I'm envious of her. What I wouldn't give for that type of contentment.
Along comes another lady, a little bit older than baby mama, in a tank top and sweats jogging down the promenade. She ooks like she exercises regularly. Has those toned arms. I remember when my arms used to look like that. She stops in front of baby mama. Baby mama gives her a big hug. Maybe that's who she was speaking to on the phone. Looks like they haven't seen each other in a while. Fit lady sits beside baby mama and peeks into the carriage. She says something like, "Oh she's sooo adorable, looks just like you", while baby mama hands her the baby. They talk for a while, fit lady rocking the baby back and forth. Soon she hands baby back to baby mama, gives her a goodbye peck on the cheek and jogs off...They both make me sick.
I can't figure out why I'm so angry. I have a good life. I don't want kids just yet, but I do want to be able to enjoy the contentment that comes so naturally to these women.
Well, some obnoxious loser with no concept of personal space has interrupted my thought process. I slam my notepad closed and give him the look of death. How I hate to be interrupted!
Posted by renee at August 18, 2006 11:51 AM