I met with my new medical doctor today. She’d actually read my chart and knew I’m bipolar and have been hospitalized for suicidal ideation. I’ve never had a new doctor come in prepared like that. It felt good to not have to bring it up myself, especially since I’m so prone not to.
On my way to pick up lunch today I saw this man in his car rocking out. Like, really just getting down with his car dancing. It made me so happy to see someone having so much fun in such a regularly dull part of the day.
This afternoon I had a customer come in and first thing she came up to thank me for the help I gave her the day before. She said it was just the boost of confidence she needed to get her jewelry legs back under her. I was so glad that I helped her and so touched that she took the time to thank me again.
Sometime between the hours of 8 AM and noon, he knocked on my front door. Navy, short-sleeved jumpsuit, worn at the knees. Toolkit sitting next to his feet. He introduced himself and shook my hand. Firm grip, callouses. He was there to fix our oven. I explained to him that it won’t keep temperature. Keeps cooling down in the middle of my baking. A wave of hot and cold. Of course it is. What isn’t?
He moved our rug and pulled out the range. Didn’t say much of anything else to me, but murmured affirmations to himself, “Okay. Alright.” I heard wire curling against steel and pieces being pulled apart, pushed back together again. He didn’t curse or sigh heavy. Just fell in rhythm with his work. He finished quickly.
Sitting at the kitchen table writing, I wondered if he had any idea how heartbreaking the work he does is. How I long to be an appliance. One faulty piece swapped out for a new one and suddenly I’m steady. Predictable. Exactly what the gauges say I should be. How much I wish everything could be fixed.
But then I remind myself that at least one thing in my life can be. I can call a number on a sticker and Dave can come to our apartment and make our oven work again. How fortunate are we?
Twenty-seven days into November.
Twenty-seven things I’m thankful for this year.
Mason. My partner, my counterpart, my constant inspiration.
My family. By biology, by marriage, by careful handpicking.
Cheese. Pretty much any kind of cheese.
Shelter. Never wondering how I’m going to stay warm or where I’m going to sleep.
Sobriety. Every single day I have under my belt and all the ones ahead of me. Continue reading →