Post-Move Post

Here I am. I’m not entirely certain what my name is. My bruises make me look like a junkie who has been beaten with sticks. There’s a sea of boxes waiting to be unpacked and a volcano of empty boxes spewing forth wadded-up newspaper. But I’ve escaped the Neighbors from Hell and am happily in the new place. My kitchen’s clean enough to cook in. I didn’t kill anyone (though had anyone been around while I was setting up my bed, I might have). I found my copy of Slaughterhouse Five and am rereading it. Today’s my first day back at work. I almost wrote that I was trying to do something productive, but that’s not true. I’m just trying to wait the hours out.

I did a little skiving off when I should have been unpacking and have discovered some gems around the neighborhood. The first is Taco Loco. I knew I was in for a little bit of Mexican food heaven when I listened to people ordering at this little taqueria—I was the only English-speaker there. While I need to branch out and try some new things, I have been hankering for a decent burrito for three years and ordered one up. Oh, yummy. Yummy, yummy, yummy. My mind is mush, so I can’t come up with anything other to say than yummy right now.

The second gem is Vinny’s Superette. Vinny’s is famous for a little the Italian restaurant hidden in the back of the store/sub shop. I showed up in the afternoon, so the restaurant wasn’t open, but I did take a peek. Having to make do with a veggie sub (not on the menu, but delicious), I took it to a table next to a couple of WWII vets (I know this because of their hats and jackets). One of them was a fat man with his pants belted just beneath his armpits. He winked at me, and said in a gravely voice, “Well, how are you deeah?” (have to love the true Massachusetts accent). I smiled, replied, “Just fine, thanks,” and ate a pickle.

Yesterday I took the T to Harvard Square (I would have been more creative, but it was raining, and I wanted to be somewhere where I could duck into a store if it started pouring). After wandering through the fabulous old perfume shop and picking up some divine nibbles at Cardullos, I got a glass of wine at Finale and read more Slaughterhouse Five. These Abercrombie-wearing chicks seated across from me were drinking glasses of milk, and I thought about A Clockwork Orange. I looked away and went back to my book. On my ride back, I laughed out loud while reading my book. Embarrassed, I glanced up, only to find three people seated across from me nodding in approval. Vonnegut is gone. He is missed. So it goes.

The war goes on, a mentally disturbed student got his hands on a couple of guns (rather easy to do in Virginia, apparently) and murdered thirty-two people, and the Bush-packed Supreme Court just handed down quite the blow to women’s rights. I can’t think about any of that now, but I will.

That’s all for now.