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September 15 1998, Tuesday
im wanted me to come with her to Pacific Beach when she went to do another thing connected with her somatics (body works) classes. I don't usually enjoy tagging along on an expedition for which I am an unnecessary adjunct, especially when it indicates to me a slight unwillingness to allow me access to my scheduled independence. But I was interested in exploring Pacific Beach on my own, so I came along.
In Pacific Beach, I walked west down Hornblende street (under several species of infuriatingly unknown trees) all the way to the Pacific Ocean. I passed through the thin sprinkling of sun-bathers on the sand, took off my tattered old combat boots, and waded a little ways out into the water. The Pacific is a cool ocean in Southern California, not much warmer than I remember Lake Michigan being. It refrigerates San Diego during the summer, holding temperatures down in the seventies. Then it provides heat and moisture all winter long.
n the drive back home, we stopped at Roberto's Tacos on the corner of Adams Avenue and Mansfield Street and ordered a massive amount of cheap Mexican food made by genuine Mexicans. I snapped a few digital pictures while we waited.
n the afternoon, I felt lethargic and unmotivated. But eventually I fought the funk by going on a stroll by myself through through the adjacent Adams Avenue neighborhoods of Normal Heights and Kensington. It's important for me to explore new places on my own terms, going into stores I want to go into and moving at the pace I want to move at, being unhindered by the demands of little dogs or whatever it is that interests Kim. I've had entirely too little of this alone-time, especially alone-time out on the streets, and I'm going to need it on a regular basis if I'm going to survive this married life. I'm used to being a hermit, that is, someone who does things entirely alone. And, surprising though this sounds, I miss my loneliness. I miss the days when I didn't have to justify every minute of my time. I went into a grubby little Normal Heights used computer store and priced monitors. I'd been thinking about maybe getting a job here, but the place creeped me out. But I do need a job of some sort. I'm spending down my savings account, and it's hurting my frugal Yankee inclinations. I also needed sandals or flip-flops or anything cheap and breezy for my feet. The boots have been rotting my feet; they're absolutely unnecessary in this climate. I'd go around barefoot, but stores are not too keen on that. In a 99 cents store (they don't have dollar stores in San Diego) I bought a pair of $1.60 plastic flip flops made by Chinese slave labourers, the kind who are worked until they collapse in exhaustion (at which point their organs are harvested and installed in rich Hong Kong businessmen). They had to be the most uncomfortable things I ever put on my feet, but I walked all the way home in them anyway. It's not like I'll be wearing them in situations where they aren't legally mandated.
n the evening, Rita fired up the Black and Decker circle saw cut me several plywood panels to paint pictures on. I reciprocated by installing a USB card in her computer so she can attach a very expensive Hewlett Packard scanner she bought yesterday. We scanned and printed a photograph of Suzette and Rita was most impressed.
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