Nebulous Mooch

Friday was my sister’s birthday. I went out to eat with her and my mother at a “fancy” restaurant downtown. The wait staff all wore black pants, black shirts, and long black aprons. I’ve been to several “fancy” restaurants where the wait staff wore the same thing. It must be the “fancy” restaurant uniform.

Our waiter was a thin, pale man. He made a point to look at each one of us for a few seconds as he told us about the specials. He used carefully planned hand gestures as he talked. When he left the table my mother said that he reminded her of a museum guide. I wondered if he slept huddled in the corner of the kitchen by day, surviving off of table scraps.

Most of the fish on the menu was encrusted with something, like Macadamia nuts or Parmesan cheese. I don’t know when this trend started, but I don’t like it. I don’t want to eat anything that’s been encrusted. I think that it is supposed to remind you of something being jewel encrusted, and thus make you feel fancy. The problem is that the only thing it reminds me of is an old pair of underwear that someone’s worn for three days straight.

The more expensive the food is at fancy restaurants, the less food you get. I would think that because I paid more, I’d get more. Apparently, part of what you’re paying for is the atmosphere. This placed greeted me with the atmosphere of dirt smudged glass on the door and cobwebs under the windows. The metal art on the walls was…interesting.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. My food was delicious. I wiped my plate clean. My sister ordered that same thing as me but she only ate half. She’s on a diet where she eats portions fit for a small bird. I often say I’ll start that diet, but forget when my food arrives.

We got truffled chocolates at the end of our meal. They were good. My sister didn’t eat hers. I think it was a good birthday for her. Don’t worry we didn’t spend too much money–my mother had a coupon, of course.

When I was young, I hated going to bed. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to be where all of the action was. I wanted to see and hear everything. Even after my parents got me into bed, I would lay there, struggling to keep my eyes open. Sleep was a hassle. It ate up precious time.

Now I can’t wait to get to sleep. I was happy to take an hour nap today. Tonight, I’ll bed thrilled to crawl into bed. I know I’m not missing anything. Sleep still eats up precious time, but I need it desperately.

My husband often reminisces about how much he did as a kid. “When I was a kid I had all of the time in the world,” he likes to say. It’s true too. As a child, the days creep by. A year takes lifetimes to pass.

Since I’ve been married, the days seem to be sixteen hours long. The year is flying by. I find myself saying, “I can’t believe it’s already July!” I look at my list of goals for the year and think that there’s no way I’ll complete them all.

Okay, I have to be completely honest. This having no time stuff is a load of garbage. If I really had no time, I wouldn’t have been able to take an hour long nap. If I really had no time, I wouldn’t be able to drive across town to eat lunch with my sister, or spend almost two hours looking at floor plans for dome homes online. If I really had no time, I wouldn’t be able to put up posts on this blog. So I guess I have time. I just need to organize it better.

I’d like to apologize for not putting up a new post last week. I wasn’t feeling well. I spent all of my writing time sleeping. I tried to write while I was sleeping, but my fingers wouldn’t perform the typing motion and I kept falling out of the chair.

During my entire working adult life, the only time I have had health insurance was when I was living outside of the country. As an English teacher in Korea, I was covered under the Korean national health plan. After being in the country for a few weeks I received a small blue booklet that was my health insurance card.

Overjoyed at the thought of having health insurance, I used it whenever I could. Things that I would normally ignore sent me rushing off to see the doctor. Swelling in my big toe, time to see the doctor. More acne than usual on my face, time to see the doctor. Food poisoning, congestion, a rash on my arm, time to see the doctor.

I also enjoyed whipping my health card out at the pharmacy. The pharmacist would take my card and jot down some information before giving me my very cheap medicine. I usually wouldn’t use the medicine for as long as directed. That cream for my acne made my face itch. The medicine for my congestion made me dizzy. I didn’t really know what I was taking and that also made me nervous. I had a toiletry case full of ointments, creams and little packets of pills.

Now, even though I work in the health care industry, I don’t have the luxury of health insurance. I find myself feeling envious of those who do. My mother recently fell off of her scooter and shattered her shoulder. She has gone to several doctors and will eventually need physical therapy. She has insurance.

If I had fallen and broken my shoulder, I would have to send my husband out to cut a good straight branch off of one of the trees outside of our apartment. We would use tape and string to fashion it into a spilt for my arm. My husband would research healing time and physical therapy exercises on the internet, and I would hope for the best.

I‘ve always wanted to go on a St. Augustine ghost tour. So during our honeymoon in Daytona Beach, my husband and I took a day trip to St. Augustine with the sole goal of going on a ghost tour. We decided to take the walking tour because, frankly, it was cheap. I’m all about cheap.

It was Thursday, January 12th, which is not as scary as Friday, January 13th would have been, but we didn’t think of that until someone else on the tour mentioned it. I don’t remember our tour guide’s name so I’m going to call her Helen because I have a feeling that if I did remember her name I would remember that it was Helen. She was English. I went on a ghost tour in San Diego and my tour guide for that tour was English also. What’s so scary about the English? I told my husband that if the whole music thing doesn’t work out he could have a future in the ghost tour industry. He’s English too.

Helen wore some type of green and maroon period costume and carried an oil lamp. This added to her creepy English air. At the beginning of the tour she told us that she would be taking us to the graveyard and the fort and some other odd places along the way. She said that maybe we would see something unusual or maybe we wouldn’t, it depended on the night, but that we should keep our eyes open and take lots of pictures. I had my new camera so I was prepared to take lots of pictures. I was also very prepared to see something.

Helen walked all of us to a graveyard and told us a bunch of stories about spirit orbs, ghosts, and engeries. All of which seemed to appear three times a month for about eight seconds. Three times a month and eight seconds were key in all of the stories we heard that night. I never realized before that ghosts were on some kind of schedule.

Later at the fort we heard stories of battles, executions and bloodshed. There was also an interesting story about some dead partiers, but still no visible ghosts.

I don’t know what I wanted or expected because at the end of the tour I was disappointed. I think I wanted to see something, a wispy figure walking amongst the tombstones or feel a cold finger run down the back of my neck. Instead, I left with a damp behind from sitting on a wet bench and a little less money in my wallet.

Later in my photos, I noticed small orbs of light, but those could have been dust reflecting off of the flash or bugs. Or maybe they were ghosts.