Joy

“You’ve got to get some joy in your life! I like laughter and to hear some jokes” Miss Cathy said to me this morning. “I like to be happy, you know,” She said.

“I am happy,” I stated with confidence and irritation.” As happy as I know how to be.”

“Well, you walk around here like you’ve died or something.”

Wow! Good morning to you, too. Didn’t we just go through this? Just because I’m not a chatterbox in the morning doesn’t mean “who I am” needs to be questioned on a regular basis. Is this because I don’t feel like exchanging witty repartee at eight am? Or that I don’t think her shtick of hollering, “Here I is!” as she walks through the apartment is funny first thing in the morning. Fuck it, I can’t let comments like that bring me down or mess with my head. Lord knows she’s said worse to me and I’m sure there’s more to come so I’ve got to develop a thicker skin.

Speaking of skin, Miss Cathy follows me around talking until we’re both standing in my little bathroom and she watches as I extract an ingrown hair from my beard.

“One more thing,” she says as she waits for me to finish. “You’re not going to hit me are you” I say (she and my brother have this aggressive way of showing affection by slapping on one another-not my style.) “No, no,” she promises. I flinch a little as she comes toward me. “I love you!” she says as she lifts her little arms up to hug me.

Not the most poignant of moments but I was touched by her show of affection.

Funny, I thought I was being “more” social and trying to interact with her more-especially in the mornings. This is the second or third time my state of “being” has come under question and it’s getting to be a bit much. Last night we had a “moment’ where she asked me how I was “getting along” living here and I told her quite honestly that it’s been an adjustment but I’m doing okay, that I’m happy that I’m comfortable enough to create art which is very important to me and I’m trying to establish some new routines. I asked her how it’s been for her with me here and she said she’s happy that I’m here but she’s used to living alone, too

I was thinking I’d write about our trip to Wal-Mart and Safeway yesterday but now I don’t have the energy or interest.

I don’t know, if somebody keeps telling you that you look like a sad sack, and you have to take the time to dispute it-could you quite possibly be……sad?