Please turn the page

As I pop my upper body out of bed and reach to turn on the light, I finish up the last sentence on page 13,179 of my autobiography, I lick my right forefinger, turn the page,  and continue to write at the 7:09 AM mark.  Dan is standing in front of the mirror, fixing his hair over and over again and admiring himself with pouty model-like lips, and I remember  today is  day two of having absolutely no obligations, at least none that really matters in my book anyway. It's like taking a sick day from the office except I'm not sick and I don't work in an office.

 Clear broth made from one whole chicken - a 4-pounder- with carrots, onions, star-shaped noodles and herbs I found in the spice cabinet, is leftover chicken soup that feeds the purpose for this morning's let's-get-spoiled-all-day day.  Miranda July is helping me through this nonchalant day and I am grateful for her.

 My legs feel tired and restless.  How is this right when all I've been doing is  a ton of nothing.  My body is not much better either, it feels like an over cooked noodle, ready to dissolve at a gentle touch of a tongue.  I care very little about this issue and go about my day. 

A phone call comes through and it is the cable guy informing me about his arrival in fifteen minutes.  I get myself off the couch, place Miranda facing down on the glass table and freshen up the living room area so that it doesn't smell like chicken soup but rather "super orange" window cleaner.  The guy, slender and fairly short -  well compared to Dan everybody is short - dark skin and quarter inch long hair that was probably cut in his bathroom using a guarded electric razor, is delicate and speaks very slowly as if he is slightly "special".  His electrical knowledge seems to be that of someone with their Bachelor's Degree. Or just someone who was well trained from the DirecTv company themselves.  He is bright and I am confident he will make us happy.

  I'm sitting in a wicker chair in the family room, reading a California State University of Fullerton packet, I can hear the first sound coming out of the tv and it is The Price Is Right.  The tv is working! Juan Tellez Jr., who has been replacing new cables and configuring satellite for over two and a half hours has successfully gotten picture and sound.  He clearly knows what he's doing. He calls me over to educate me on the endless features that DirecTv seems to offer and probably less than half of which we know exists.  I can hear the passion and excitement through his voice and my undivided attention and extreme interest fuels him even more.  I am being  overloaded with information, some of which went over my head.

 After a reviving shower, I make myself a greeny drink, sit myself back on the couch, and turn the channel to, you guessed it, Bizzar Food with Andrew Zimmer, "Mongolian" Travel.  Mongolian's gruesome goat's head delicacies, carcass soup, and milk cured fried up in its own fat has turned even my favorite refreshing drink into something of a molding milk.  I gagged at every gulp I take.  I have never been more disgusted and grossed out.   I suck up the nausea, morning-sickness-feeling, and no, I am not pregnant, I finish my drink.  I pick Miranda up from the table and dig my face between the pages once again. It isn't even noon yet, but so far the day his been satisfactory and nonchalantly beautiful. And in just a few hours I will yet turn another page.