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drunk visitor
Saturday, November 28 1998
As I was falling asleep last night, the airplanes going westward overhead seemed to be especially low and loud. I could hear every nuance of their engines' noises: as they throttled up, as the sea birds were sucked through, everything. Perhaps they were especially full of fattened Thanksgiving passengers and were having trouble gaining altitude.
Kim had plans of going out for a big breakfast somewhere, but I didn't want to get stuck on another runaway train of activities and not be able to complete any of my own projects. There's a constant tension in my non-employed life between spending my time doing not-especially interesting out-on-the-town activities with the girl and staying home working on the artistic projects for which she can only ever be a distraction.
But Kim sensed my feelings on this issue, so we stayed in for a French breakfast of cheese and jam on bread. While she prepared this and coffee, I took Sophie for a walk downtown and picked up picture-hanging supplies at the hardware store. After breakfast, I spent a good chunk of time hanging a heavy mirror in the bedroom and one of my larger paintings in the living room.
Throughout the day, the west wind gradually built in strength and clouds piled in from the ocean. Rain fell at times. While Kim was at work, I took Sophie for a walk down to the surf. Sand had been piled all along the beach to protect adjacent communities from the anticipated storm. I climbed one such pile to look out into the water. The wind was a constant blast of 30 miles per hour or so, never wavering, never changing direction, never relenting for a moment: oxygen, nitrogen, argon and occasional drops of water pummeling my face. The waves crashing out even beyond the Ocean Beach pier were impressive, if a little difficult to see in the darkness.
Back home, I was working away on the Thanksgiving entry when suddenly a white guy about my age came up to the door. He knocked, asked for a glass of water, and though I couldn't think for the world who he could possibly be, I let him in. He was fragrantly intoxicated, but also in a fine friendly mood. I wondered if perhaps he was one of Kim's friends, but not wanting to act stupid should he be someone I've actually met, I played the role of good host. Still, there was this big question mark hanging over my head the whole time. He noted my computer and said that he used to do lots of Internet work back in the day (which couldn't have really been too long ago) when he lived in Utah. He said that, as a newcomer, he didn't have any friends in town and that I should join him by going to the bar and getting a drink. I was very committed to my writing and politely refused, claiming I had lots of "work" to do. Finally the guy mentioned the piece of furniture we'd bought from him at a yard sale and it all magically fit together: he's the aging skater dude from down the street with the wife and two cute little kids, the one who drives around in one of those weird yellow amphibious-looking Volkswagens. He'd seemed kind of cold and aloof when I'd dealt with him in the past, but obviously when he was "lit" (as he claimed to be just then), he was outgoing, intelligent and charming. I really would have liked to go out with him, but I was too focused on that rather complex Randomly Ever After entry. So we exchanged phone numbers and promised to get together some other time. I'll bet he'll be terribly embarrassed about all of this when he wakes up tomorrow.
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