Post-Christmas Friday

I never sleep through my two alarms, in fact I am usually awake before them, but this morning they had been going off for a whole hour before I woke up. It felt like swimming to the surface of a murky, weed-filled lake. Hazily I wondered if I had taken Ambien the night before and if so, how many, but the bottle was untouched. As soon as I surfaced, removing the blanket that was over my face and meeting the glare of four pairs of yellow eyes waiting for their food, I got hit by sadness like one of those sudden waves that bowls you over and leaves you gasping for breath. I realized I was crying without knowing why. It took me so long to get myself moving that I wound up too late for today’s doctor and had to reschedule. Sapphire has a cat cold and has been sneezing in bursts of tiny, mouse sized sneezes all night. She looks OK though- clear eyes and nose. She rejected the longer sweater I got her, wiggling her way out of it, so she’s back in the one that only comes to her- waist? Halfway down the cat anyway. She was doing better with her itching, her fur was coming in well, and then something set her off again. I never see her scratching but I can tell she is by the missing fur and scabs where she got carried away. I gave her some prednisolone to hopefully calm the itching and moved one of the fur lined cat houses into her preferred sleeping spot hoping she will go in there and be warmer. I came up out of the subway in the South Terminal, exiting through the side onto 42nd st. Many New Yorkers were still off, and many of the others seemed to be in a post Christmas daze. They were wandering like cows that got swept up in a tornado of decorating and baking and shopping and then were set down on a random NYC sidewalk instead of a Kansas field. I stopped at the bank for my client but both of my current NYC ID’s were taking the day off and the one teller working would not accept either my expired ID or a photo of my current one even though they see me in there 3 times a week and other tellers have accepted both. “I could get in trouble,” he tells me, so I don’t push. I get through the day more or less, sympathizing with Ramon who had a robbery attempt on Christmas Day leave him with five stitches in his lip, and facilitating a discussion among my staff about how we can create leadership opportunities for our older clients. When I leave, the snow is coming down pretty hard and there’s an inch on the sidewalk outside the church. I think about Kate, and how whichever of us saw the snow first would text the other “Snow!” Being from Maine, she was a snow expert, frequently stopping to tell people how to get their cars unstuck or helping people who were floundering in it. When I finally got to Bay Ridge, I got on the elevator at 95th St. with a young man with a giant neon bike and delivery gear. He was standing in front of me with his back to me and singing a cheerful song about how good it is to be gay. So I asked him where the song was from and he said he made it up, but that’s what he does when he’s bored. He’s looking at me curiously and I figure he’s wondering why I asked so I told him I run a queer youth center. He enthusiastically said “the more gay people the better. that’s more women for me!” I pointed out the gaping hole in this logic- “except the lesbians” I said and he nodded. We switched elevators to the one leading to the street. “It’s miserable out there,” he said. “It’s probably not too safe on a bike,” I say. “I screwed up,” he said. “I wore the wrong boots. I wore these.” And he lifted up his pants to show me his Converse clad feet. “I should’ve worn my winter boots.” The door was about to open so he wished me a good night and I wished him good luck as he took off down the unshoveled sidewalk.