Woman of Few Words

I haven't had a thing to talk about lately. I've been too overwhelmed with school. Tests, papers, quizzes, pretending like I still care after ten weeks of something I swore I'd never do again. Like the time I said I'd never work at a restaurant where I had to sweep up peanuts and then went to work at a place where people thought the floor was the garbage can.

My skin has been so dry. The heels of my feet are so dry and cracked (disgusting, I know) that I could barely walk. I finally had a minute to get a pedicure on Monday. Of course, I had that minute--sixty of them to be exact--because Saturday night, I woke to the smell of cigarette smoke. It permeated through my sheets. I thought maybe I was dreaming. Then I realized that I knew where the smell was coming from; a man was sleeping in the vestibule of my building. He has been doing this for months (Nearly every weekend since the soup kitchen opened across the street in an old church we've had this guy as our guest. In nine years, I have never seen anyone going to Sunday service there. I did see a wedding party leaving one night about five years ago. They were a rowdy bunch.)

Well, this man is not homeless. He lives about ten blocks up the street. I am guessing he's not wanted there. Probably because he likes to get his drink on and piss in the doorways of random buildings and then sleep there. He never really seems drunk but he is rather hostile, so for all I know...he could be hammered. Or perhaps he reacts to dark liquor the way several of my ex-boyfriends used to, if you know what I mean. And honestly, if one of those exes was the type of guy who would be willing to sleep in the doorway of a building he didn't live in, or had been out doing something that would make him think sleeping in some doorway was more appealing than going to his own home a few blocks up the street...I wouldn't want him to come home either.

I called the girl upstairs to see if she would look over the railing and out the front door to see if the guy was in the vestibule. I didn't want to open my door because it squeaks and I didn't want him to hear me. I co-sleep still and would have had to carry baby with me. I called the police and my neighbor called our landlords. Turned out they are in Florida, but said that yes, we should have him arrested. There are signs posted saying "No Trespassing" and "You will be prosecuted." Obviously people are very afraid of signs.

I said 'goodbye' to the dispatcher and as I was hanging up little baby said, "Bye-bye" and then proceeded to vomit like she had just drank four six-packs. It was awful. It lasted for about a minute. Just coming out of her like a can of springy snakes. She cried for all of five seconds and then proceeded to laugh hysterically and run around like a crazy person. She kept kissing her reflection in my full-length mirror which gave me a few seconds to take all the blankets off the bed...and my pajamas...and socks...and her pajamas. Such a mess. I piled it all in the hallway and had to leave it on Sunday because I didn't have any quarters for the washer and dryer downstairs.

I had a huge test to study on Monday and a paper due on Tuesday that was extra credit, yet I let them both stress me out to the point of utter avoidance. I couldn't even wrap my mind around how much work I had to do. So Sunday afternoon, I got my mom to watch baby for a couple of hours so that I could go to the library and work for a bit.

On Monday, I dropped baby off at school and went to the laundromat to clean the blankets and figured I might as well do my dark clothes while I was there. I studied as best I could while I was there and then after, decided to go to the nail salon a couple of doors down for a pedicure, no polish. I told the girl about my cracked heels and how the right heel was very sore. She was on the phone the entire time I was there, but didn't seem bothered by having to file and hold the phone with her cheek. I abhor the phone and would hate to have to work like that and talk at the same time. After she filed my toenails, which drives me absolutely bonkers to the point of total discomfort, she applied moisturizer to my feet and get this...superglue to the cracked open area on my heel. Nice. It worked, but dang. I could've done that at home for a buck seventy. At the end, during the massage portion, she used what I believe was a car buffer to massage my legs and my feet. It was a little much. Yet I let her continue doing it while I reviewed chapter three, sections one through five.

Now the skin on my face is so dry that it is flaking into my hair and it looks like I have giant dandruff.

Argh.