04-17-03 - 8:01 p.m.
so i had this dream last night; my 84 year old mother pregnant, in labor, and when the baby slides out, she cries, call the surgeon, call the surgeon! and paramedics rush in, including anthony edwards aka mark green on er, and the baby, swaddled in my dead mother's arms, gives me a big gummy baby grin.
so i'm drunk, loving this cheap charles shaw crap from trader joe's, because beer at a springsteen concert is $9 and a shirt is $35, and berries needs a wardrobe update from hot topic, and lemme tell you, i've never owned $42 men's golf pants in my life. nor would i be seen in public, wearing them. needless to say, i am broke, but it doesn't matter, because french cheese is dirt cheap and payday in next week.
patrick calls every day, oblivious to my need for space. when i try try to explain my shame over the 50 year milestone, he says it breaks his heart, but he doesn't get it. he wants to corner the market on guilt; this love affair is all his fault; how could i resist? after all, he is irrestible! you have to admire a man with such ego, such balls...he begs me to meet him for lunch at the lake and i refuse. twice. this morning, before it's light outside, after an endless night of spring break manager-on-duty "my sheets are dirty", "I'm locked out of my room", "how do i get into the spa?", "there's no phone book in my room and i need pizza NOW!", the codger calls with yet another greedy request; let's meet for coffee. he calls on three different phones and i ignore them all, tired and weeping in pathetic self pity, because i have nothing of value left to give anyone, much less this man who needs me, but doesn't really need me enough.
the hotel computers have crashed every day this week, leaving me to pilot terrified desk clerks through an ocean of mystery guests and complaints and dirty rooms. through it all, i keep thinking about norman bates, the mother of all motel managers, the man who relied on a handwritten ledger and a big display of keys and his own twisted ingenuity. 12 rooms, 12 vacancies.
oh for a strait jacket. 3 hots and a cot.