the hand behind this pen relives a failure every day

I went to the beach on impulse today. I didn't think I'd go, then I got out of the movies - Coyote vs Acme, well worth your time - and saw how sunny it was, and how good the air felt, and decided to head out to Coney Island after grabbing a couple things from the library. I got the trains, I got the transfers, I got some fun conversation with a pair of tourists from North Dakota who were pleased at my immediate association of their home being great sunsets and also at my suggestion of Governor's Island as a place to safely bike around and enjoy food trucks.

I thought I wouldn't go because I don't much care for the restaurant my parents usually pick. I still didn't care much for it. I thought I wouldn't go because even as much as I love the aquarium, my parents walk at a pace I find maddeningly slow - I swear I got shin splints one time from putting my foot down in a hard stop so much because I kept walking ahead. But I got something to eat. I enjoyed the aquarium well enough, even if my parents and brother couldn't either walk briskly, or walk briskly, stop and enjoy, and walk some more, instead of inching. The sharks were adorable.

The beach was my older brother J.'s daughter A.'s first time in the ocean. As far as I can tell, she loved it. I'm not surprised; my whole family does. I wasn't dressed for the beach, arriving on impulse, still wearing the rabbit-print dress I'd decided was fitting for the movie. So I didn't get into the water. What I did instead was collect sea glass. None of it was rounded pebbles, but instead, most of it was pieces with only gently sanded edges. Some were larger pieces of blunted edges. Most were little, a few were sizable enough to move from salvage to garbage. I used a pocket, I filled a hand, I found a plastic cup to hold what was in my hand and more, I found two ceramic shards, I found a small bag to hold it all. I need to wash it all and find a suitable jar and turn it into some kind of art.

Tonight, my younger brother's wife G. mentioned there were a couple movies she wanted to see, but she couldn't remember the names. She described one as having the actress from the show Hacks, and it had kind of a long name, but -

"Life and Death at Camp Miasma," I told her.

She was surprised, then moved on to say there was another horror movie that was probably out of theaters right now. She didn't remember anything except that in the trailer, it was in a basement. It was kind of a new one, but there -

"Backrooms," I told her.

"How do you know these things?" she asks, almost challenging, almost upset, very amazed, and I shrug, simply satisfied.

I've now checked, and while the actual title's "Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma" I think I got close enough for government work.

I keep speaking too soon: a flood warning might call off tomorrow's gig. It'll be rescheduled, but still.

In other news, reporting on what's already happened, I got a routine physical last week where they drew blood for testing. I got the results, and everything is either "ordinary and healthy" or "unfortunately quite remarkable." In something I don't quite understand, my total iron binding capacity is normal, the transferrin/UIBC is very low, and both the iron and iron saturation levels are very high. I've now booked a follow-up appointment, because I honestly don't understand what that all means when taken together.

There's a short-term gig lined up for this Thursday afternoon. One of my clients has a friend who needed some help, and for at least one day, that's going to be me. Whether it's for more than one afternoon remains to be seen, and it's still a gig.

Exact numbers haven't come up - I told her my usual rates, she said she usually charges by day instead of by hour - and I'll do what I can to hold out for something good. I'll need to see her apartment to get a sense of where I can estimate.

My synagogue's installed metal detectors. They're not for show or security theater - they're for genuine security. Because the High Holidays are coming up, and there's going to be a lot of Jews in one building. So the building needs extra security for lots of Jews to be in one building safely.

Some years ago, in a corner of the internet I no longer hang out in for a lot of reasons, I noted a recent synagogue attack and offered the comment that to make a bleak joke, you get used to them but they never stop hurting. I would've deliberately said "to make a bleak joke" or "to cope with black humor", words to that effect. I'll never forget how someone responded to that by saying they understood, it wasn't a picnic to be disabled in America either.

Which is one of the bigger reasons I no longer hang out in that corner of the internet.

A little while ago, someone I don't talk to much anymore told me with a straight face she didn't think American religious tolerance included Catholics.

It's one of the bigger reasons I don't talk to them much anymore.

I open my purse for security guards to inspect its contents, and I'm told there's an opening for emergency response training, and there's someone behind glass who'll unlock the second door in the vestibule to let you into the building. We're also putting in metal detectors.

Some people let you know when they're not worth talking to anymore. At least there's that.

It finally happened: I had a nap where I woke up and didn't know anything. I wasn't sure what time it was or if I'd had lunch. I didn't know if it was Wednesday or Thursday and if I'd missed something in the morning. Then the day hit me and I wanted to go back to sleep, but the nap had been strong enough I couldn't manage it again.

As such, I've spent most of the day in a slow-moving, weary daze, before and after. The perk of the day, besides some packages arriving, was a downpour of about 1.8 inches within an hour. It made for some gorgeous sounds.

Today, the career counselor assigned me to check a handful of job boards each morning. I said I would, and asked her what to do next. She didn't understand.

I explained that I didn't know what she wanted me to do after checking the listings. Did she wants me apply right then and there? Should I save them so we'll edit the cover letters together? I genuinely needed her to tell me what the next task was going to be, because I was operating under the idea there was a specific list of tasks to follow. I doubt the question was one she'd expected to deal with. I wasn't looking at her face, so I can't guess what she was feeling. But she did say I could apply if I wanted, or save the letters to check.

One thing I didn't understand was her saying most jobs, if not all, would have me tired at the end of the working day when I got home, that it was simply how things were. It didn't leave me all that enthused at the prospect of the jobs she'd earmarked and sent my way.

She asked me what I was feeling and if anything about a given listing got me excited or even anticipatory; I said I wasn't feeling much excitement for anything. She then asked about the last time I had a job I liked, and I genuinely stopped to think a while. I'd spent the session actively trying not to get get reactionary and upset, and I ended up feeling tired by the end of it. I'm trying to think of what jobs I've liked - the one at the start of the year where I organized an apartment's library, for example, but I couldn't think of it at the time of the session.