wednesday (echocardiogram)
The banker keeps touching the bridge of her nose. She looks exhausted. The punishing white light above her makes her look even worse.
“I haven’t been sleeping well either,” I offer.
She looks at me long and hard. “Why are you speaking to me in English?”
Later she offers to call a help line for me. I’m trying to cancel my credit card and move myself out of Premier status. I haven’t been making enough money to qualify for a long time and they’re starting to charge me a monthly fee. I can’t imagine being stuck in this horrible light with her for another hour. I decline and ask her what number I should call.
“The one on the back of your credit card,” she says.
“Duh,” I say.
“Yes,” she says.
That morning I woke up at 7:30am and thought, I should do yoga. Lately I wake up every day at first light, which here is around 6am now. I wake up, wonder what time it is, think about what I have to do in the day, think about decisions I’ve made in my life — lately it’s been about not buying $1000usd worth of Bitcoin when my grandma passed away in 2011 or whatever, I’d be a fucking multi-millionaire or something, or who knows, the past is past, maybe I would have turned into a frog and become the prince of Narnia or more likely the rabbit that greets Alice when she falls down the hole — anyway I woke up at 7:30am and thought, I should do yoga and then I rolled over and pulled the sheets over my head.
My alarms went off at 8, 8:15 and 8:23, like they do every day unless I turn them off. My 8am alarm is the song “Hey Hey” by Andrew Hill, a good song to wake up to. That album, “Lift Every Voice,” is so good and makes me sad in some ways, like Blue Note isn’t putting out anything like that anymore, major labels aren’t about to put out an angular jagged jazz choral album that sounds like Paul Hindemith went out to 5am in Mobile, Alabama, maybe he went to the gay bar I went to there, what was it called, I made out with someone and went back to my hotel, like Hindemith went to the gay bar and sang karaoke and then walked into a Baptist church for 7am service without having slept.
I got up with the first one and took Nacho out. He had an echocardiogram appointment at 9:40 and I wanted to give him an hour to digest after eating. In the morning he eats specially-formulated senior dog kibble with a hypothyroid pill and a supplement powder that is supposed to help his hips and joints, which look increasingly creaky as he gets older and older.
We got to the vet a minute after he texted me, we’re ready. The ultrasound specialist and ultrasound technician were there as well as the vet, who is calm and explains everything thoroughly. Nacho was shaking with fear, he doesn’t like the vet and could probably tell this was serious. The vet and I held Nacho down while the ultrasound specialist shaved parts of his chest, spread some gel, and started taking images. She told me first, I’m going to take a lot of pictures and send them to the vet and he’ll tell you how to interpret. The vet talked softly to Nacho hoping he would stop shaking. Eventually we switched spots and Nacho did calm down. Later the technician put a star on Nacho’s forehead. It’s still there today.
I took Nacho for a walk and then we went to a cafe for breakfast, I was starving and I had no food at home. The people sitting next to us thought Nacho’s star was adorable and wanted to give him chicken off their plate. I asked them not to. I ordered enfrijoladas, which is like enchiladas but instead of being en-chillied the tortillas are en-beaned. They were good. My seat neighbors kept congratulating Nacho and complaining that the food was cold. Just eat it, I thought.
Later I went to Costco to stock up on frozen fish. I thought to myself, I should stop going out to eat. I still have no reliable source of income. I’m starting to wonder if I ever will. When I wonder that I think, I’ll figure it out. I guess I have no choice. I got some fun wagyu soup dumplings at Costco as a treat.
On the way back a group of teenagers were yelling out of the bus window at passersby. I don’t know why but teenagers make me uncomfortable. It must be insane to be a teenager now. One of the boys alternated between yelling out the window, talking to people around him on the bus, grabbing his dick, and looking incredibly, deeply sad. I texted with claire most of the way home, joking about me trying to suck Wemby’s dick. Would he have to kneel down?
At home I put the fish in the fridge and heated up some of the wagyu soup dumplings I’d bought for fun. They were good, I had them on rice with the marinated tofu I made earlier in the week and the spicy cucumber salad I’ve been making every week. Lately my lips and tongue are extremely sensitive, I don’t know what this means, probably nothing, but I felt the rice burn my tongue a little. As I ate I checked my emails and felt a sudden rush of a adrenaline as Kit and I worked out some confusion on the design for an upcoming CD. It started raining and I texted Kit, can you make it stop raining? Later it stopped raining so I went to Sexto Piso.
I do really love Sexto Piso but I’ve been going so much that I’m starting to get bored with it. One of the best parts, a part that will never be boring, is the elevator up and down. Sexto Piso is obviously a double-entendre but it also means “Sixth Floor” which means you take an elevator up and down with between zero and seven men who you are either about to see naked or who you have recently seen naked. I mean, not just naked. As it turned out one of the guys on the elevator, the one who appeared the most nervous, was locked up. At one point we ran into each other, I noticed he was trying to get everyone to touch his caged cock, maybe that was hot for him. It was not hot for me so I kept walking. I drank two Tecates, came twice and left.
As I was walking back to the bus I was thinking about eating tacos and having another beer. I thought, tomorrow is my day off, I want to go a little wild, as if going to a sex club was not wild enough, maybe it wasn’t, I guess once again that’s partially why I write this blog and say these things, it shouldn’t actually be wild or even remarkable to go take care of your horny little self, anyway I decided to go to Bosforo. I turned right on Luis Moya and realized that I had a long way to go. I passed by a number of hotels trying to figure out which one I went into once after a long night at Bosforo like seven years ago for a Grindr hookup. When I got to Bosforo I sat at the bar and ordered sotol and a beer. I sat eating crickets and hoping the love of my life would sit next to me. Instead some French world cup fans sat next to me so I left.
“Wow, eleven years!” one said after I told him how long I’d been living in Mexico City.
“Yes,” I said, thinking of the banker earlier.
I was on a roll so I got off the bus at Etiopía and walked to Primos, one of the taquerias by my house. I got a michelada and two tacos al pastor and I don’t remember what else. Then I ordered more. I was suddenly very hungry. I found the key card for my hotel in Brazil in my pocket and put it on the table, hoping to leave it there. As I left one of the waiters ran up to me, the one who is kind of cute, and touched my shoulder.
“I’m here,” he said. “The love of your life.”
“Thank god,” I said, and we lived happily ever after.
No that’s not what happened. He ran up to me and handed me my hotel key card from the Grand Hyatt in Sao Paulo. You can’t escape the past.