Be Still, My Beating Heart

But I couldn’t get the bread out of my mind. And not the bread itself, but the bread bandits. It had become a compulsion, which I recognized as completely out of my range of compulsions as it went against my normal live-and-let-live philosophy. But something was telling me to pursue it.

WWTC is across the street from the courthouse and the Nth Precinct, which, besides being very convenient for some of our students, is a comfort to us, knowing that help is always close by. I decided to report the robbery. Who knows, these people may be a lot more than just bread thieves. When I inquired, an officer came to explain how to file the report, but very quickly, she was called away by a coworker, who came to replace her. He was dressed in regular clothes and quite good-looking, so I had trouble remembering all the crime details, in which he seemed very interested.

After a few questions from him, I couldn’t remember any of the details at all, nor did I care about them, so I just started to make stuff up. Then I was feeling so bad about reporting the poor people that I gave him the address for a totally different bakery. I have no idea what that will do. I did give my correct telephone number though. I wish I could show you a picture of him, so you can understand. All I’m going to say is that his first name is Sam and that he’s a detective. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to rush into anything. One thing I know for sure is that he has a real job.

Robbie sent me a text to say that Patrick had died and that the funeral was on Saturday. My friend Grace is getting married the same day, and I will have to attend both events.

I Stumble Upon a Scientific Discovery

Thursday afternoon I saw Dr. G again. I was debating whether to keep the appointment, and yes, I had to look at my pro and con list again. I got to her office and there were no chocolates. I made a mental note to add this to the con list.

“So, how have those exercises been working?” Said Dr. G., after a few grunts.

“Exercises?” I said. “Oh, those! Yes, working quite well.”

You probably know I have not been doing any exercises, but I didn’t want to disappoint her. Who can keep track of exercises when stuff keeps happening all the time? People dying, people getting robbed…. She asked me about improvement in my symptoms, and surprisingly, there was quite a bit. I was getting more sleep, not losing things, hardly thinking of Mr. Wrong….

I read something somewhere about a scientific experiment in which one group of people played basketball while the other group of people imagined they played basketball, and guess what? When they measured them, both brains reflected similar activity, and they had comparable improvement in their physical skills. This could be what is happening here. If I pretend to do the exercises long enough, I could indeed see significant improvement.

There were no calls from Young Grizzly during the session. I assumed she had put him in check. Good for her! Sad to report, though, she was wearing the same outfit, except the blouse was a little different.

She continued with her questioning and gave me some more exercises, which I promised to do, (wink, wink.)

Some guy outside of Whole Foods was selling goldfish, already in the bowl, so I bought one, in another attempt to add more generosity and caring to my life. He has a florescent green color, with red stripes, and very delicate fins. Very cute. I named him Phillip.

For some reason, I felt like eating salmon for dinner. Can you tell me what it is with the fish people who refuse to skin your salmon when you ask them nicely? They’re in this exclusive environment, made for skinning fish, surrounded by an array of sharp knives, running water, garbage receptacles…and, yet…

“Well, no…. we don’t really…” or

“We-ell…, I could…but it’ll take a while….” It takes me 30 seconds at home if the knife is sharpened.

Some have the nerve to say, “The skin comes off easily once you cook it.” And I want to reply, “Yes, with all the flavor that I seasoned the fish with, and what do you know about cooking fish? You’re a fishmonger; it’s not a given that you know anything about cooking fish.” But I don’t, because I’m polite.

I was in bed that night when I realized I had no food for Phillip. The fish seller did not sell food, only fish. In my pantry, I found a box of bread crumbs and gave him some of that.

A Mournful Morning

Well, Phillip was floating in the bowl when I woke up this morning. I was horrified. We had had such fun the day before, him darting back and forth in the water. I began to wonder about the cause of his death. Either I was sold a defective fish, or…. I went to take a careful look at the box of bread crumbs I had fed him, and my worst fear was realized: it wasn’t just plain bread crumbs, but seasoned bread crumbs, with onion, garlic, and the dreaded cayenne pepper. Life must go on, I told myself, and flushed Phillip down the toilet. At least he went quickly and before I became too attached to him. I also vowed not to buy fish from ambulant vendors.