21 September 2015 - 17:02Well, I'm here with Mom, on her first day of physical therapy. I really like this place; it's nice. The people here are great.
I've been in a rather interspective mood lately. Having this tablet helps. The keyboard that transforms it into a mini-laptop helps more. Since I type faster than I write nowadays, this gives me more of an oportunity to vent than I've had for a while now. So I begin to scrutinize my life, as is oft my habit. Right now, I'm feeling thirsty.
Thirsty for knowledge. Thirsty for ambrosia, for faith. I feel absolutely relaxed, like I'm breathing in honey.
Right now, Mom's getting hooked up to electrodes and getting pillows put all around her. She seems so happy, as though she's really enjoying herself. I'm glad. I don't want her to be in pain anymore, frusterated with her body's lack of movement.
Speaking of frusterations, Mom and I talk about my best friend. I saw Nacho today in class (he's not in my class, but he was at school), and he seemed tense. He was in Work Mode, taking charge, getting things done. His face looked drawn, stress lining his features. He gets frusterated with the new club officers, I can tell. Mayra, the president, showed up late, and didn't bring enough ingredients, to boot. Havoc, chaos, and my buddy wanted to murder someone. I wish we'd won the semifinals for the UPS cake competition, but we didn't, so there wasn't even that to cheer him up. He was so sure we'd advance. Truth be told, I was pretty sure we wouldn't. Our cake was all-edible, handcrafted and amaze-balls, if I do say so myself, but it also looked messy and half-assed for the photo shoot, because we drove it across town in 90 degree weather (end of August in South Texas ain't pretty) in a vehicle with no air conditioning. I didn't care much for the damn thing, but it was Nacho's baby. Even though he shrugged it off, and our classmates offered their support and praise, I still feel like I let him down. We've never won anything together, not either of the pastry competitions we've done together at school, and not even this. I'd like to think we're compatible baking partners, just as we are good friends, but it looks like perhaps not. Maybe he'd be better off competing with Mayra this semester for the pastry competition. After all, she got along further in the competition than we did. Winning is important to Juan, much more so than for me. Maybe it's my lack of competitive drive that makes us lose. I feel distraught. I let him down; I feel it.
Mom's electrode machine has stopped. She lies quietly on the bed, lost in thought. I wonder what she's thinking about. Is she disappointed in me, too? Of course not; she's my mother, after all. She was pretty indignant about us losing the semifinals for the cake. Said ours was much better. But again, she's my mother, after all.
I'm beginning to get sleepy. This room is warm. I tilt my head back until it touches the wall and close my eyes. One of the staff comes into the room and removes Mom's electrodes from her shoulder. We start chatting about culinary school. He's a cool guy, very nice. The therapist enters the room again. 16:51 Hrs. The therapist is now about to tape Mom up. I hope that means we're almost done. I wanna have enough time to rest at home before having to go in to work. Mom's therapist chats with me while she tapes up Mom. Tells me how she knows Sandy, Nacho's fiance. The people here are extraordinarily nice. I feel very comfortable, despite the heavy Christian influence. Who'm I kidding? Maybe it's because of the gospel music in the background that I like this place so much. It's beautiful.