washing machine noises

A tiresome day at the restaurant, beginning with lunch shift at 10am, continuing through tea, and then hostessing at dinner which I've discovered I really don't like as much as I thought I might. It's a lot of waiting around and running up and down stairs between the Monday Club and the Soiree Room upstairs and organizing reservations and...it's not as mindless as making tubs full of roll-ups, as physical as balancing plates and racing from the kitchen out to the floor and back, and there's not nearly as much interaction with people as there is when you're waiting tables. And that's what I missed. On the bright side I did get to wear something other than black slacks, white button-down and a tie, but that was little compensation.

After work I felt numb, exhausted, and viciously under-slept. I had an unbelievably difficult and unproductive conversation with Emma (that I'm certain was my fault, most things are), but then unraveled it all with Terri on the way home, and felt much much calmer. She was talking about the difference between shame and guilt. I definitely remember hearing about this at Sierra Tucson, I know it was the topic of a number of workshops and group sessions, but I don't think I paid much attention to it because I didn't think it applied to me. I understand a little better now that it really does. Terri explained that guilt was when I feel badly about something I've done, a mistake I've made. Shame is when I am the mistake. How quickly I go from "things are going badly" to "I am bad". Or maybe less drastically "this situation isn't right" to "somethings not right with me". Hearing her talk about this was a relief, so much so that I cried. When I heard her say "I am the mistake", that's what really did it. Since I was 14 at the Sunday meeting I've wondered if I am one of those "such unfortunates", because I felt within me this gnawing thing that told me something wasn't wired right. I can't imagine that anyone is able to hear that phrase about the constitutionally incapable without for a moment wondering in fear that it might apply to them. After all, they're in this room, in this meeting, are they not? The people around them have written them off as a lost cause, they're morally and emotionally and spiritually at the bottom of most barrels, why not here too? Certainly it's not far-fetched to think that would apply to any of us, but I wonder sometimes if "constitutionally incapable" is a cop-out. This topic of shame and punishment and retribution has been really haunting me lately. I don't know what I have to say about it yet but I'm sure more will come soon.

I've just opened up a BCC check. The MLK weekend stipend was supposed to be for $250 but it's been knocked down to $150. Which averages roughly to about 5 bucks an hour. I want to complain given that we all basically worked 3 days straight before that concert, wrangling singers and running rehearsals in preparation but I know it's not a particularly wealthy organization and I'm so grateful that I'm even being paid to do it in the first place that I feel like I should just shut the hell up and deposit the damn thing.

I have no music playing because I don't think I can really handle anything right now. (Did I mention that the background music at the TF's dinner last night was Best of James Taylor?). So I'm listening to the tak tak of my keyboard and the wumwumwumwum of my washing machine that's running because I need to wash my shirts for work tomorrow. I like how when it goes on spin cycle I can feel my whole third floor shake. I've agreed to work brunch and dinner tomorrow, which will have a special menu in honor of the Superbowl. That's right. Our gourmet restaurant serving chili, homemade chips and guac, and hot dogs with cheese. Classy. I trust it'll be upscale versions of them all; we have to be pompous about everything. As for the game itself, I know the patriots are playing but I don't know who the other team is. Here's how much I care about the Superbowl:
I care about it this much- from here --> <-- to here. That's not even an inch.
I'm a little bitter about the game. Tom Petty and all the rest. It's really rough to think about. I'm not well there. I'm grateful I'll be running around the restaurant, hopefully without much time to stop and watch much more than a commercial or two.

My shoulders ache. I need to get myself to bed. Miles and miles and miles to go before I sleep.