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9:03 a.m. - October 31, 2004
On this type of morning, I wish I could bake scones or something else equally absorbing and pleasing
A heavy fog this morning has begun to dissipate but the mist set the tone: Hoodie and sweatpants, newspaper and hot chocolate, blanket over feet to brace against the chill coming from the open door. I am glad, relieved, I canceled with Jon and stayed home. He's a good sport but I'm not ready for the intimacy he desires, and it won't be a surprise to not hear from him again.

Tomorrow is a court day and will be contentious. Perfection, professionalism, pro forma - the triad must not waver once. I wonder if an objection will be raised since both defendant and plaintiff had requested me, but in tomorrow's capacity I represent the court and am the interpreter of record so everything should go well. I am unaware of who the other interpreters will be and it is odd that I will be evaluating the performance of colleagues to ensure language accuracy and proceedings-impartiality. Since there are few legally certified interpreters I have a hunch who may be present and in all, I'm looking forward to the experience. I'm going to have lunch at the Ethiopian restaurant a few blocks from the courthouse in San Francisco and after I'm done in the courtroom, I'm going to do something by myself.

Um, that's a given.

Once again I am deeply unhappy and those sneaky thoughts have embedded themselves to my forehead. It worries me when I think things like that because while I know what they are and why they are present, I worry that one day I won't know the difference and will act on them. I've been thinking about Chris and her jump from the Golden Gate and how peaceful it must have been, how resolute, and then I remind myself I'm scared of heights and I put an end to that thought. But the foregrounding is established, it's present, has taken it's place once again and that's what bothers me, how often and repetitious the thoughts are, almost like listening to a strain of faint music coming from a place you can't see and can't quite make out, so you move your head closer and closer.

I should talk to Brad about these things but I don't. These thoughts are too private but if not him, then who? It is better to smile and act the part sometimes.

I yearn for so much, for too much.


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