"What about the weekends?" you ask? "There's a million things to do out there, surely?" Yeah. Well. There are. I do just sit in the apartment on my off days. I make excuses. I don't want to go "here". I don't want to go "there". If you go "here" or "there" alone people look at you funny. They take hold of their kids' hands and wait to see what you're going to do. "A guy by himself. What's wrong with him? Probably some pervert or predator." Totally an excuse and a load of bullshit. Enough.
Yesterday evening it was cloudy and overcast in Sacramento. As I drove south on the freeway (passing the slower traffic that was in the left lanes, as always) gravel and sand grated against my windshield. I was invigorated. I hoped for lightning, rain, and alien war machines exploding out of the ground. But then I got back to the Bay Area and it was just another clear chilly night. Today the sun is shining yet again and there is one solitary cloud in the sky. And I'm thinking to myself, "Oh god, Northern California, can't you just have some ugly weather once in a while?" I really should be careful what I wish for.
These are the last two weeks of my job contract. I have not locked in anything new despite dancing around with a few recruiters. Mostly that's because my boss on the contract clearly indicated that she wanted to bring me in-house. She referred the in-house recruiters to me, and told me she was going to speak to her boss to try and expedite, and as far as I know it's a done deal other than the red tape. But now the waiting is just emphasizing this sense of transition. This life-call on hold.
Distinctions based on race are dramatically evident in the Sacramento hospital at which I work. Blacks and Mexicans and some Indians in the support positions, cleaning up the joint. I'm given to understand that 70% of the nurses in the hospital are Filipino. That may be true. I know I had a lot of little brown faces looking at me in my classrooms. The doctors I see are all white, or Chinese, or Japanese. In other hospitals in the Kaiser network the race division is different. I think one just sees this in the Sacramento hospitals. But it's still weird.
Rattling, machine gun words of Filipino or tagalog, and sometimes taglish, fire across the ICU floors on which I work. I get nervous because my paranoia and narcissism make me wonder if they're talking about me.
Back in the early 80's, when I was on active duty, there were a lot of Filipinos in the US Navy. The officer's mess on my ship had one whose name was Nosa. One day, in a fairly rough sea, dinner was being prepared. The ship took a hard roll to starboard and there was a horrendously loud and ongoing crashing from the galley. Nosa's squeaky nasal voice rang out, "De plates! De plates!!" Everyone froze, mouths agape, and then collapsed in uproarious laughter. Nosa had sounded so much like Hervé Villechaize (who was of Filipino ancestry himself) in Fantasy Island (which was still showing new episodes on television at that time) that it was beyond ridiculous.
Alright, I'm rambling. I can't fix on anything. Time to do something else.