STRESS

Stress
08-26-97
Tuesday
It's only a quarter of eight in the morning and here I am at the cleaners (C.J.'s) writing, smoking a cigarette, and finishing up a coke. I'm not sure if I have anxiety or just plain stress. Anxiety comes from the root word anxious or fear. What do I worry about so early in the morning? I'm not really sure. It is there though, to be certain. How can I tell?

Well, this morning John woke me up shouting through the door "K-E-R-A-G!" (trying to pronounce my name with his still thick Korean accent). Of course, his horrible attempt at my name was followed by "Sheiki!". That has been his favorite word lately, and even Stacey's mom has recently taken it up. I'm not positive of the word's definition, but he's also used the term in the context of: Son-of-a-Sheiki-Ga, so I think we've got the general idea.

It was 6:30, and we all had to be at our respective dry-cleaning stores and opened up by 7. Even though I was running late, I had time to shower, put on some clothes, and wolf down some bean-sprout soup that was left over from the night before. I don't mention that I brushed my teeth because after a vain attempt to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube for what seemed like half an hour, I just "bare-brushed" ‘em.

By the time I flipped on the main breakers for electricity at the store it had just hit 7 o'clock on the dot. And then I immediately called John. "B-E-S-T-EH." he answered. Best Cleaners is the nice little name they gave their dry-cleaning store. So has about a thousand other Koreans across the country. "John," I say, "Do you have that hat?" I ask, - referring to the one that he had put under a steamer, to save time, and ended up ruining it...So he had to buy the customer a new one of the exact same type. I knew he didn't have it, or else he would have put it into my car this morning for me to bring into the shop for the customer, but I figured a little touche' would be in order... I mean, after his nasty little shouting episode this morning.

Plus - this way - I'd also be cleverly letting him know that I was at the store on time.

He finally answers my question and says he'll bring it home tonight. Of course the conversation would not have been complete without his all too familiar little grunts of acknowledgment. Koreans seem to have this funny way of showing the speaker that they're listening. Just as some nationalities might nod their head, or say "uh-huh," I've noticed that Koreans have this little guttural grunt that they will inject into the conversation as many times as proper. The more grunts you get - the more intensely they're listening; or so you're supposed to think.

As soon as I hang up the phone, I grab my `pillow' of laundry bags and head to the back of the store for a nice little nap - I mean, I don't do the dry cleaning here - it's just a "drop-shop," so if there's not a customer coming in to drop off some clothes, there's nothing for me to do really... And - I've always said that there are only a few things in life that I truly enjoy, and sleep is definitely one of them.

Unfortunately, that little pleasure was robbed of me just as I was about to doze off - although it was my own body that did the robbing - probably due to that bean-sprout soup I had for breakfast.

After sitting on the toilet for a while, reading the introduction to a new novel and taking care of my business, I decided to give the old Dao-In a try.

Dao-in is basically a chi-gung, which loosely translates from Mandarin Chinese as - an exercize to stimulate and work on one's energy... So I start it up, but... Then I stop; I just don't feel quite right.

So instead, I end up sitting down and rubbing my face in this wierd obsessive manner until I get to the point where heat and friction are working together and bits of dry skin just roll right off my face.

...And then I get this insanely itchy feeling all over my head and so I go violently after my comb...So that I can rid my scalp of its seriously nasty dryness. I don't really understand this dry scalp stuff, either. Some call it dandruff and others call it dry-scalp. I call it the most damned irritating mystery of the universe. I mean, no matter how hard you try, no matter how long you rub, that stuff just a keeps on a comin'. You'd figure that you'd end up digging out your damn brains by then, but nope; just more flakes...Snow in August - and lots of it - Who'd A Thunk It?

So then I finally decide to do something to keep me in check; I write.

Now, after a brief interlude of helping a customer unload a shit-load of clothes-hangers from his truck, walking to the gas station to buy some smokes, calling the public utility company only to find out that they plan to come fix our pipe-bursted-leak in 21, yes twenty-one days, fixing a cup of coffee and lighting up a cigarette, it is now 9:30 a.m., and I am ready to tell you about last night.


But first, let me spray on the insect repellant; those damn little black vampires are out hunting early today. I just watched one try to land on my arm and when he got wind of the stuff I sprayed on, he went madly flying about, trying to find an opening in my armor.

Whooops!
A guy just came in to the store to get his shoes re-soled. He asked the price. The only one I could think to give was the wrong one: $5.00. It actually costs $38.00 for a whole sole replacement of both shoes. The funny thing is, I would rather, at this point, make up the difference myself; it was of course, my mistake and I would rather get the retribution over as quick as possible. Life has its little ways of paying back 2 to 3 times more than the little mistake you made...or so it seems.

Well, nothing too special happened last night. I was home; or rather, I was at Stacey's mom's house. Getting there, though, was an ordeal. For some reason, I really wanted to stop for a beer. I mean, I really wanted one. I did not enjoy that feeling at all, so I decided to fight it. Oh, I had enough money all right, but I was not going to let myself fall into another trap!


I did stop at the public library, to pick up my reserved materials: a book on Cantonese, which is a Chinese dialect that is spoken in the southern part of China (like Hong Kong and also in NY and LA's Chinatowns) and a video. The video, I thought would be a comedy, and it was; entitled Training Techniques of the Shaolin.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I consider people who do martial arts a bunch of disillusioned kids jumping around in pajamas forgetting that there are guns in this world. As a matter of fact, I am one of them.
But, this video sucked. If somebody fought the way the instructor on the video fought in a real-life situation, the opponent would definitely take a step back and laugh.


Any way, when I got to the house, Carl , Stacey's 11 year old brother, was home. He came and gave me a great big hug as I walked in the front door. We've grown quite close in the past couple of months; I don't think that Stacey would believe it though, if I told her. It feels like she always thought of me as the `old man down the street in the scary house,' - you know, the one who hates kids; that they (kids) were just nuisances. Sure, give me 3 hours of constant yelling and screaming in your face, and I get a little edgy, like any one else.

But, to tell the truth, I love the little guy. In him I find a little bit of a kid brother, a son, and a friend.

I'm not sure how old he was, but a few years ago his father shot himself in the head, yet was unsuccessful in his attempt to escape this never-ending cycle of pain and suffering we call life. He was an all-around kind hearted American guy who married a Korean woman. She moved to America wither her first husband (Stacey's father) to enjoy this `free lifestyle.' After their divorce, Frank Williams and she fell in love. But the more fun she had, the more she wanted, and the more she pushed him away. He worked hard; too hard. "She never appreciated him nor his efforts," Stacey told me. He wore old clothes, while buying her diamond-studded jewelry. Now, with half of his brain removed and his head visibly caved in, he sits in a nursing home, with very few visits from friends nor family.

O.K., Back to Monday night. I went downstairs to empty my pockets - now isn't that funny? I don't know of anyone that doesn't have their very own `pocket place' at home. You know, a bowl, or table or drawer or something, where they put their keys & wallet & change and stuff at the end of the day.

I went back upstairs to the kitchen and started boiling some water. I dumped the pack of .39-cent Ramen noodles into the water and then began my tirade through the kitchen cabinets. When I was living at home, with my parents, I would often have a colander or strainer handy, so that I could drain out the water. We were an American family and did not have the condiments available for the Asian home-style noodle soup. Of course, now that I was living in a Korean home, I knew that the kitchen would be full of goodies. They kept a handy supply of sesame oil and soy sauce in old squeezable ketchup & mustard bottles, so a couple of squirts of each began my concoction. Salt and Pepper. A pinch of unknown brown spice. A pinch of red pepper powder. A pinch of tiny salted shrimp. An egg. And a couple of spoonfuls of rice. I was good to go.
As I was reaching for the top shelf in their huge refrigerator, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure that Carl wasn't watching. I love the boy and I trust him, but I figured it's better to be safe than sorry. He wasn't watching; he was so close to the television set in the living room - that I thought he just might crawl right on in there (but then again, that wasn't unusual for him) - so there was no way for him to be even remotely attached to our planet at the moment.

I didn't want him to see me ransacking his family's goods. Though my attention was drawn elsewhere - looking at Carl - my hand kept reaching for that bowl of brown sauce on the top shelf - some more goodies for my stew.

And I misjudged the distance...and down it came, flinging brown goo everywhere but the walls. Luckily though, I had caught the bowl in my other hand. I quickly glanced back again - Carl hadn't heard a thing. But - I had some issues to deal with - there was brown stuff all over my shirt, the floor, and the rug in front of the `fridge.' I quickly put the bowl back on the shelf and took off my shirt; I had an undershirt on. The "top shirt" became my cleaning cloth, wiping up all the mess as quickly as possible.

Then I noticed that Carl was headed for the kitchen. He must have smelled my broth, because he went straight to the stove..not even noticing my other little project, that just so happened to be all over his parents' rug.

The rug!!!

Making sure that he was still distracted by my noodle-concoction, (he was - he was sneaking a taste) I quickly, yet quietly slipped my foot under the rug and flipped it over.

"Whew! It's hot!" I said, as I took of my under-shirt and neatly wrapping my top-shirt into it.
"And this shirt just stinks of sweat! I'd better toss it in the laundry," I said, making my way downstairs... To the washing-machine...And then to my basement room...And to safety.

Later, when Stacey's mom had gotten home, she told me that we'd all be going to Houston to visit Stacey on Labor Day weekend - which was crap, anyway, I knew we'd never go down there By the way - Stacey, her daughter, is my ex-girlfriend...And I'm living in her parents' basement...And running one of their stores. Nice set up, huh?

That night I tried to sleep, but couldn't. I kept thinking of ideas for the kung fu school I was building. Stacey should be proud of me, I thought. But then again, Stacey's definitely not an easy one to impress. I tried to force my self to sleep; to go into dream-land.

I envisioned myself flying - straight up into the sky, using my special flying technique that I had developed through years of dreamng.I flew around in the sky for what seemed like hours, enjoying the freedom more than anything else in the world - and then I flew up. I flew up, up and away. Too far away, too far out; all the way into space, and then deep space. Cool at first, but then I didn't dig it. It was cold, quiet, desolate, and an overwhelming feeling of loneliness seemed to be everywhere.

And then I fell, or rather, I flew back down, or something pulled me back down. Down, down, down - into blackness and into a deep sleep. Until I awoke the next morning into another dream...

Or rather...A Nightmare.



Well, I hope you enjoyed reading Stress - just a short excerpt from my...

Steps To Insanity, heh, heh. Feel free to drop me a line - and go check out some of the other chapters!