I've started to recognize faces on the 7-train in the morning. There's the short, awkward man with little red stubbles on his face that match the red hair on his head, much of which is covered by the ugly baseball hat he's been wearing. I don't know why people wear baseball hats; I wonder if it's more comfortable for them than for me, I wonder if they they it's cool, I wonder if they want to cover up the unpleasant smell of their unwashed hair.
There's the Hispanic woman that often talks on the phone during the trip, much of which is above ground for me, though more so for her since she's there when I board the train. She is plain looking, and her clothing is functional but hardly fashionable. From the tone of her conversation, only her half being accessible to us, and the content that I can decipher, she probably is talking to her mother. She doesn't have a ring on, but unlike people who go to work in Stamford, most women in New York don't have a ring on. Oh, I notice these things, whether I am interested in the woman or not.
I went out Tuesday night, but not to tango. Not to dance, at least. I went with my tango crush. Well, more like crush from tango. "Tango crush" simply means someone you almost fall in love with but only during the dance. As a person, he doesn't elicit much romance in you. But this is my crush from tango, the teacher with whom I exchange poetry. She wrote me a poem the other day, after sending me one from Pablo Neruda. No, she isn't interested in me. She is done with people from tango; her boyfriend is not from tango and not even from the City. Still, I cherish the moments I get to spend with her. And that's why despite my fatigue, I stayed late with her in the Village on Tuesday, listening to music. First we went to see a tango band at Zinc. It was all right. It's modernized tango music, and almost never is it danceable, and in some cases like this, it wasn't particularly exciting. No one does it like the masters and no one appears to try.
She didn't really want to go there, but one of her friends was in the band, or "orquesta". Afterwards we walked over to the famous Bar 55. It was like in the movies. It was what I have wanted to do for so long: going to jazz in the Village. This was a legendary place. In the basement, a former speakeasy. It's cozy because it was a little grungy. It was Tuesday night so everyone was a bit more relaxed and not so crowded. The music was great. At first I was a bit stiff, but my friend was just dancing like there's no tomorrow to the mix of blues, jazz, and Brazilian forrò. Soon I got off my barstool and started shaking, too. We stayed there for one and a half sets, arriving in the middle of the next to the last. We didn't talk much, but I realize more and more that forging a friendship, or any relationship, doesn't require only talking, and talking alone isn't enough. It's all about experiencing something together. I got to experience my first real jazz experience in a real jazz bar with my favorite person in New York. We hung out a bit together before the tango concert. Walked around the village in search of food, and grabbed a plate of savory crêpe for each of us. We chatted a bit. I was feeling awkward. I didn't want to. The awkwardness is inevitable when you like someone, especially you know you will never have her.
On Wednesdays I usually go to the milonga where I would see her, and maybe have the courage to ask her to dance (she's a famous teacher in New York and I am still very nervous about dancing with a teacher. I have to add "famous" because there are plenty of so-called teachers whose skills don't come close to match their title). But I decided to stay home. I couldn't afford more sleep deprivation. Sunday night I went dancing. Monday night I can't remember what happened but I ended up going to bed late. Tuesday night, despite being lucky with the train, I still went to bed about four hours before getting up. Of course, last night, despite not going to the milonga, I still went to bed just over five hours before going to bed. There was too much to do. I had to cook, take care of some business with the house, and actually spend some time for myself. Both last night and Monday, now that I remember, I go to kung fu, which means I don't get back until 9:30, at the earliest. 10:40 is when I need to go to sleep if I want all my 8 hours.
I still have to work on my budget. I need to save enough money for the next round of IRA deposit. This roof thing has eaten up quite a bit of money from my savings. And the move this year was costly. Furthermore, buying this laptop had a significant effect on the cash reserve. I also have to think about my furniture and belongings in the New Haven apartment now that I have started advertising it for the next lease, and likely it will need to be empty.
A lot to think about. The problem isn't that there is too much to think about, but rather, that I haven't made enough space in my mind to think about them. I have too much. I think this week I will skip tango, at least until the Sunday one. I will meet up with a tango person tonight, first time meeting. She's a crazy pianist who wants me to make her chocolate mousse. It's our first time hanging out. Tomorrow I will hang out with my little sister and Dad before she returns to her woods Saturday. Weekend? Maybe I will actually have some time for myself. Quite a few of the people I know are away this weekend. Maybe I will make space in my mind.
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