I’ve been super busy lately, between the job I’m keeping and the job I’m leaving and the weddings and the client work and the apartment and the move and whatnot, but I like to think I’ve been keeping a handle on myself. I keep moving, I make lists, I don’t think too hard, and it happens. It’s like magic, it’s like waitressing – that part of waitressing that’s just instinct and flow, total mastery of your task and environment. That part of waitressing that happens just before you hit the weeds.
“The Weeds”, in restaurant terms, means you’re overloaded. You’re beyond. You’re too swamped to even tell people how to help you, but you’re also too swamped to do anything for yourself. All you can think of is everything you need – the drinks, the desserts, the dinners, and the checks for tables 4 and 6 – and how impossible it will be to get all of it done before something explodes. The weeds is the worst place to be, it’s the opposite of productive. It’s digging your own grave and pissing in it.
This morning I got a call from my mom that her mom (my grandma) is not doing well. Morphine drip level not well. And before I can even deal with the potentially imminent passing of my last surviving grandparent, I’m thinking about all the different ways this will blast out the intricate house of cards upon which B!’s move here has been built, and if I don’t go out there and rent the car how will he get out here, right, because he doesn’t have a credit card and they NEED a credit card, and I can’t take any more time off work and I can’t afford another flight and I’m late for my meeting and I think my old boss thinks that I suck and really, don’t I? Because all this shit is going on, and it’s all important, but the most important thing should be family but that’s not what I’m thinking about because it’s all really LOGISTICS, and my LOGISTICS are FUCKED.
All of a sudden, just like that, I’m totally weeded.