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2018-12-06 09:48:59 (UTC)

Mother and father left for ..

Mother and father left for S.B. early this morning. E.L. left for Guadalajara. It rained about noon, following the gloominess and the grey sky of the morning. Walked S. under a downpour before work. I was late for about forty, fifty minutes for work. The earth as if blanketed in a mist. Trees and mountains yonder outlined in gray and black. Pool of waters on the freeway. Cars as if with wings, spewing out showers of water on their sides as they went along. Dots of water bobbed up and appeared as if boiling on my windshield. Rain dropped on the roof of my convertible car sounding as if the static of a radio. I drove cautiously to work.
"You look cute," J.O. said, when he saw me. A.L. bundled her knotted hair on a bun atop her head, like a woman carrying a basket on her head. Two new admissions. One nice and cooperative, the other one a bit intractable, wishing to flush and administer his medications and bolus feeding himself through his own G-tube. C.P. a pain in the ass, only talking to me about either mine or A.L.'s shortcomings, which she immaturely presumed. This made me dislike her. She is bad with her English; takes five seconds to find her words, so that she could not explain herself fluently in English. Because of this I think her stupid because of my impatience of hearing what she wanted to say, of finishing her sentences quick. At one point, with A.L. and M.G. around, she asked us if Mr. A. was on ventilator at night, to which the three of us replied different answers for we were unsure. "She does not know it herself either," I said, when C.P. was gone. At one point I came into the room where A.L. and J.O. were and I said, "I can't stand her," referring to C.P. That wasn't perhaps my most gracious of actions for today. A student from last year who followed me at work came up to me-- I forgot her name. We talked. I rather like her. I think her pretty. "Brightwood is bankrupt," she said. R.P. perhaps either admire or jealous of my courage and will to hook up whenever I want. She, a trans, is fearful and anxious of meeting up with anyone. "I might get murdered," she said. And what with some news I see online on Facebook concerning transexuals and transgenders, I don't blame her. Or she was only saying these things to cover up the fact that she is undesirable, for she is a bit old (late forties, I presume), and for me below average on beauty. D.E. comes to work as if with swords drawn, ready to fight, but with whom? Sadly, with nobody but the wind. Her face bear that usual sour expression, as if infinitely smelling something malodorous about her nares; has always something negative to say; is proud I think of playing the villain. She has her own world with her mind made up about things. She strikes me as being a bit mentally ill. Or it could be just the product of her lack of education that brings about the crudeness of her manners, reminding one of a farmwoman, with her nasally loud scolding voice. Came home and made myself leftover ragu bolognese, accompanied with cabarnet, both of which become like dependable shoulders after a day of work.