Another day off

Off the subject completely, Michael once told me the story of a walk home from the L one evening. We live in a Mexican neighborhood--Pilsen. In fact, some official pamplet or other that breaks Chicago down into 'where to go for the best...' said that Pilsen was the best place to go to find Mexican culture.

But a one-block radius of our house holds close to a dozen Italian restaurants.

So, during this walk home, Michael encountered a Godfather (or perhaps Sorpranos) scene. This large Italian man was standing in the doorway of a nearby building talking on his cellphone about how he needed some guy whacked, but ____ (insert assassin-esque name here) was in prison again.

Which is a nice prelude to a conversation Michael had at work with one of the nuns about how, while Pilsen is a pretty gang-heavy neighborhood, our area has really only had one shooting in the year that we've been here. The nun said, "Well, of course your area is protected by the mafia."

And Michael thought, "Huh."

And then he told me, and I went, "Huh."

And he said, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

But back on topic, I spent Saturday in my PJs. I ventured out of the house only to the mailbox on the corner, and I wore my Ernie slippers as I did so. And lots of people were staring at me as I walked through the Carnival in pajamas.

Did I mention there was a Carnival right outside our house this weekend? Yes. There was a large Powerpuff Girls bouncy room at the bottom of our front steps, and a loud and annoying shoot-the-star-win-a-prize game right across the street. It was the Italian Eatery Festival, or something like that, and it was kind of strange to see so many white people walking around in our neighborhood. This Festival apparently draws quite a crowd. It was interesting to leave for work wondering why some guys were erecting a large, fake-stone fountain in the middle of the street, and then come home from work to find a smiling Bubbles of the Powerpuff sort smiling and blocking the sidewalk in front of St. Michael's.

But that is neither here nor there. The point is that I spent Saturday resting. Then I got up early Sunday morning and headed to Holy Cross-IHM, where I hit three of the eight masses and recruited people for the Theatre Program, which starts in... a little over an hour.

And then I went home and went grocery shopping, and Michael and I were both feeling tired and ill. And I thought, Man, I need another day off.

I checked my schedule and found that for my remaining time here, I will get no more (and sometimes less) than one day off a week. Well, at a time, at any rate. There are days I only have to work maybe three or four hours. But there are weeks in which I will not get to spend an entire day in my pajamas.

But during this time I get to do theatre and art and sports with young adults with nothing better to do, and I can't say I"m all that bothered by the schedule. I just feel compelled to complain.

So I am.