REPORT A PROBLEM
28 days of work. I slaved away to make the mark, but I missed the cut. I set aside what was once a priority. But look here. I still am. The world didn't end. I'm not less or more of a person. For one month I never ceased to exist.
30 days will be void. I will not try to recreate or duplicate anything left behind. I'll just keep writing as if I never stopped. Nothing will fill the gap I made, except the knowledge that sleep depravation and white wine made the words of my best month ever disappear.
My head was knocking. My brain was swelling. Soon my ears would start to bleed. My eyes would shrink in their sockets. The dirty little girl behind me kicked the wooden chair in one and a half second intervals. The words of the speaker were coming in broken. I turned around and practically hissed at her. With a look I condemned her mother. Her expression saddened. She knows she missed her chance to tame the defiant animal. A whisper into her spawn's ear. About face and a smooth audible sermon. Minutes later, the bitch started pounding again, with a vengeance.
My writing becomes irritating when I get into metaphorical crap or soulful writing. Shit happens. It is what it is. There's no fork in the fucking road and what kills you fucking kills you. Here I fall into a zone where I search the depths for light to be shed. I wonder the kind of power a hopeless phase the mind must go through to try convincing itself there's a brighter outlook to the shit. And look here, nothing improves. So piss off that chicken soup for the soul. I'll kill the bastard who doesn't fucking sweat the small stuff.
Undeliverable Mail: Dear ,
Just last night I made a pact with myself not to speak, even think, of you for one whole year. This morning I broke it. It's not that I haven't let you go, because I dropped it a long time ago. It's just that in these large waiting periods I pick you up and fall down again. You wouldn't believe how hard its been wondering if there really is someone to prove how replaceable you are/were. If you were paying attention at all, you'd know I was always trying to hurry anyway.
So, how you been?
I also thought I would never find my perfect match. That no one would like me. This comes out the mouth of, both, my sister and mother. They both got hitched at nineteen. This is what they console me with. I don't know if its better to stare at them incredulously or bitch slap my own kin. Five years after the measuring age, I must stop thinking there is still someone out there and start wondering about the past. The only matching candidate. The only one. How did I screw it up? Now I have to listen to these housewives.
Hey you. I'm just dropping in to say hey. I know where you are. That place that won't leave us alone. It makes it feel like the last time we were together never happened. But it did. Because I heard our song on the radio, the one we sang together. That's why I thought of you. I could see you tucking away from the world until you were ready for the dawn. You never told me, but I know you like to be there alone. So sleep now. This dream is to tell you I'll be there when its over.
Since I've been idling about during work hours, I've taken notice to a stopping occurrence. When little kids gets dropped off their perspective school busses, they don't just walk down those rubbery steps. They run down. They come wildly sprinting away into freedom. I even saw one kid come out of there spinning and dancing. And when there's a hill, the number of racing squeals increase. So I wonder, when did I start limping out of work like a zombie. Was it when I starting wearing those pointy heeled shoes adults wear or when I realized people are watching me?
Right now I could start deciding what to wear for work on Monday or if its washed. I could definitely mourn the distance between my closest friends. Also I could dwell on crazy lady that affected my day and rendered me as pensive as it gets. But I just closed the pages of such an exquisitely written book, the last sentence rung in my head and penetrated through me. I'm starting to think that the larger picture is overrated. And as for me, psycho lady made me realize I'm perfectly sane, and as a human, tonight I shall simply relax.
Experience tells me they'll come home safe. The facts are the following. They went out for a drive. Why wouldn't they make it back whole? It's late. Death must have raked its quota by now. No planes should fall from the sky in this area. Laughing and living outside of the walls. I wait here quietly, letting myself know that I will again see them. Every time I knew they were dead, every time, they were just pulling in to the driveway. So I'll put away that creeping little monster that tells me tonight is the night.
My perception of time is flawed since birth. It explains my rush to wake up, my urgency to sleep through the nights. That's why me and time don't get along. I don't wear a watch to remind me I'm offbeat. Not only does is speed through chronology, it jumps around. So I've often faced the eve of everyone's wake. I often think I'm starting over another change in life. So I have to remind myself that I have to ignore the ticking or it'll drive me crazy. Today was yesterday without a minute passing. Time is dragging for a change.
Miscellaneous tidbits are amusing. My elbows drip a cold drop of sweat at my optimum heart rate. I play and replay song beginnings with great intros. Driving fast slows me down. I fantasized about my unattractive boss. I've never watched porn. I resent my close friends and never tell them. I take the medicine, but I don't know if I really need it. Every time a man wrecks me, I lose a favorite earring. I smile a lot because I'm not paying attention. I gave up cosmetology because I was afraid of poking someone's eye out with a mascara wand.
Since our friendship took off, I've always been compelled to send you things. Paper notes and things of that nature. I do this to all my friends. But I know you're not the expressive type. You're more of the awkward-situation kind. Do I hug her, do I thank her, am I obligated to write one back? And see, I didn't want to put you through that questioning, so I opted not to ask about the notebook. When you said it was a great idea, all the words I had thrown away came rushing back. In three days, check your mail.
I decided to skim through the entries of my other non-de-plume. The one I went by a few months back. Maybe the old me would spark the new me. At best, it could remind me of where I've been trying to get to. At worst, it could make me squirm in my skim. Sure enough, I had to skip right through some. Some I swear are not in the memory bank. Some, my alter ego swooped in while I was trying to make sense of things. I was another person, still am trying to create a better version of me.
Your knees on the floor would bring me closer to you. It will make me cry, but not now. Not as I look down on your visible faults. My tongue in your mouth meant as much as your plead to come back. Just another temporary feel good sensation, gone with the slightest hint of reality or family history. No thanks. I turn and ignore your confusion with your hands on the ground and a puzzled faÃƒÆ'Ã‚Â§ade. Yes&you're charm was superficial to begin with. I'm past it as much as you should be. Leave me alone.
Not to test her, but I won't call her, just wait instead. How long will go by before she detects a missing of me. The end result will not determine anything about us, which should automatically null a reason for the test, but choice escapes me and I must know if it is always me who remembers first. I know too well the outcome, so why even go through with it? By week three, I will find a reason to ask her about something trivial and all of a sudden she'll need me. This doesn't change things, so why wonder.
It was in a movie.
Miss the bus - kill yourself.
Liked the movie - don't kill yourself.
Not me. I'm too smart for that. I don't think about suicide. I'm too educated to go through with it. So why did the idea of being dead seem all too sweet a fantasy.
I got paid - that's worth living.
The job doesn't have benefits - kill yourself.
At what point did everything little speck of events become a matter of life or death? How did I manage to comprehend the lines of that author so well?
I wouldn't do it.
Everything becomes bigger than life. I can't explain it. The theory of everything defeats the purpose of a word being uttered. It's not worth listening to something already been said or being used in thoughts all over the universe. Bigger than words. Bigger than the moment. A moment that repeats itself through history. History, always the same boring story of creation, consequently massive destruction. I've said this a million times and I can't bare to hear it again, to have you read it or to waste recycling energy on typing it. Sense is just not coherent, too incomprehensible to bare.
It was the ugliest beach I'd ever been to, but still the power of the ocean rendered its beauty. I didn't expect this detour, but I could smell the shore and I had to find it, so my jeans dampened. The tide was reckless and disturbed, the waters murky and shaken. Behind the sand dunes were smoke stacks adding to the gray in the sky. But still the rays of the sun beat on my skin, my eyes still struggled to take it all in. My toes touched the water. It was the first time I'd dared to go alone.
I've done a lot of people watching lately. I've somehow isolated myself. Don't know how or why but I find myself content observing the behavior of others rather than interacting. It hurts less, its easier. But that laziness gets louder in my head, and the better part of me tells me to snap out of my twisted world and into the real one. Suddenly the noise levels rise, the voices become so sharp it stings. What I learn about each and every one of those miserable bastards is the double side of me. If you can't ignore them, join them.
He is feuding with his in laws. He is telling me every minute detail. The kind where someone interrupts themselves to add flavor here and there. I'm basking in someone else's drama, just jolly. At the same time, relieved, so relieved that he never was insinuating an affair. For a while there I worried, wearing loose pants and little makeup. But he's dedicated to her. He would die without her he says. And soon as he said it, I found him attractive and wanted to be his dessert on the side. So much for my chaste mind.
Now is the appropriate time, if ever there was, to begin considering what is fulfillment. Can I lay this burden upon the humbleness I'm attracted to? Is it a person, place, or thing that will quiet the emptiness. I cannot see why when a man stands next to me, sleeps by me, with me, I would find reason to stop yearning for something else. In fact, I don't think I seek anything, just the next opportunity to desire something other than what I crave at the moment. I'm locked into a cycle that I will not blame anyone else for.
The mood was set by the waves. The sun was beating desire into me. The sand was near isolation, minus a few leathery stragglers. The wind was trying to knock the pages out, but my fist wrapped pen held it down. Still, they wouldn't come. You know what I'm talking about. All the things racing around in the head that just won't settle down. I was looking over my shoulder, sure they were calling my bluff, reading my mind. Even the pelicans above were sneering at the nothing I was producing. Maybe its time I break until it comes back.
I'm grateful to no end that a step out of the car and I can smell the wind moving the shore. I can close my eyes and see the sway of palms I hear. Any merge into any highway leads to a body of water. I thank God that the gulf waters have turned cold because soon they will be lukewarm and ready, when I'm ready. Meanwhile, the caress of a beach breeze sets my skin at ease. I'm at ease and getting closer, as close as the ocean has been placed beside me. I couldn't imagine asking for more.
Day three. No drug. Clean blood. Feels good. Short sentences? My free will.
Because I can devise a more fitting repertoire of events if necessary, I just chose not to. I don't want to waste my time on little tiny paragraphs or whatever this prose means to satisfy. There is more to live and its so much better when the blood flows pure, free of the unnatural compounds designed to withhold. For the first time in weeks I can cry and laugh but&. here's the rub&. its on command! My command. Who could force me back into that sedative prison?
What would compel you to have me contact you? Appearances are deceiving enough as it goes, the voice alone could be more misleading. This is me taking the liberty to assume it's the attraction factor and the motive behind you're efforts to find me. For all you know, I'm an obese loser with facial hair and pungent body order. I'm not. I actually would appeal to you, but you don't know that. It's a pathetic, desperate and dangerous way to reach out the opposite sex. Why would you give me your email?
Why am I answering to it?
Thank you so much...
I owe you a thank you...
The job you recruited me for...
Why bother? I should just go about my life as if she didn't intercept my moment of lowest income. I could've found a job anywhere. With the expensive trendy jacket I bought and the pointy heeled pumps that I haven't paid for yet. It's not like I'll see her again, unless I continue to need bigger checks. Checks that swell in size. Then I might have to dial her up. Then she might remember this little uneducated ingrate didn't send her an appreciation card.
For a few years I stopped using moisturizers. When I was nineteen I was using exfoliators, emollients, vitamins, wraps, peels, anti-aging components to begin the age reversal so early in the game that I would skip that degenerating step and time would altogether pass without recognizing it. Somewhere along the line I was convinced my skin wouldn't crease and the building lines wouldn't scrunch in place. Not me. I'm an exception to the rule. Most original laws of nature don't apply to me. Therefore I will not have wrinkles as I surpass human existence on earth and I walk alone.
There was the trail. There was foliage. Behind the backdrop trees is the highway but you wouldn't know it from the dead silence. There was movement, but you couldn't see that either. The only sound was the heat and my ragged breath from the sneakers on pavement. Is was the loneliest place on earth, except every endless eternity, a member of the elderly would speed pass me on a bicycle or rollerblades, racing toward the finish line. The other finish line it seemed. God it was lonely. To think, some people really live miles and miles from average population clusters.
It's going to be hard to love me. The way I sometimes stare until it clicks. The way I let my last two toenails chip before I gather the materials for new paint. The way I count calories to run them away. The smile when I frustrate a simple move. The head hanging when I can't make a decision. The way I take from his beer bottle, give back, and do the innocent look. When I change into my glasses at night. The way I disliked to be touched at a certain temperature. But someone will bypass all that. Right?
As my brain begins to shut down for the night, if the first semester had already taken off I'd have oil smothered hands sliding over and under skin and muscle. Yawns would be a setback. Evening hunger pangs would be drowned out by zen music. I would have one hour an a half left of intense hands on massaging and medical term crunching marathons. It would be worth giving up sleep. If I just keep saying that. It would be worth giving up sleep. I'll volunteer to be the experimental rat willing to die on the table for educational purposes.
I used to have reasons to dress up, smoke that eyeliner, buy bras other than monochrome colors and order martinis even though I'm a whisky type girl. It was only about three months ago but its been a lifetime. I haven't had a crush, a boy toy, anything vulgar to entertain the mind. My concern is not the why it hasn't happened. I could use a break from testosterone. But when is it going to happen again? When is something other that a physically disabled man or a roach carrier boy is going to make me feel like a woman.
The Tip Jar