Yawn
I wrote this last night at work and then blogger fucked w/ me when I tried to post, so, for what it's worth...
I am working 3rd shift at a cozy but rather isolated group home. Next door is a furniture warehouse. On the other side is the highway. I’ve got um, about 7 more hours to kill.
I sit typing and making useless appeals to the bunny sitting across the room from me. Tapping the leather sofa cushion, “Come here, bun-bun. Bunny.” I can understand and accept his not coming to see me, but I do not understand why he won’t come out of his cage when he is free to do so. He could sit on a towel, or a smooth wood floor, or for Chrissakes a leather sofa, but he chooses to sit on the wire mesh floor of a cage.
He likes being pet. Closes his eyes, a silent, near motionless mass of fur. It is mildly depressing to stare at him in the cage. I’ve never been a fan of bunnies as pets. I’m not much of a fan of anything other than cats and dogs as pets, actually.
Driving in tonight, I had another of my weird lost highway episodes. I was cruising along when I suddenly started to feel really detached and uncertain of the road - the direction it was headed, the curves and exits and parameters. I didn’t have a near panic attack like the last time, but I was very grateful to be off the road and out of my car.
It’s a little disturbing to me that this happened again. That’s twice in about as many weeks. It’s a bad feeling. I’m going to stop writing for now, and read about vampires in New England, since one of the residents here claims to come from a family of vampires, and to have been born in Transylvania. He also claims that despite this, he himself is not a vampire. Even though he was "shot dead", dug up, and has a tomb.
*************************************************************
As it turns out, a certain town in Rhode Island that shall remain nameless is a hotbed of historical “vampire” activity and lore. It’s also a town that I’ve often thought I wouldn’t mind living in. It feels like the middle of nowhere even though technically it’s not.
It’s 4:30 a.m., and a couple of the residents are up and about, making the usual requests for coffee, cigarettes, and juice. The vampire relative is awake. I gave the orange I brought for myself to S. after he saw me cutting it up. A teen movie is now on the television.
A third resident is up and I have to stop writing.
**************************************************************
The third resident spilled a half pitcher of juice in the kitchen. By juice I mean drink mix, which thankfully was sugar free. Otherwise cleaning it up would’ve taken a million years. I finished out my shift pretty uneventfully, going where no-one seemed to have gone for some time when cleaning the bathrooms, particularly around the base of the toilets, folding some laundry, keeping S. happy, making successive pots of coffee, writing my notes and watching the sunrise.
And then I drove home and slept.
**************************************************************
I worked a 2nd tonight and I have a happy heart, and I can't believe I am saying that I have a happy heart, but I know it's true. Tonight in the van P. said "It's not a holy table, it's a hole in the table" She explained that she was communicating with her dead grandfather. What more can I say but Ponchos Forever!
I am working 3rd shift at a cozy but rather isolated group home. Next door is a furniture warehouse. On the other side is the highway. I’ve got um, about 7 more hours to kill.
I sit typing and making useless appeals to the bunny sitting across the room from me. Tapping the leather sofa cushion, “Come here, bun-bun. Bunny.” I can understand and accept his not coming to see me, but I do not understand why he won’t come out of his cage when he is free to do so. He could sit on a towel, or a smooth wood floor, or for Chrissakes a leather sofa, but he chooses to sit on the wire mesh floor of a cage.
He likes being pet. Closes his eyes, a silent, near motionless mass of fur. It is mildly depressing to stare at him in the cage. I’ve never been a fan of bunnies as pets. I’m not much of a fan of anything other than cats and dogs as pets, actually.
Driving in tonight, I had another of my weird lost highway episodes. I was cruising along when I suddenly started to feel really detached and uncertain of the road - the direction it was headed, the curves and exits and parameters. I didn’t have a near panic attack like the last time, but I was very grateful to be off the road and out of my car.
It’s a little disturbing to me that this happened again. That’s twice in about as many weeks. It’s a bad feeling. I’m going to stop writing for now, and read about vampires in New England, since one of the residents here claims to come from a family of vampires, and to have been born in Transylvania. He also claims that despite this, he himself is not a vampire. Even though he was "shot dead", dug up, and has a tomb.
*************************************************************
As it turns out, a certain town in Rhode Island that shall remain nameless is a hotbed of historical “vampire” activity and lore. It’s also a town that I’ve often thought I wouldn’t mind living in. It feels like the middle of nowhere even though technically it’s not.
It’s 4:30 a.m., and a couple of the residents are up and about, making the usual requests for coffee, cigarettes, and juice. The vampire relative is awake. I gave the orange I brought for myself to S. after he saw me cutting it up. A teen movie is now on the television.
A third resident is up and I have to stop writing.
**************************************************************
The third resident spilled a half pitcher of juice in the kitchen. By juice I mean drink mix, which thankfully was sugar free. Otherwise cleaning it up would’ve taken a million years. I finished out my shift pretty uneventfully, going where no-one seemed to have gone for some time when cleaning the bathrooms, particularly around the base of the toilets, folding some laundry, keeping S. happy, making successive pots of coffee, writing my notes and watching the sunrise.
And then I drove home and slept.
**************************************************************
I worked a 2nd tonight and I have a happy heart, and I can't believe I am saying that I have a happy heart, but I know it's true. Tonight in the van P. said "It's not a holy table, it's a hole in the table" She explained that she was communicating with her dead grandfather. What more can I say but Ponchos Forever!
posted by Black Egg at 11:57 PM
3 Comments:
WORK, WORK, WORK.... all work and no play makes mill house a dull girl... hope you are well and everything is going good... it sounds like you might need some entertainment....hmmm...
Things are going pretty good for me, thanks for asking. Yeah, work is quite dominant in my mind when I go to post lately, that's 'cause I'm usually posting right when I get home. I said a few posts ago that I didn't want to do that, so I'm going to try hard to stay away from work topics when posting... it's hard sometimes, though, b/c there are often some really interesting things that happen at work. And I adore the people I work with (the clients.) I have the next 2 days off, and I need 'em. Entertainment? Hmmmm indeed.
heh heh... entertainment... well i hope you find some sort of mild trouble to get into!
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