Food & Jewelry & No Internets
Tonight it took me approximately, oh, FOREVER to de-ice my car to a point that made it drivable. Forever=about 25 minutes in, I dunno, maybe 10 degree weather. It’s 1:30 a.m. as I write this, I’ve been home long enough to have a beer and toast with peanut butter, and while doing that, try in vain to connect to the internet. I keep losing my connection lately, I don’t know if someone is fucking with my wireless (i.e. stealing it - yes, it has happened) or what. There’s a password and all, but somehow the connection goes to hell for no reason all the time now, usually requiring the assistance of my fix-it friend. Anyway. I'll post this tomorrow.
Today was Valentine’s Day. I suppose my date was a client at work, we had soup together and made brownies. I do happen to adore this person. I guess we mutually admire each other. She gives the most bizarre compliments, and on a regular basis.
“C., you have such a delicate feminine athletic frame!”
“I didn’t know your hair was so long! It makes you look like a real lady-girl!”
“C., you have a very reassuring and gentle nature!”
Really, she talks like that. Half the time her compliments make no sense or are frankly inaccurate. But she is darling. Tonight she reassured me when we started talking about boyfriends, “You can get alot of satisfaction from other things in life, like food, and jewelry and recreation and clothes. And food and jewelry.” I nodded. Food and jewelry.
She went on to talk about praying to Jesus Christ. Really, she’s such a girl. A forty-something year-old girl. Earnest beyond belief. She told me the other day in response to my full-time hiring at the program, “Oh, thank Jesus! My prayers have been answered!!”
So yes, the lovely and earnest Miss P. was my date. We even hugged each other goodnight.
The rest of the evening I played janitor (I don’t just play a janitor - I was one in high school) and cleaned the hell out of the bathrooms and floors. Something about scrubbing toilets, emptying trash and getting grubby on V-day night felt good and right.
The roads of course were total crap, but at 12:30 a.m. there aren’t too many people to crash into or to crash into you. I liked the cold, lonely, ice-coated trip home. It just sort of matched everything. This is why most suicides occur in the spring. The weather begins to not match, to disagree with the interior landscape. For me, tonight, the unforgiving and bitter weather feels good, and sympathetic, and bracing. Honestly, I feel good. But I usually feel that way in the spring, too. Good.
Fucking hell it’s late. The wind is rattling everything angrily. I imagine the house as a 1940’s cartoon, stout and pinching it’s window eyes, the roof animating into a tophat, the chimney somehow becoming a glowing pipe, puffs of cheerful smoke emitted at rhythmic intervals. A tinny, warbly orchestra plays in the background.
Inside, the curtains pull tight, the bed sighs and yawns, and blue light spills everywhere.
Today was Valentine’s Day. I suppose my date was a client at work, we had soup together and made brownies. I do happen to adore this person. I guess we mutually admire each other. She gives the most bizarre compliments, and on a regular basis.
“C., you have such a delicate feminine athletic frame!”
“I didn’t know your hair was so long! It makes you look like a real lady-girl!”
“C., you have a very reassuring and gentle nature!”
Really, she talks like that. Half the time her compliments make no sense or are frankly inaccurate. But she is darling. Tonight she reassured me when we started talking about boyfriends, “You can get alot of satisfaction from other things in life, like food, and jewelry and recreation and clothes. And food and jewelry.” I nodded. Food and jewelry.
She went on to talk about praying to Jesus Christ. Really, she’s such a girl. A forty-something year-old girl. Earnest beyond belief. She told me the other day in response to my full-time hiring at the program, “Oh, thank Jesus! My prayers have been answered!!”
So yes, the lovely and earnest Miss P. was my date. We even hugged each other goodnight.
The rest of the evening I played janitor (I don’t just play a janitor - I was one in high school) and cleaned the hell out of the bathrooms and floors. Something about scrubbing toilets, emptying trash and getting grubby on V-day night felt good and right.
The roads of course were total crap, but at 12:30 a.m. there aren’t too many people to crash into or to crash into you. I liked the cold, lonely, ice-coated trip home. It just sort of matched everything. This is why most suicides occur in the spring. The weather begins to not match, to disagree with the interior landscape. For me, tonight, the unforgiving and bitter weather feels good, and sympathetic, and bracing. Honestly, I feel good. But I usually feel that way in the spring, too. Good.
Fucking hell it’s late. The wind is rattling everything angrily. I imagine the house as a 1940’s cartoon, stout and pinching it’s window eyes, the roof animating into a tophat, the chimney somehow becoming a glowing pipe, puffs of cheerful smoke emitted at rhythmic intervals. A tinny, warbly orchestra plays in the background.
Inside, the curtains pull tight, the bed sighs and yawns, and blue light spills everywhere.
posted by Black Egg at 1:35 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home