How so very decadent I feel on my sick day, lounging in bed until ten and then buying not one, but two chai lattes, they soothe my throat you know, and solid food is making me gag. and I need some calories from somewhere. Reading the Science Times from cover to cover, feeling overwhelmed that I can never, will never, teach these kids all there is to know. I don’t even know it all. They’ve got to learn some of it on their own. How cute they all look, on the days I hand out the Science Times to them all, and they spend the class period poring over it.
A chance to do errands … the dry cleaner gave me a sour look when I handed her the bag of hangers to re-use; so what if they have the competitor’s logo on them? Sorry about the one wrapped in yarn, I don’t know where that came from. Oh, and the bent-to-hell one.
And why do I find my trip to Bed bath & Beyond so very depressing? What with the fluorescent lighting and the doors that open by themselves and all the brightly lit aisles with the busy commerce of toiletries and cheap drapes, and the music that changes from section to section; Christmas carols in the premature holiday area. Happy fucking Kwanzaa, and all the other made-up holidays!!! And the music in the Beyond section is so very soothing, with its subtle sound of dripping water that makes me have to urinate. And the bright yellow “Clearance! As is!” signs. And the would-be-pretty lady with the unfortunate giant brown birthmark on her cheek. Everyone’s just doing the best they can, doing their errands, but even with all this brightly-lit plastic wonderfulness, why are so many people so sad?
There’s too much commerce. I just want to chop wood and kill and cook my own deer. I want to see a fucking bear or a cougar one of these days.
I miss prairie days.
Just playing Chasing Cars over and over again, wondering when I'll get sick of it. It grows on me, even though it contains about 4 different notes.
There’s that high school boy who gets out of school at 1:47 and pedals furiously on his too-small bike, knees pumping somewhere up around his shoulders, his jeans so low & long they catch in the chain almost, pedaling pedaling to his oh so sad job at the 1-800-MATTRES (leave off one S ... for savings! Christ almighty.) store. So he can pay for his pimped-out Honda Civic hatchback with the chrome spinners, and maybe make manager after he graduates a year and a half later than he was supposed to.
And that lady walking her poodle; she's quite elderly, taking her time while Fifi tugs at her skinny little leash-on-a-spool. The little old lady, walking slowly, carrying her plastic grocery bag of shit. No city ordinances broken here, no way.
And does anyone else think it’s wrong that the two McDonald's flags fly higher than Old Glory? The two flags that are unnecessary, as the larger-than-any-other-flag Golden Arches already dominate the other two flags below? Oops, that one didn't manage to make it into the photo. My camera-phone. Which is sad in its own way. Do we live in the United fucking McDonald's of America?!?
Just doing the best I can, here.
I have to remember that my family and my friends are there, all of us just clinging to each other and trying to live our best lives, how much I actually love raking my acorns into piles, and talking to my students, and trying to remind them that there is life outside their electronics and MySpace.
If I lay here ... if I just lie here, will you lie with me and just forget the world?
The foam from the chai on my lip makes me happy.
These little happinesses just have to add up and tip the scales away from the depressing parts, or we’re all doomed.
So I’ll focus on the little happinesses.
...like neighbors who offer a hand.
The smell of burning leaves, and church bells, and the high note in that beautiful song I just learned, and the fellowship of other people who are struggling along as I am.
Done with the chai, throat still hurts.
Time for a refill.