REPORT A PROBLEM
As always I'm tired of my job. Rumors are swirling about the renewal of my contract. Will they? Won't they? Do they really have to re-interview me? Will they? Won't they? I feel impotent. The various job posting sites for my profession always seem to hold nothing of interest for me.
My job seems too easy, especially when I am looking for a challenge. I can get away with slacking off. Slacking leads to a lack of motivation, where nothing job-related gets done. Or where I spend my work time on personal projects, like this 100 Words writing thing.
I give a little wave and a hello. He then turns around and pretends not to know me.
Unimportant. Secondary. A nobody.
"What he just did to you was cold."
"Yes. This is what I deal with on a regular basis."
"Isn't he suppose to be your new boss?"
"Cold. Would it have killed him to introduce his wife?"
Pretend it doesn't bother you. Insist it is "par for the course."
He is the one who has a problem. Poor social skills and all that. He is the one at fault. Not me. Never me.
This Facebook thing is getting outta hand. At first, it seemed like it was a mediocre internet site, though in the past few weeks, I see I am mistaken. I'm hooked.
Wandering here and there, in the early internet days, I fell out of touch with many of my friends. Pleasure comes when we've reconnected through this website. Each new one is an ego stroke. Friends. I have folks who like me.
"What are my "friends" doing?" I think at random intervals during the day. Immediate gratification comes. They are doing the same think I am doing, nothing.
Just a few things that aren't quite right today:
Almost two months later I find out that camera I ordered will never be delivered 'cause they don't have or make them any more.
The hair guy, we'll call him Tom, put too much product and conditioner in my hair. I smell like a fruit stand.
I have over-worked my painting. Too much poorly applied paint. It sucks.
The hallway is blocked off. I ignore the yellow caution tape and enter my office.
I realize I have no idea what to do with the next 60 years of my life.
I knew I would hate the "It's A Small World" ride. The line-up for the ride was the longest we'd waited in all day. All that cotton candy happiness and harmony represents such an absurd fantasy of peace between the different countries of the world.
It is not a small world. I hear about dreadful things that happen on the other side of it, which never will touch my life.
And the song, that damned catchy song "It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all." I still can't get it out of my head.
My father was my dentist. He scrapes at my back teeth, those molars, removing chunks of green gunk and goo. I know he is doing a terrible job. I feel no pain, but I long to get up from the chair, though I am helpless to fulfill this desire. As I recline there, my niece and many of my closer friends parade by. My mouth is still wide open, with the dental work continuing.
More green shit is extracted from between my teeth. My friends have now moved on to other things, leaving me all alone in the chair.
The other night I met an exceptionally tall red-haired man at my friend's BBQ. This man's life work was studying the sex-lives of crickets. "Did you meet Kenneth? He studies cricket sex." "He studies what?"
I think to myself, sure, why not study the sex lives of insects. Perhaps their rituals and positions can lend something to our already oversexed yet undersexed culture. Could this be the newest fetish or entertainment, insect porn. The only component of this encounter that did not strike me as odd, was that it was a red-head studying sex. Damn those oversexed red-heads!
I dream of happiness. There is a longing for a contentment I once felt with life. It ceased to exist so many years ago that it feels like it almost didn't exist at all. If you fail at making yourself happy, what does that say about you? The future will take care of itself. You don't need to plan that far ahead. I'm stuck. I'm impotent. I'm trapped. Boxed in on all sides, by things I don't think I want or need. The only person I'm letting down is myself. Dropping my high standards isn't something I can do.
Crise du Coeur
Heart: Oh god! That was so amazing. Love is good stuff. Good stuff.
Head: Fuckin' awsome. Now, back to real life.
Heart: What?? Oh no! I want to spend some time replaying the touches, sighs, things said and unsaid.
Head: Bad idea! You'll just get all confused and assume we're in love. Then there'll be no living with you.
Heart: Fuck off with the rationalization. I'm all hot and pumped. Can you believe it when we...
Head: STOP. Stop. Don't romanticize it. We scratched a big itch. Why can't you see it as just a fuck?
She tells me she's leaving him. He broke their agreement. He didn't even try to make right on his promise. They spoke about it on many occasions. But, more than this, she is no longer in love with him. When she married it was meant to last forever. 'Till death do us part and all that. This decision was not what she wanted to happen. She doesn't want to be a single mother. She doesn't really want to be alone. Already she is happier. The great weight has been lifted off her shoulders. She'll be telling him very soon.
Following this road, I look ahead in to the future and see nothing. The flat planes leading up to a horizon that goes on and on to an infinity. The planes are flat, no trees, no buildings, no water, no interest. For days and days I drag myself along in frustration and boredom. A hallucination would be a welcome change to the monotony of the landscape. If I only had my ride, my companion, a book. My ride died days ago. My companion stopped at the last watery divot a month ago. And I had never owned a book.
Back on this Facebook tangent...
Facebook has groups. There are groups for everything, TV shows, schools, philosophies, former workplaces, though the one that I have found most disturbing is the group shrine that has been set up for someone who passed away years ago. To be specific, for someone I didn't like. Someone who was a jerk to someone I love. They say "He was a good friend, a lot of fun, a father." What is should say is "He was a guy who liked to get drunk, fuck around and who won't grow up and know better."
"Are you having a nice day?" asks the young man in the black pants, white dress shirt and plaqued name tag. Politely, I say yes. He segues to this being a day God made. "Do you believe in God?"
"Yes, but if you'll excuse me, we're getting off at the next stop."
"Would you like to see a video that talks about Jesus Christ?"
Theologically speaking, Jesus and God are two separate entities. Don't go aligning my belief in God with having a belief in Jesus! I gave up believing in him years ago.
You spoiled me. My mind reels at the thought of the preceding events. You made the daily seem pale. The usual is dulled. You have done this before, but this time the differences are terribly more apparent. My enjoyment was greater, for many reasons.
Afterwards we resumed our other lives. We told no one. Barely talking of it between ourselves, for many reasons.
My life moves on slowly. The paleness of it returns. Everyday things are cared about and done. The colours aren't as bright as they once were, though. I fear, they will never be the same.
What is post-secondary education coming to? Come on folks. If the information you have in front of you appears to be wrong, use your deductive reasoning, which you should have, to figure out that there is a problem and what the possible solutions might be. Perhaps you wrote it down poorly. Perhaps some other miscommunication occurred resulting in the incorrectly recorded information.
Just don't look at my in that funny way when I can't correct the mistake you've made or if the answer I give you is not one that you were expecting. I'll help, but I ain't god.
Things wouldn't change, if we spent two days together. While pleasant to think of falling asleep with you at the end of the day and waking with you the next morning, that couldn't really happen. Could it?
If we spent two days together, maybe we'd highlight our differences. You don't like the way I make coffee. I don't like the movie you chose.
Then again, if we spent two days together, we could hurt each other. Cut each other to the quick and watch each other cry and bleed.
Of course, we both know, this could never really occur.
The Ridiculous Vocational Interest Test
You must check only one of the following two options per question.
Would you rather:
fly a kite
make a kite
do mathematical problems
solve world hunger
write a great novel
earn a million dollars
answer absurd questions
cut your arm off
cut your leg off
do the job you are doing now
do another less paying job with fewer benefits
work with people
work on your own
provide medical assistance
receive medical assistance
teach students to read
poke a dog with a stick
swim in the ocean
swim in a pool
conduct useless research
conduct a symphony
jump on a trampoline
escape from prison
plan an attack
play the lottery
Here we are in a small kitchen. On the counters, filling all available space, are platters piled high with meat. Raw salmon. Rare roast beef. A thick steak. I think there was some cooked chicken over there on the right. Thighs and breasts. Oysters, Mussels and clams steamed or waiting to be shucked. There is a silver scaled fish baking in the oven, along with a whole golden turkey.
Presented with such an appealing delectable scene, I just can't dig in. I can't bring myself to eat any of it. All I long for is one perfect orange carrot.
I have learned that:
A man can be intimidated by a red haired woman in a pink cardigan. (or perhaps it was the black clothes)
He feels that trying to win big at poker makes him look like a big man.
He doesn't like to get his ass severely kicked at cards by the aforementioned woman in a pink sweater.
A woman can get a man's goat. "I'll get you Billy!"
She enjoys beating a man at his own game.
Wearing a pink sweaters is a good idea.
But, it isn't how you look. It is how well you play.
It is always the quiet ones that you least suspect. They are the ones who get caught for fraud, affairs, serial murder. Secret or double lives. You only know the person presented to you, not their hidden self. It is only if they get caught or if they want to get caught, when you find out just how corrupted they are. For some, it is a relief to get caught. Finally, the double life is transmuted in to a single life. Some will long for and pursue a way to reclaim the duality that they were accustomed to living.
You have no regrets. Everything went your way. I have regrets. I was the one who got hurt more times than you. I was the one who fell and fell hard. This is what I regret most of all. I fell for all that you wrote me. I fell for the words you sent me. I regret not knowing better than to believe the ramblings of a drunk. Now I wish for more of those drunken words. I long for the drunken openness you use to have with me. I regret you've cut me off and closed me out.
He has a love for satin and fuzzy underpants.
At the grocery store he buys the 100% recycled (quasi sand-paper) bum-wad.
He likes to play Rock, Paper, Scissors, but over the phone.
He wants to protect me from the outside world. But, I don't want his protection.
I'm the good looking sexy woman, to his absent-minded professor.
He doesn't really want to know all the secrets I want to tell him.
He didn't know who Victoria and Albert were.
We both fear we will poor, despite our best efforts.
He doesn't understand my love of pop music.
Having been a vegetarian for over a decade, I decided to give it up. Let me qualify, I've decided to eat fish and chicken. The funny thing is, changing my lifestyle this way, is nerve wracking. Telling those who have always known me as a vegetarian makes me anxious. They are judging me and my decision. What made her change her mind? I wouldn't feel this way if I gave up wine for beer. There wouldn't be awkwardness if I changed my hair colour. But, eating meat again, it makes me feel like I'm coming out of the closet.
Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy. In this story, not dolls are they. These two appear as brother and sister. Both adorned with that reddish string hair. Both dressed in whites, reds and blues. Making those googly eyes at each other. That Ann. That Andy.
Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy, they are old enough to know better. Each has another. They ain't brother and sister, so they toy with each other. That Andy. That Ann.
Raggedy Andy and Raggedy Ann. Someday the way they play together has to cease. I don't know how the story ends for Ann and Andy.
100 words worth of unfinished scraps from May:
You know when you've purchased some serious tea when it comes packed with a note about the quality and its own package of silica gel - for freshness.
Naked mother walking in the woods
Freaking out boyfriend in grave yard.
Look at your life
You're some-one's daughter
You're some-one's lover
You're some-one's wife
We're driving along in the car dancing and singing along to the song on the radio. Pulling up to a stop light, the occupants in the truck beside me point and roll down their window.
Not so great, huh?
We once promised, that if one of us wanted out, the other would let them go. You have cut me off, little by little, but won't let me go. Do you understand?? I can't continue this way. It isn't like I hate you. I'm just not happy. I've tried to end it.
I need you give me up. Let me go. I'm miserable this way. Look, I'll hold the gun to my head, if you'll pull the trigger. I'll make the first cut under my ribs, if you jam it home. Hold the sword and I'll fall on it.
I want for you to be yourself. I hope for that most in the world.
I've done some acting on the stage. The role. The character. I can also put on a facade to hide the real me. The difference between the two of us, is that I have always known who I am behind the mask. Easily, I can unhinge the straps any time and show my real face. He could not. It took him most of his life to figure out that he was wearing a mask. Not knowing that has cost him more than he realizes.
Is it over?
Are you sure? It doesn't appear to be slowing or stopping.
Yes. It will be done soon.
But, I want it to be done NOW!
Patience, love. Patience.
I really can't wait any more. There are other things that need to happen.
A little bit longer...
I'm tired. I'm sore. I'm spent.
You'll appreciate it later. You'll thank me for the time then.
Oh no. I'd be much happier if it ended sooner.
It is the journey and not the destination that creates the enjoyment.
Closer.... closer... closer...
Just a little more....
I awoke from the dream laying on my back with my hands hugged to my chest. I felt warm, loved and content. The feelings were overwhelming to my sleepy brain in the earliness of the morning. Tears rolled slowly down my cheeks. Dream realness was never a factor, to this point, but this one left me reeling. For more than a few moments I had believed, deep down, that in this dream I had made a real connection with another person's soul. The tears continued to ooze from my eyes, I turned and cried quietly in to my pillow.
Fun tips for playing euchre:
You should never assume to know the skills of an opponent you have never played against.
Don't trump your partner's ace.
Always follow suit.
Be cool. The madder you get, the worse you will play.
If you make it on nothing more than a queen and a king, you will end up losing the hand.
Saying "In your face!" when you've won your point, makes you look lame, especially when you are still down 7 to 2.
Watch out for the red haired girls, who say they've played a bit of the game.
The Tip Jar