Don't know what my favorite game is now; but it sure as hell ain't online chess.
It's sunny out. Naked tree branches stand in stark relief against the pale blue January sky. The bank thermometer reads 33 degrees at 2 in the afternoon; coldest it's been all winter. I inhale deeply. The cold makes city smells stand out more. Tobacco, car exhaust, and the pleasant odors of a half dozen pizza places, coffee shops, and bakeries linger in the air. My feet fall and rise against a dirty sidewalk as I meander down the street. If tomorrow is pure potentiality and yesterday is already gone then today is... Ugh. I chide myself for thinking in quotes and chase the thought out of my mind. Today is. That's better; a good sentence too. One noun one verb. Simple. Communication pared down to its most basic form; sans adjectives, prepositions, conjunctions and, um, all the other grammar.. bits. The thought dwindles back into the smokey haze. I look up at the people around me. Some stream past, determination on their faces; others stroll casually by. Two men loiter behind a wall, out of the wind. A scruffy looking kid in a new jacket asks if I can spare a dollar. I fish through my pockets and come up with an apologetic smile and an empty hand. The kid's not looking anymore.
I feel like a stranger here. The sun seems too bright, the colors too stark. I can feel the stare of strangers’ eyes as I pass them on the street. There is an old man ahead of me; his face sad and wrinkled, faded t-shirt covered belly drooping low over stained sweat pants. He searches my face for something, keeping his gaze steady as I hurry past. Ugliness makes me uncomfortable; especially now, in the cold, clear January afternoon. My head begins to swim; too much light and exhaust and strange eyes passing me expressionlessly. I light a cigarette and the smoke fills my mouth bringing me back to myself.
The sidewalk is bleeding. Raindrops ratta-tat-tat hammer into spilled merlot. It’s 10am and I’m drinking. Jimmy Buffett reminds me via my Myspace Music Playlist that it is, indeed, 5 o’clock somewhere.
Neighbor-friend steps out to her patio for a smoke and lifts an eyebrow at the open bottle. I grin a goofy half-drunk grin, and invite her over. She laughs. Her youngest is just settled down for his nap and mine is waking up, so we head over there.
The sound of the rain mingles with a not-so-far-off tv and someone else vacuuming, and I am glad to be alive.
It’s hot out. Really hot. It’s late May and I’m in
I watch as the casket is lowered into the ground.
- Current Music:Todd Snider
My mind just doesn't work in an organized manner. Don't get me wrong; I try. Oh my god do I try, I try all the time for a new solu- whoops, slipping into song - sorry 'bout that. Where was I? Ah... I have a box for files, that I even put papers in! And once in a blue moon I actually file the papers into the proper folders (OMG - I know).
When I was in middle school we moved around a bunch, and with every fresh start I vowed (literally, I'd swear an oath with my fist raised to sky - I was a tad melodramatic at 12) to keep my TrapperKeeper organized, everything in its place, nothing falling out the sides. I think my record was 8 days.
Back further: When I was 6 or so, I knew a few things with absolute certainty.
1. Children under 7 did not go to Hell (7 being the age of reason and all).
2. Heaven was perfect.
3. Perfection meant cleanliness.
I was also terrified at the idea of dying in my sleep (stems from the prayer "now I lay me down to sleep..." awful thing to make a child repeat before bedtime). I'd wake up, survey my messy room, and take comfort in the knowledge that I must still be alive. Occasionally, however, my mom would tidy up my room while I was asleep. Those were bad mornings.
But I digress.
I hate it when people (well, a person, really) get on my case for being unorganized.
I wanna travel...