Friday, October 31, 2008

Don't Leave the Room While Toasting

Soon I will walk to the hospital to the ER. I haven't hurt myself or anything. For my new job I have to have a PPD test done (twice) to prove that I don't have phthisis (that word wins for hardest to hear if you have a high frequency hearing loss) Today I have to have the tuber culosis potato patch they planted in my forearm read at the hospital.

Anyway, for breakfast I had a bowl of tapioca pudding. Then a cup of coffee while I watched It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and a couple episodes of 30 Rock at For breakfast dessert I had a couple forkfuls of Nutella covered with toasted coconut. You can share that with your nutrition class, Mom! Luckily, I'll still be able to have morning's this productive even once I start working, since I'll only be occupied by that 3 days a week. Phew...what a relief.

I started an awesome fire yesterday. I was toasting the above mentioned coconut in the toaster oven but forgot about it when I went upstairs to try and find the cat's toy mouse. I searched and searched with no luck. So I came back downstairs, Chip met me in the hallway and since yesterday was the first time we'd seen each other in 8 days he was delaying my progress to the kitchen. Suddenly I smelled burning. OH SHIT, THE COCONUT!!!! Flames inside the toaster oven wavered gently. Of course when the door opened more oxygen fueled the flames (I knew this would happen) and they flared up like a bad case of hemorrhoids. Chip took the tray out (using oven mitts) and put it in the sink. I, not thinking about the oil that is in coconut even after it's charred to black, turned on the water to put out the fire. HUGE orange flames sizzled and shot up into the kitchen. They didn't last long, but it's a good thing we don't have curtains. Adrenaline makes me shaky down to my ankles.

So, that's the kind of excitement I'm dealing with at 11:00 a.m. on a Friday here at Fairground Rd. in sunny Springfield, VT.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

My kind of freedom

"Man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world – and defines himself afterward." Jean-Paul Sartre

I stand alone on the rocky shore--wind whipped, rain-soaked, lips tasting like salt spray--looking out into the ocean. My internal workings begin to match the ebb and surge of the ocean. The tightness in me retreats. No one in the entire world knows I'm here, standing at the ocean's edge whooping loudly into the wind, celebrating the crashing waves.

I stand alone on the rocky shore and, for a moment, belong to the world unselfconsciously.

Thursday, October 2, 2008

Make believe again

The past few days I've been feeling about as substantial as a wisp of post-rain fog that rises up out of the forested valley, twists around on cool air currents and then unceremoniously dissipates to nothing while your head was turned to look more squarely at something in your vision's periphery. I could write more about how I'm feeling and about my job interview and how resigned I feel to the reality of interacting with the general population on a regular basis again. But no one wants to hear that melancholy self-pity crap. So, I'll post this really short story I've had sitting around for a long time instead. This may turn into a longer short story at some point, but this is my starting place, the hook sort of. Mostly I just want to get something up here besides the DFW killed himself post.


The Dog Days

Our smells have mingled to the point where I can’t tell his from mine. They’re just “ours”. That’s how everything is nowadays: we, us, our. The transformation from me to we takes place slowly and imperceptibly like Jell-O setting. The smells aren't bad: my perfume, his deodorant, our clothes washed in the same detergent, the smell of our sleep on the sheets. These should be comforting "us" smells. But in this heat, they’re all too thick and too close.

I hear him next to me taking shallow, even breaths. He’s not asleep. He’ll probably reach over to touch me even though it’s about 94 degrees and the air feels dead in here. He rolls to my side of the bed and I can feel the heat radiating off his stomach against my lower back. He kisses my neck making happy nuzzling noises and I wonder how salty I taste. He reaches around to fondle my breasts and I know for certain he forgot to mail the rent check today. I make no mention of it although it’s all I can think of while he reaches down into my pajama bottoms. I can’t ignore him any longer so I roll over onto my back trying to make my sigh sound like something other than resignation.

We used to joke that our faces hurt from smiling at each other so much. He still smiles at me like that; he’s doing it now. I’m the one who stopped.

He rolls on top of me and as we breathe his chest pushes against mine. I can’t get enough air. His warm breath clings to my neck. It’s too much, I can’t breath. His weight is unbearable against my chest, my hands push against him, away from me.

“Hon, you okay? What’s wrong?”
“You’re suffocating me. Get off me, please, get off!”
“Oh, geez! I’m sorry, babe. Sorry.”
He’s next to me on his side now, pushing a strand of sweaty hair behind my ear, away from my face. He’s up on an elbow looking down at me with worry all over his face.

“It’s hot in here, that’s all. It’s just too hot.” I offer a conciliatory kiss to his scruffy cheek. I’m surprised I manage even that.
“Yeah, it’s hot. Maybe when the weather breaks things'll be better.” He rolls away from me, back to his side of the bed. It's not far enough.

I roll onto my right side, half of me almost hanging off the edge of our bed. I stretch my hand toward the open window, grasping for air. There is none.