|
© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
|
The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, poptart.
Night Of The Prunes 2-March-2005
It turns out the best part of waking up is not Folger's in your cup. No, the best part is waiting for your hands to wake up in that slow, uncommonly painful, pulsating, prickly sort of way. Hands can be bastards when they're sleepy. Another truly kick-ass part of waking up is how gorgeous you look with that black Nite-Bite in your mouth. You look like a groggy prizefighter. It's indeterminable whether or not you won the fight.
We just had a small earthquake and now my heart is hanging out in my feet. Hold on while I put it back in place. They always bring back memories of the Northridge earthquake. I couldn't sleep that night so I had been reading in bed for hours until getting up to have a snack. I was standing at the open refrigerator eating prunes when the '94 quake hit. (For a long while I believed regaling oneself on prunes in the middle of the night could bring on such a catastrophic event, and chose to avoid them altogether. We got back together later, prunes and I.) The kitchen floor seemed to meet the ceiling, and I had never before seen a refrigerator so spry and light on its feet. I met my love in the hallway where we held on to the bathroom doorframe like mad, trying not to be flung into oblivion.
Hearts and flowers, hearts and flowers.
I found my balls! I had lost them earlier today and was in quite a crestfallen state over it. I should explain before you start wondering if you need to call the proper authorities. I have these two tennis balls wrapped up tightly in a large sock, which is tied in a knot to keep the balls in place. I do not beat people with my balls. What I do is place them on the floor and roll on them with my back. Such a device can be a girl's best friend in the morning after sleep has twisted and reshaped things. I highly recommend getting a pair of balls yourself, even if you think the ones you've got are God's gift to everyone.
Ron Sexsmith's Retriever album serenaded me on my walk earlier. My God it's nice walking with Ron. I never noticed before, but on the song "Tomorrow In Her Eyes" I could hear what sounded very much like piano bench noises. It made me smile. I saw a couple of crows flying overhead, and one of them had a wing which appeared to be missing several feathers in the middle, displaying a V shape. The feather deficiency did not seem to hinder this crow's flight in the least. Thankfully birds aren't vain or limited by fearful thoughts of possible rejection.
"Oh my God! I cannot leave the tree looking like this. Look! I have a baldy on my wing. This sucks. Everyone'll laugh and I'll just look like a huge, ridiculous loser. I'm staying home. You go flying without me. I'll just stay here and screw off with my stupid bald wing."
And later at dusk I watched an airplane almost crash into a star, but it all worked out OK.
You know, the devil was a Girl Scout. Who the hell do you think came up with the recipe for Thin Mints cookies? Apparently I love and live with someone who associates with evil because this someone brought home two boxes of those nefarious cookies. They call to me from the pantry, the bitches. I tell them to shut up, they tell me they have something for me in that come-hither tone. Little mint-flavoured temptresses. The Girl Scout demons shouldn't make them so friggin' small; they're more like wafers than actual cookies (although definitely not Eucharistic in this case), and everybody knows wafers are not eaten the same as cookies. Wafers are shoved into the mouth, one after the other, like bite-size crackers or popcorn. I just don't want to talk about it. I'm thinking of suing.
These days people will sue you for just about anything. There are a fair amount of ball-less wonders roaming about without an ounce of integrity. I recall hearing about a man who sued the person who saved his life. Apparently the man who came to the aid of this ungrateful fucker accidentally broke some of the guy's ribs while performing the Heimlich. Sadly, there have been many cases where people have sued their rescuers for similar reasons. Here's the thing: if you're choking on a hunk of beef or whatever and I happen to be anywhere near you, I'm going to jump over tables to get to you. And when I reach you, I'm going to make bloody well sure you reject whatever it is you've got caught in your windpipe, even if I have to bruise you a bit in the process. And why am I going to do that? Because it feels wrong to let you die when there is something I could do to help. People who sue over such things are opportunistic ingrates. No, they're despicable parasites. That settles it: they're both.
Crap like that just separates people, and there are enough lonely and conflicted people thanks to that gap; thanks to those who keep digging and making it ever wider. Humanity often seems to have taken the backseat. Sometimes it's tied to the roof of the car. And there are days you'd swear it's attached to the bumper by a thin bit of poorly-knotted twine.
I have been adding to this journal entry here and there for 4 days. I could tell you it's been like a painting I've been labouring over nonstop, the hours piling up as I circle the easel, swearing in quick little spurts with bits of spittle flying out of my mouth. I could say there has been no sleep and little food, that I am haggard and bug-eyed as I pour my 47th cup of Chock Full O' Nuts coffee and pick off an edge of a stale piece of coffee cake I cut for myself three days ago. I nibble on it mindlessly, but it may as well be a chicken talon; I wouldn't know the difference. I could say all that, but it wouldn't be true. The truth is it's been more like I think I'll work on my journal entry and then something will happen, like "Oh, look! String!"
It's raining again. It's glorious, of course. I never understand why disc jockeys are always slamming the weather when it's dark and rainy. I guess they're trying to appeal to the people who would rather be out in the sunshine running around tanned and half-naked. That's probably the majority of their listeners. I don't mind being pale and fully-clothed. I also don't mind not having to look at men in heat, falling all over themselves like monkeys, trying to get an eyeful of the girls who are showing the most skin. Hormones can really bore the pants right off you. Oh. Never mind.
I actually right this minute went into the pantry to fetch the prunes. Hold on to your doorframes.
Quote From My World
"You're a dick." "Thank you."
(It's all OK when you know the person was referring to your detective skills.)
Well, I'm off to play with more string. Oh, you'd be surprised how riveting that can be. Thanks for reading.
Linda
|
|
