...

It’s a blasé kind of day. Nothing special, exciting, wrong. Idling time going by unnoticed, seeking solace in cigarette smoke, just one more cup of coffee.  Half finished thoughts of what I could accomplish, dishes, work, a walk outside. I’d rather be distracted by someone else’s imaginary real life, thank you Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Had I not run out of cigarettes, and needed to return a mediocre movie, I wouldn’t have even put on pants. It’s warm, and muggy outside. Or humid. Are they one in the same? Doesn’t much matter, I’m indifferent either way. With candles lit, song on repeat, I exhale the seconds away. Five hours passed in a flash between nothing and nowhere.  Maybe it’s apathy, but that sounds like a condition I’d rather not own up to. Or is apathy and indifference one in the same? The truth in the lie of the matter is I don’t really care. Not down and out, not up and in, nothing wrong, nothing nothing. I’m just… justing. If I could call it a feeling, I wouldn’t. A sensation, I couldn’t. Vague. Obtuse? Irrelevant at best. My ticking time spent with no emotional debt. I must admit, it’s nice for a change.

a life sentence...

If I believed what I saw on TV, I’d be a fuckin millionare; my home based internet business would let me afford that super mega trillion GHz system with true surround sound to organize my life and order at my fingertips a pill for my mate that’ll make me come, and that wonderful silver necklace that’ll make me shine with my overpriced make up to make my man stay if I exercise more and clean everything with pine scented cleaners and futuristic gadgets that make my life easy to fix any problem with the switch of a button, undone with plastic breasts my life could be better when I buy real estate and stay up too late, TV sucks my ass.

~g

because it was 50 cents!

     When you see a great deal, it's hard to pass it up. True story... I came home from school one day, probably stoned, and there was a 50lb. box of bananas sitting on the counter. I asked my mother why there was a box of bananas on the counter, and she said, "Because it was 50 cants!" Like that would make perfect sense. I inquired further. "But, why?" "Because it was 50 cents!" I still was stunned by the fact that there were 50lbs. of bananas in my house. Had my mother finally lost it? "What the hell are we going to do with all these bananas?" Turned into... What am I going to do with all these bananas?? She brought home a shit ton of bananas, and did she do a damn thing with them??? No. I made banana cake, banana bread, banana cookies.... I mean, what else do you do with 50 fucking lbs. of bananas? What's the point of my story??
     Whose the one asking questions here? Point being, when you find a great deal, it's hard to pass it up. Take this typewriter for example. It was sitting on a table at a church garage sale. I'd been to this garage sale last year, and came home with a six dollar lamp. This year, two plates from the seventies, a cheese grater, a spatula, and a Made In China typewriter. Best 20 dollars I've spent in a long time. And a lot more useful than say, 50 lbs. of fucking bananas. I love you Mom.


~g

real fantasy crush...

The second hand on the clock isn’t a reminder that life is slowly slipping away.  I prefer to think its one more second gone until I can see your smile again. Sitting here, in the dark, listening to a song that reminds me of someone else, trying to distract myself with inane mundane random pages on the net, can’t stop myself from thinking of you. You’re only a mystery to me, a future history I see. Is it wrong that I want to argue with you, and fake laugh at your lame attempts at jokes? As I age, my fantasies get more logistic, less R rated. Like the morning I was making coffee, we were talking about how we were going to split the utility bill to the apartment we lived in, in my imagination. Stopping myself short of the ridiculocity of that dream, I went to the fridge for some cream. I wish you’d taken the last of it.

~g

spring cleaning

Going thru boxes of my yesterdays and finding things I still don't consider lost. My past in pages, movie stubs, boxes like cages. Names flash faces in my memory's mind’s eye. Clues, passages, pictures when once the future was nigh. And the poetry. Oh-god. The poetry. Someone hide the razorblades. Was my teenage angst really that parallel to Alanis Morisette's first album? Jagged Little Pill, when drugs were a thrill. Letters of love from past boyfriends. Pictures of school mates, friendship bracelets. All containing promises of Luv U 4ever. Yesterdays forever’s weren't as long as I thought. Congratulations of graduation, receipts from diners with shitty food. Memories I thought I'd all but smoked away in text books stolen from school. It's not reminiscing - just constantly wincing. The me today formed by that page in a journal - never thought 16 would end. A trip down memory lane I'd call it, but I don't remember. Just trinkets from a smaller life, hoping by now I would be a wife - did I ever think nicknames were really that cool? No regrets, no remorse, looking back at me looking forth. And as I sit here with my now self, concerned with only this moment, I can see in my future; a shower, a taco and a good night’s sleep.

~g 

3 beets and some change...

     Last Saturday I fancied an artist. She's beautiful. We talked for a while, while she took my money for the card I bought from her. I asked why she painted beets. She said they inspired her. She inspired me. And I wanted to buy her some beets.
     Today, one week later, I went back to the Saturday Market. I had to pick up a bracelet that I'd left with a grey haired silversmith. That's really not important though. Before I went looking for the grey haired silversmith, I bought her a bundle of beets. I looked for her everywhere. I didn't see her, so I decided that I'd eat the beets. Maybe they would inspire me too. Twice last week I went to a salad bar, and put lots of shredded beets on my salad. Not because of her- I just like them. Maybe that's relevant. I haven't decided.
     Walking back from the market, I sat in the sunshine and smoked while I started the book I just got from the library. On page 5 they mentioned a beet field. I read that sentence 3 times. And as beets have been a theme this week, I wonder what life would be like. For a beet. For a week. But now I'm off topic. I didn't finish the chapter. I didn't want to commit to that, just yet. The timing isn't right. What if the author brings up beets again? Now I'm nervous.
     I walked to the hippie grocers on the way home. There's a beautiful man with a sunshine smile that works there. I wonder if he like beets too. The lines were long, not too long, but they opened another register. Just for me.
     It's a gorgeous day outside. I told the cashier that I walked in with the beets, that I wasn't stealing them. But if I was to steal something it'd be the wine. She said most people would too. She handed me my change. $11.11 she said. I held the money and looked at the receipt. "Did I make a mistake?" "No. It just caught my attention. That's all." I wonder if she'll think of me later.
     It would take too long to explain the beets, and the $11.11 in change. She might have understood. But I doubt it. I think about telling my Mom, or a friend about it.  They wouldn't get it either. But it matters. The beets and the change fit together. Like jigsaw puzzle pieces.
     Now I sit, with my secret clues from the universe. With 11 cents in my pocket, 11 dollars in my wallet, and the beets. And it's beautiful. 

a wednesday to remember....

I didn't think I'd be in Washington today. Sometimes, things just happen. Didn't think I'd be at a Little League game either. Seeing distantly related second, third, fourth cousins, Great Uncles, once removed Aunts, once removed, and a back again wife, and talking about turning trash into fashion.  Deciding to return home after an unexpectedly adventurous day, and a reunion with family, some never met, I needed (really wanted) coffee to get me through the 2 hour drive home. God forbid I stop at a convenience store off random exit number irrelevant....  I knew just a few miles up the freeway there were 24 hour coffee places. I wanted fair trade. I wanted real cream. Turned into driving 25 miles in the opposite direction from my destination....  only to end up at a convenience store as I'd lost my way back to the freeway. Iced "coffee" was going to have to suffice. Called a friend to give her the readers digest condensed version of my day, (longer than the snapshot I've listed here...) only to lock my keys in the car.  Fuck the What?!?!  11:30pm, 132 miles from home, no spare key.... turned out to be a $61.99 cup of "coffee" that added another 50 miles to my trip home. After the unexpected fee to the 'locksmith' that opened my door in 3.5 seconds.  I left the home of I cousin I'd never met at 10:45. Finally home in bed at 2:30am....  I've never had a more bizarre 357 mile road trip. What lengths would YOU go to for a cup of coffee??  I didn't used to question my intelligence.....

it's a pointless flower

At the end of every shift I'd dump my leftover water or soda into the poinsettia plant on the counter. It wouldn't die. I don't hate plants, I just don't care for poinsettias. They aren't interesting and the flowers don't smell. And I don't hate Christmas, (all the way.) Maybe I am just like my mother. She hates poinsettias. It's kind of a pointless thing to dislike and all. But ohh- to see peoples reactions when you tell them that, "They're ugly." It's like they're 10 years old again. 
Santa isn't real.

can of olives & a sexy smile

I should have waited.

I look forward to his smile. It’s a sweet smile. It lights up his face. Or maybe his face lights up when he sees me. He says my hair looks nice when it’s down. My co-worker and her friend say that anytime a man comments on your hair, it means he want to bone you. I’m choosing to believe them.  He’s sexy. And he’s not trying to be.  He has no idea that his yellow fitting around his biceps t-shirt made him look so delicious today. I was so anxious to give him that fucking can of olives. I should have done it when no one was around. 

sixty second stories...

A couple of my posts from http://oneword.com.  I love this website. A good cure for writers block, or boredom.


Stamps:

As I lick the stamps to adhere to the love letters I’ll never send you, I wonder why you ate all the cookies before you left me forever.


Sheets:

As I lay here between the sheets, I remember the last time we spoke on the phone. You told me about the cafe on the corner of 1st and Yesterday. The croissants were better than the ones you had in France.

about a boss...

She said "I'll see you tomorrow," twenty-two minutes ago. She left a piece of her tension behind. I hope she doesn't come back for it. Maybe she'll loose it on her way home. She's late for an appointment. Maybe a pre-op visit for the surgery. That's been long overdue. Now it's twenty-three minutes. She's keeping her Dr. waiting. Had to have a few last words to make sure she has ruined the day of the others. Hmm. Her husband is leaving too. I doubt it's a medical appointment. Marriage counseling? She is rather selfish. And quite self-righteous too. She can remodel her entire house, but it doesn't change the fact that her athletic step-daughter is a big dyke, with a big dog; and the pretty one doesn't want to talk to her. I don't blame her. I wouldn't either. And try to avoid speaking with her in anyway possible. I have a no tolerance policy for arrogant, spoiled brats. I'm sure she's had a hard life. Yeah right. And I'm Mother Teresa. On Tuesdays. If I was her husband, I'd have left a long time ago. I'd be livin in a log cabin right outside of Nowhere, Kentucky. With my dyke daughter, and her dog.

~g