The Million Mile Walk

I’m remarkably fractured.

That whole part where I had a life is on hold. Far cries echo, still familiar, and something reminds me at a distance that my brother keeps phoning at boneheaded hours from a correctional facility. Some piles of clean laundry insult me, messing up the reading room. It’s late, I’m tired and although I cannot form my thoughts into a clear message I know that I must sit here, anyway, in memory of something having to do with the way my hands tell me where every lettered key is at. Although, admittedly, my fingers tend to collapse into each other while dominant fingers hog these pokey strokes.

The survivalist at the wheel, sitting just behind my eyes suggested for the first time tonight, “Perhaps it is alright to stop caring about work so much” and I felt the rest of me ease up a bit. I had an uncomfortable interaction with a man I stopped to help only because the sellers were busy selling, and he got this look across his face that made it clear he had lost clarity. Just a half-open mouth and his pointer finger directed nowhere.

“Something about electronics, I’ll bet!” I encouraged, smiling, taking a step back to give him space.

“You’re just so beautiful that I forgot why I came in here,” he answered. I loathe compliments, struggle to accept or believe them, and would rather not mindfuck over them.

Perception how, due to what, compared to what I saw or didn’t see this morning, in regards to how I generally- with or without mascara, oh, jesus, just try to forget he said anything.

I hear it a lot. Probably several times each week, either specifically or that I “have a wonderful spirit” or nice hair. In the world inside my mind, when someone references the fact that I am not just a floating ball of light, no one wins.

Anyway. I deal with it. I figure, at least, it is better than hearing that I emit rays of ugliness. Today though, the man asked me out. This is also something that happens occasionally and I laugh, insist that I’m flattered and explain in some let down how I cannot process their request.

That’s quite alright, I insist. I act like I didn’t even really hear you, anyway.

“Thank you for coming in today!” (“Thank you for not stealing though who knows what you might have done had I not been standing right here-“)

He called the store an hour later. That was the new thing, for me. The increased level of godmakethisnothavehappened. Asked for me by name and I actually began to walk off the floor because I assumed it was an officer or an investigator. But no, it was like those little scraps of paper with numbers on them, the ones you wait until they leave to throw away, crawled out of the trash and up my khakis.

Then I thought about it. And I just knew.

“I think you found out that I went to lunch. You definitely want to take a message.” I broadcasted over the radios.

He called again, an hour after that. Some gentleman was flung a million miles away, transferred to 1-800-TechSupport. Normalcy returned.

The encounter made me sick, because it was so out of place. This was not ME time. This is not where you go to reach ME. I am not here and what part of me is, is monitoring you.

That smile you see is my camouflage.

But I’m glad that you think you like it.

Not On My Shift, Or, NOMS is one sweet-ass acronym

I go in to work after another day off and there is a price tag for a digital camera on my desk with someone’s handwriting beside the price:

11:03 enter

11:04 grab

11:06 exit

And I’m like, “Sssssshit.”

I rewind the playback. Guy helps himself and neglects to pay.

Later on today, while I was standing towards the front, the dude ducked back into the store.

I grinned.

My turn.

Her Dragons

She says it could come anytime,

So our heads never bow

She claims the last time was just that

Since all that she knows now

She says our innocence in white

And loyalty in gold

Is strong enough to save her from

The story we were told

She says the only thing more great

Than that which we defeat

Is One force that designed us all

And in it, we’re complete

She says it’s written above ground

From springtime until fall

The love and joy in what she wrote

Was permanent, was all

Autumn’s Pugbug, The Duchess

***

Here are a few photos from the late morning. I had slept soundly and dreamed some really inspirational things that I was jotting down on my laptop when I looked over and saw The Duchess in my reading chair. (Okay, sometimes it's more my 'DS gaming chair' than anything else.)


In fact, that little purple basket you can barely make out to the right is filled to the top with video games, Tamagotchis and all cute things distracting.

Duchess is a companion pug who tends to be in the same room as you, even if you aren't aware. And she's big on comfort: smooth surfaces when hot and soft places when not.


I just grabbed my camera from my desk and started inching my chair closer to her.

In my dreams, carnival rides plummeted to the ground. People tried running over to the bent and twisted metal in order to take cover from the dinosaurs that were passing through. Meanwhile, electronic wildlife was changing form and burrowing into the ground so as not to get crushed.

My dreams made me want to explore so we're going to go for a car ride with the GPS! Wish us luck.

And My Mouth Will Proclaim: Nom Nom Nom


It was a "grab a rosary off the wall and wear it" sort of day.

My parents came down to visit. We hadn’t seen each other for months – even Christopher popped out of the car! Everyone is facing troubles but we all came together when it was time to share a meal and act like everything was going to be okay. And that’s what family is for.

Yay for a clean house, too. I made sure everything was ready. Brad’s birthday is coming up and they bought him a grilling patio. I’m waiting for him to get out of work so I can surprise him and make him put it together. Happy Birthday: Now Get Back To Work.

We were so busy catching up that I didn’t have a chance to try Mom’s dessert when she was here. All the better – as I was able to gobble it down with shots of coffee liquor and chocolate milk without judgment. Blackberry cake, with whole berries baked right in from my grandpa’s farm. I told my mom it was incredible and she texted back:


My Mom used the phrase “I know, right?!?!”. We have officially landed on Mars.


Sugary and tart at the same time. Oh man.


Today's shot glass of choice, silver Jager edition.

Christopher was reserved, never removing his sunglasses or speaking until spoken to. There wasn't enough time to break through his exterior. I just made sure to hug him and cut him a piece of cake.

Sorrowful and glorious mysteries rotate among the joyful.


The Duchess, watching me snack.