Ana and I took a few classes together. The smell of death kept most people away but that didn’t really bother me. It was the chatter. I couldn’t stand to listen to it. The drama in her life was nothing special although it seemed to captivate onlookers.
They say she never stayed out late. Always turned in by six. She just didn’t have the energy.
There were such romantic depictions of her diseased boyfriend, Rex. Together they denied how hard they were trying to make it work. All of their photos looked like atrocities from Facebook: smug poses and pursed lips.
I remember passing the test and glancing over at the front of her paper. Her score was so low, and yet she looked oddly pleased with herself.
Dot dot dot… get it? It’s anorexia! Nevermind. I’m in a weird mood.
Work is blegh. During my weekend off my workplace…suffered some losses. I really wanted to type “my workplace got ass-raped” but I instantly worried about offending someone by substituting one crime with another. Especially with ‘rape’. But seriously, so much for bragging about my location’s absence of that. Sure, I was fuming mad, at one point close to tears as I watched the video footage. Then I decided that “not on my watch” is a personal choice, and I’m not going to flip out over someone else’s decisions on days when I’m not there.
I’ve gotten to this point where I turn around and see so much behind me. People, concepts, ideas, obstacles, all of that – and so much of it, it seemed like it was running right along beside me if not always in front of me. I guess that’s a true measurement of success, when you suddenly notice that distance between you and everything else.
This morning, though, I had a notion that was hard to shake. Dreams are so interesting to me, so unpredictable that it’s as if they’re more than your mind remixing everything you’ve known. Unfortunately the outcome isn’t always a positive feeling.
There is something about the way I think or the way I rest that allows something to seep through the keyholes of every locked door twelve floors up and twelve rooms back. Then I return to a place where I would never choose to be. The dream, myself, and so it was.
“A sort of fantasy?” I wondered, after I woke up. And I knew that it would never be let out. Never be unlocked, because some thoughts and feelings disrupt the common flow of humanity. Some truths hurt others unless they are silenced.
Wow, I went from ass-rape to hidden emotion.
There is an entire field of mass chatter, between me and who I’m with. My personal universe is rotating in my head, the world is revolving around us, there’s the conversation and then there’s that space, where things are appropriately filtered and distributed accordingly. Four major energies in my most every moment. That’s where sideways gazes come from, when you look at someone else, look at their eyes like foreign planets and you know you aren’t connected.
You know you’re not in there. Or maybe you just don’t give a damn because people generally aren’t in each other’s eyeballs anyway.
That dead, across-the-table, judge and be judged space. I’ve seen what we’ve done with it.
Thing is, it’s admittedly easy to eliminate that space when I’m not there. Just as well there is the majority of my sun-filled life, and no way in hell that I would ever remove that space for everyone who knows me. It’s one of the major reasons why the conglomerate Facebook is poorly suited to me.
It’s just another Myspace. And I have enough of those.
I have enough of those.
In other news, I really want a Molly Maid. I don’t know anyone who has a housekeeper or how to trust them (speaking of ‘judgement’…) so I’ll probably end up picking up my own shit in a couple of minutes, here.
We’re still experiencing Autumn in Michigan. Right now there’s a light drizzle, allowing me another day without having to figure out how to drive without a defroster. It’s a bit odd. It’s like time is dragging its feet, waiting on me to still do something.
And you’d better come up with it fast. Everything is going to rot if it’s not properly frozen.
Sounds like half the shit in my fridge.
Best get to it, then.