20 August, 2011

Get One.

...look me in my eyes with the blank stare/ why don't you know/ why don't you know what to do....


What's wrong, honey?

"I have no fucking clue what's wrong! It just won't work!"

He's trying to fix the sink in the bathroom. I'm in the kitchen. I dig around in a drawer, find a chopstick.

I carry it to the bathroom, hold it out to him.

"What's this?" He takes it.

It's a clue stick.

Fluffy, helping, chimes in: "That's not- that's a chopst-"

Shut UP. Work with me, here.

(Rob Allen; Clueless)

14 August, 2011

Sleep, Interrupted.

...whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you....

I've stayed up too late chatting on the internet with a friend I've never met. She has wonderful words of advice about something that's been troubling me for several months, so I don't begrudge the lost sleep. I gather a few things I'll need in the morning then tuck myself in for a few hours… at least, that was the plan. In less than an hour, the dogs wake me, barking furiously. I listen, and hear a knocking at my front door. This used to not be an unusual occurrence when RJ was living nearby, but he has moved away. Who is knocking? I hurry downstairs and peek under the curtain. There are two uniformed people, one of whom bears passing resemblance to the girl who used to care for my babies, back when I had babies. I open the door. It's the police.

Why are the police at my house?
"We received a 911 call from this residence."
What? A 911 call? From MY house?
"It was a 911 hang-up."
Ah, okay. Which the police are obligated to investigate. The cruiser is parked diagonally across my street, which I mentally note is a Bad Idea, considering the speed at which drivers regularly take my hill. It's 3 AM. Why are the police at my house at 3 AM?
No, I didn't make a 911 call. I was sleeping. The kids are also sleeping.
"Do you have any housemates, someone renting a room?"
Nobody. What the hell? Also, my land-line doesn't work particularly well, and mostly provides me with internet access, which is also spotty. Not only DID no one make a 911 call from my house, I doubt anyone COULD make a 911 call from my house.
"Well, it was just a mistake, then. Sorry to have woken you."
But whose mistake? How?

I go back to bed, but I do not sleep, not for quite a while.

(Bob Marley; Bad Boys)

04 August, 2011

Summer, Suddenly

...then it happened/ it took me by surprise/ I knew that you felt it too/ by the look in your eyes....

It wasn't that the car was pulled up to the kerb, blocking foot and cart traffic as shoppers exited the market.

It wasn't that the windows were wide open while the stereo emitted incomprehensible bleating voices and the rhythmic backbeat of what I believe is called R & B.

It wasn't that the car sagged on the occupied driver's side presumably with the not-inconsiderable weight of the driver.

I could've ignored any one of those.

Taken together, though, and coupled with the fact that the driver was leaning forward towards the vanity mirror, actually plucking the hairs from her chin with a pair of tweezers, aroused a sudden, overwhelming horror of Life As I Know It and reduced me to a walking mass of revulsion against Mankind.

Sometimes these things happen rather suddenly.

(The Drifters; This Magic Moment)

03 August, 2011

Scratch, kiss.

...carries a postcard/ won't the big city be nice/ that's the place with the action/ she's gonna have her a slice....

Between the storm and dawn, I dream of you.

In the morning, I open windows to admit the sound of rattling rain.

Last night, knowing I'd been with another, he ignored me and refused to speak.

This morning, he is huggy kissy again; despite his polydactlism, he is unable to open the food container for himself.

Evidently, he has forgiven me for scratching someone's itch and having a little pussy on the side.

Still, he gives me a filthy look over his shoulder, and twitches his tail as he walks away.

(Adam Ant; Puss'N Boots)