Thank God we’re over the past. It was an ugly time for anyone, but especially hard on us. There were times when it seemed you would never get here, but I knew you were stuck in time.
I know you think I was running from you, but really, who wouldn’t? You were so creepy with your insistence on everything now. Images of bad 90s workout videos to songs like Pump Up The Jam were a constant threat to my reality. Would anyone want to listen to that when Jane Fonda seemed so much better?
Everything looks better in Sepia. Even those bowl haircuts that boys used to have. Now they’re almost cute. Now that they aren’t around anymore. What is it that goes on now that will look better in the future? I know. I know. It doesn’t matter, it’s not happening. Future and past don’t exist.
But let me ask you one thing, before we figure it out. Did you ever say to someone “Live in the moment” only to laugh at yourself? Just for a minute. Disregarding the idea that you truly believe what you say, did the humor ever reach you, when you truly wished it wouldn’t?
Which moment, is what I want to know, did you decide you weren’t my future?
I enjoy what we’ve got going on right now and I’m not trying to give you grief. But please, let me know: if you want to go further, I can always take you back.
11:28pm: Hey, u up?
Thermometer 11:28pm: What’s that supposed to mean?
11:29pm: Just seeing whats up
Thermometer 11:30pm: Who is this?
11:30pm: I’m your #1 fan
Thermometer 11:31pm: Do you even know me?
11:31pm: I know ur hot
Thermometer 11:32pm: Stop texting me.
11:33pm: Ok- I’m serious now. Ur the 1 for me. I saw you at the CVS on 5th street, remember?
11:40pm: You were in the aisle all by yourself. I asked for your # and you gave it.
Thermometer 11:40pm: Fantastic?
11:40pm: u know it
Thermometer 11:41pm: That was two weeks ago.
11:41pm: I was working up the courage to text
Thermometer 11:41pm: Really? You seemed pretty cocky when you approached me out of nowhere.
11:42pm: It was a facade. I’m shy underneath
Thermometer 11:41: You don’t have anything underneath.
11:43pm: What are you saying?
Thermometer 11:52pm: You’re a carpet cleaner. Expiration date passed.
[Hi readers, I am trying to make a bit of money off my blog by trying Amazon’s Affiliate program. It might not work out – I’m not sure yet. Anyway, any advertisement I post, will be relevant to what I write. I respect my readership and your opinion.]
The Guide To Modern Dating:
The Pain Reliever: Expectation vs. Reality
Will relieve pain. All pain.
Heartbreak from immature brat who found someone better. Bruised pride from begging brother for other half of rent money. Soreness from best friend who ‘forgot’ to lend me moving truck. Twisted arm from agreeing to live with other friend in roach infested apartment. Throbbing headache from hearing her complain about vintage Beastie Boys CDs that are not played too loudly. Burned by the desire we share every Tuesday in the laundry room. Burned because she’s friends with the brat who found someone better. A pain in the neck from explaining she’s not really a brat. Stiffed on the rent money when she, too, moves out.
Limber enough to move on.
I have a confession to make. I heard everything you were saying that night on the porch. In the alley. On the beach.
I hear them all. All the time. I hear them even when you’re fine.
Somebody wants a boyfriend for the 8th grade dinner dance. Someone wants a raise. I know the man who cheated on his wife and I know his remorseful ways.
I heard the child in the bathroom stall, pleading the school would fall down
and I heard the teacher in the other room, wishing they’d all drown.
I have to pick wisely, I keep telling you all. At the right time for the right cause, I answer the right call.
Like the woman in the hospital who really might have died
or when a man was almost jailed because of someone else’s lie.
But I have to tell you everything because without it I won’t make sense.
I lost my ears in a city park. The world became too tense.
The other helicopter is a mud-crusted pig. I can’t believe I ever liked him. Yesterday, during the battle of boredom, he took my landing spot on purpose. I know he knew I wanted it. It was so smooth and flat and accessible. Who wouldn’t want a sturdy bookshelf?
My controller is on the verge of a breakdown. I’ve been feeling it for weeks now, but I don’t want to do anything. What good would it do if I did? The other helicopter doesn’t have these problems. He’s totally oblivious. Instead, the other helicopter glides around without any shaking or flight exhaustion. He is in complete alignment with our surroundings.
The other helicopter is entitled. He thinks he deserves a safe landing. Does he ever wonder what his safe landing is taking from me? Does he even notice my missing wheel?
Today he sat next to me on the cabinet above the office chairs.
“Just take control,” he said as if it was that easy. He was looking at the long and low windowsill, but I was looking out.
The other helicopter can fly as smooth as cream. He’ll never leave the room.
-The CH-53 Sea Stallion
For help with publishing: http://www.PublicationAdvisors.com
I am the king of the castle. The strongest. The biggest. The loudest of the country.
I am the most powerful. The most influential. The final say of all below.
When I see a fair creature in need of help, only I can save her.
When those who want my attention fight over me, I prevent the worst.
I take care of those that matter.
I take out those who don’t.
I am the feared and the respected.
I am older.
I am wiser.
I am the dinosaur.
Nobody plays with me.
Put a lid on it.
Everybody says it. Someone’s popping off at the mouth and all of the sudden, it’s my problem. It’s up to me to find the solution because God knows nothing else will stop this catastrophe from bubbling over. The problem with this theory, of course, is that the explosion still happens.
Nobody ever really chooses the bottle. They think it will give them something to do – make them feel like they have a purpose, or that it doesn’t matter if they don’t. Either way, it’s a second solution when the first is out of reach.
I met this bottle in a wood paneled convenient store that was made to look like a country store. By that, I mean they had the wood shelving and weird stamp books, but they also had stuff like Mineral Water for $4.39 a bottle. It’s a place where rich people can spend money to feel poor. Although the mineral water bottle seemed exotic enough in the moment, they’re all the same.
“Where are you going?” It was like the thing would never leave me alone. No matter where I went, it followed. “Don’t go to lunch without me!” The pleas were incessant.
I wanted freedom. I could go anywhere just as long as I could find a pair of pants loose enough to sneak into.
This apparently was not an option. “You can’t leave me.” I was halfway out of the kitchen when I heard it.
“I have to go. I can’t sit around all day and do nothing.”
“You can’t leave me!” It was the same thing over and over and over again.
“I’m really sorry. You’ll find another,” I said. “I promise.”
But as soon as I rolled on, a terrible avalanche of fizz built up against the bottle. The sound of carbonated thunder roared down the counter and through the house.
“Jesus.” Even as I said it, I knew I’d never be heard.
It was too late. A million tiny bubbles packed their way against the glass, threatening to break everything solid. Its pop and fizz hissed and the whirlwind of water that once seemed magically alive was now an angry force I hardly recognized.
I looked longingly for the door, but it was too far away. It wasn’t my problem. It wasn’t my idea. “Just contain yourself,” I said.
Three weeks later, I saw the bottle again. I was in a little cafe staring hopelessly into a bottle of wine, when I happened to glance over to the table next to me. Elegantly poised and completely at home, the bottle was capped by another.
For help with publishing or editing services, email: email@example.com
Dear Brown Paper Bag,
You were there when I was broke. You looked like something out of a postage store with your nondescript packaging. It was before the idea of dainty handles made from braided paper. Fitting in was out of style.
There’s a certain dignity to being plain when you know you’re a necessity. Frills are for those without substance. Your no nonsense attitude was perfect for packed lunches on the job. I put the beer at the bottom.
So why did you change? Did you feel the need to compete with shoulder bags? Were you trying to attract someone else? Someone who had places to go? Someone who wanted to be seen?
I miss giving you notes.
Don’t worry about a thing – he probably didn’t even notice they caught fire. Remember to act stupid and I’ll see you at home.
I miss giving you everything I could find. Mints stolen from the Chinese food store down the street. Sandwiches with three different kinds of meat. You were open to everything.
I saw you, or the latest version of you, at the grocery store last week and couldn’t bring myself to walk over. Sitting in the same aisle as organic wrapping paper and blank cards featuring vaguely artistic photographs, you weren’t in the right place.
$3.99 per bag.
Let me know when you’re back to being trashy.
Your ex wife
Horn: A sharp protrusion. A warning. A pointed optimism for victory. The sound is of a dozen defenses. Defenses from a louder brass band.
Horn: A sound the color of brass. A brassy texture of volume. Loud space funneling forward. Inward. A noise channel. A channel engulfed by the volume. The volume of something filled.