The Pain Reliever

pills-medicine-tablets-depending-161641

The Pain Reliever:  Expectation vs. Reality

Expectation:

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.

Reality:

Limber enough to move on.

 

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The Cap

cap

 

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.

____

 

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The Paper Bag

trash

 

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.

xoxo

Your favorite

 

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.

Sincerely,

Your ex wife

The Horn

hornedear

 

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.

The Heater

heater

There once lived a space heater with little warmth. Every winter, when the office was frozen as an icicle, he was placed on the floor next to a pair of high heels. With the thermostat knob switched all the way to the right and the power turned on high, he shook with the struggle to heat.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.” The high heels tapped impatiently.

The space heater tried harder. With heaving breaths from deep inside the mechanics of his being, he blew as deeply as he could.

“It’s like you don’t even want to be of use.” The high heels stomped.

The space heater coughed and sputtered. Its feelings were on fire.

“Are you going to break down now?” The high heels clicked. “Not that it would make much of a difference.”

The space heater glared at the rubber sole next to him. It wasn’t even soft. It would never be comfortable. He heaved his breath once again.

“It’s almost like you’re blowing cold air. Like an air conditioner.” The heels remarked.

Sparks flew from inside the space heater. Tiny flickers of orange and white stars burst from the fan to the floor.

The heels stared silently in astonishment.

Electrical shocks of steaming energy scattered across the power cord. Flames were now threatening the carpet.

“What is wrong with you?!” The high heels said again. “You’re going to burn down the office!”

The space heater noticed a patch of leather oozing off the edge of a shoe. The smell was like plastic with a worn sense of age and instantly the space heater shut down. He shuddered. He melted. With one last glance at the double polished pair, the space heater finally recoiled.

__

 

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Pain Reliever

aleve

Name: Aleve

Age: Expiration date optional

Body Type: Curvy

Looking For:

Someone who is mysterious and probably misunderstood.  Substance use is acceptable as long as it’s for healing purposes only.

My Ideal Date:  

Watching old VHS tapes of Tom Waits and comparing it to your band.

Three Things I Can’t Live Without:

1.)The joy of helping others

2.)Water

3.)The back shelf of your pantry

Faith/Spirituality:

I’m at a point in my life where I know what works.  I have faith in myself.

One thing I am exceptionally good at:

Decreasing a tense situation.

Favorite Song:

Complicated by Avril Lavigne

Favorite Quote:

“Be My Headache.”

Adbusters Magazine

Hi readers,

A political object piece of mine is going to be published in the next issue of Adbusters Magazine!   If you would like to purchase a copy, the magazine can be found at newsstands in all English-speaking countries, Barnes and Noble or Borders. You can also purchase a digital copy on the magazine website.

 

Transitioning

subway

Dear Readers,

I have published something on Skirt Collective. It’s not an object piece, but I thought I’d post it here anyway just in case you’re interested in reading. If you’d like to leave a comment I’d love to read it – but please, if you could leave it on the Skirt Collective site, that would be great. Thanks guys!

http://www.skirtcollective.com/transitioning-an-essay-on-finding-your-way/