Friday, September 17, 2010
Her fortune cookie….
...reads “your deepest wish will come true”. Really? No, seriously? She can think of several stars she has wished upon, but it’s always a wish – that’s what a wish is - something you want to make happen, but really, does it ever come true? “This ain’t Disneyworld” she scowls and throws the fortune paper in the trash. It’s been a sore in her side trying to think of who she trusts. She has gone through a list of people and in reality, trust is a very big issue for her. Especially when it comes to the men she trusts. This has made her think of what the meaning of trust is. Does it mean that person will be there for you through thick and thin? Will they be there for you when you need them? Does it mean you can tell them anything in the whole world and they won’t repeat it? Does it mean that they know you better than you know yourself? And even if you go your separate ways they will never talk bad about you? Or maybe that’s just respect. Are respect and trust the same thing? Are they interchangeable, or do they depend on each other to exist like worms depending on the soil for protection? Her head is starting to hurt. “Why does such weird shit happen to me?” she asks out loud. But then she sits up abruptly - an idea shoots out her head like a bolt of lightning through a sky of thoughts – “the gas station!!!” she shrieks, grabs her purse and keys and runs for the car.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
She awoke....
She awoke....
from a dream. It haunted her. She's had this dream before. She's alone - at a gas station in the middle of the desert. When she walks in to pay for her gas, there is no one behind the counter. "Hello??" she calls out but nobody answers. She leaves the money for the gas on the counter and walks out. Next to her car stands a tall man with long thick hair tied back in a ponytail. She can tell he's Native American. "Excuse me, can I help you?" she asks.
"I know you", says the man. He's about 6'2". She feels tiny compared to him, even though she is of medium build, and could use to lose a few pounds if she's being honest with herself.
Ok she's a little creeped out now. "I'm sorry, I think you're mistaking me for someone else."
"No, you must listen to me. The wind is calling. You're in danger. You must seek the one who you trust and believe what he says. He will guide you. The great Mother needs you to promise this" the man says.
She scowls, not knowing what to say. How do you respond to something like that? After standing looking at the man for several minutes in silence, he just walks away. He walks to the rear of the store. She gets in her car and drives to the back and sees no one.
"What the fuck?" she thinks. "How could he disappear?" she whispers to herself.
And that's where the story ends. She wakes up. Who could this person be that the indian man is trying to tell her about? And why does she need his guidance anyway? She's been shrugging this off for too long. Maybe she should pay more attention to those around her. Who does she trust? Hmm....
from a dream. It haunted her. She's had this dream before. She's alone - at a gas station in the middle of the desert. When she walks in to pay for her gas, there is no one behind the counter. "Hello??" she calls out but nobody answers. She leaves the money for the gas on the counter and walks out. Next to her car stands a tall man with long thick hair tied back in a ponytail. She can tell he's Native American. "Excuse me, can I help you?" she asks.
"I know you", says the man. He's about 6'2". She feels tiny compared to him, even though she is of medium build, and could use to lose a few pounds if she's being honest with herself.
Ok she's a little creeped out now. "I'm sorry, I think you're mistaking me for someone else."
"No, you must listen to me. The wind is calling. You're in danger. You must seek the one who you trust and believe what he says. He will guide you. The great Mother needs you to promise this" the man says.
She scowls, not knowing what to say. How do you respond to something like that? After standing looking at the man for several minutes in silence, he just walks away. He walks to the rear of the store. She gets in her car and drives to the back and sees no one.
"What the fuck?" she thinks. "How could he disappear?" she whispers to herself.
And that's where the story ends. She wakes up. Who could this person be that the indian man is trying to tell her about? And why does she need his guidance anyway? She's been shrugging this off for too long. Maybe she should pay more attention to those around her. Who does she trust? Hmm....
It's a scary world...
...
being alone. But she'll be ok, she thinks. As long as she can drink. "Oh, alcohol, my best friend! You've never let me down! Except for the times when you've made me really sick and throwing up and stuff. But that's ok, it's still better than anything an evil man can do to me - a hangover is better than a broken heart."
Ha - yet another good invention - "Broken Heart Vodka" and it would be colored black like that black vodka she had at that corner bar where she met the guy with tattooes up and down his arms and even up to his neckline. He was cool. But damn, what an idiot to have dissed her the way he did. He deserved the backlash she gave him. "You were wild, where are you now" she said to him. Apparently he had gone to jail and that's why she never heard from him again. It was probably best that way. Hence another reason for black vodka. It would be a good tool to use when she needed to forget. It was better than doing something more self-destructive like cutting herself, right? That's another thing she did all the time - compared things. She'd always think of worse things to make the situation she was in seem less threatening.
But forgetting was her way. Keep that poker face going girl. Chin up, heels on, it was going to be fun. She could promise at least that much to herself, even if it was dangerous.
being alone. But she'll be ok, she thinks. As long as she can drink. "Oh, alcohol, my best friend! You've never let me down! Except for the times when you've made me really sick and throwing up and stuff. But that's ok, it's still better than anything an evil man can do to me - a hangover is better than a broken heart."
Ha - yet another good invention - "Broken Heart Vodka" and it would be colored black like that black vodka she had at that corner bar where she met the guy with tattooes up and down his arms and even up to his neckline. He was cool. But damn, what an idiot to have dissed her the way he did. He deserved the backlash she gave him. "You were wild, where are you now" she said to him. Apparently he had gone to jail and that's why she never heard from him again. It was probably best that way. Hence another reason for black vodka. It would be a good tool to use when she needed to forget. It was better than doing something more self-destructive like cutting herself, right? That's another thing she did all the time - compared things. She'd always think of worse things to make the situation she was in seem less threatening.
But forgetting was her way. Keep that poker face going girl. Chin up, heels on, it was going to be fun. She could promise at least that much to herself, even if it was dangerous.
Responsibilities are boring...
Why can't she just have a carefree life? How hard could it be? She's on her way to Madison. She's playing Tori's version of Famous Blue Raincoat. She's crying. She can't stop crying - it's taken over her whole body. The realization that nothing will ever be the same. The decision that things must change. Where will it lead her to? Will loneliness fill her heart or will she fly away free as a bird? Ah, all these questions just make her cry more. Never has she ever before played a song back to back repeating for 4 hours. Next song - Twinkle. She allows it to play through. There is light at the end of the dark tunnel. She's arrived. She's going to have a martini - with a rum soaked mango in it. She knows where this road has led her now. And she's right, she's never going back again.
Road trip!
It's a good day - time for a drive. Where to? Who cares. Just shut up and drive. Can't really shut up when there's nobody to talk to. She gets out of the shower and immediately puts her hair in a ponytail. No time for hair dryers today. The sun is out, the weather is nice. And this hangover ain't going anywhere. Ok...the essentials. Money - check.....drivers license - check.....keys - check.....cell phone - check.....lip gloss - check (can't be dealing with another panic attack from leaving her lip gloss at home, heh).
Off we go! Vroom vroom! Feeling like a road runner! Got the music playing and my Cherry 7up and pack of smokes and ready to roll! Out of this shithole of a town! The phone rings. Crap, it's mom.
"Hello mom" she answers.
"Hi. What are you doing?"
"I'm driving. Don't know where."
"Well if you're that bored, why don't you drive home? I never see you anymore." her mom says.
Well, maybe if you weren't dating that asshole I'd like to come visit - she wishes she could say. But instead she replies "yeah, yeah, I know. Listen, I gotta go. I have to get gas and you can't talk on the phone while pumping gas. Could spark a fire and I could blow up."
"Ok, we wouldn't want that now would we?" her mom says.
Oh, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, she thinks to herself. At least it wouldn't be an obvious suicide. She could just play dumb like she didn't know. But then again she just explained to her mom that it was the reason she had to go. Fuck....nevermind. Hopefully she'll hit a cow along the way and kill herself that way. Ugh. She wonders how many people have actually died or more importantly, wanted to die by hitting a cow. Hmm...wishful thinking most likely. At least she's off the phone from her mom now. She didn't really need to stop for gas. But it was a good enough excuse. On with the drive!!!
Off we go! Vroom vroom! Feeling like a road runner! Got the music playing and my Cherry 7up and pack of smokes and ready to roll! Out of this shithole of a town! The phone rings. Crap, it's mom.
"Hello mom" she answers.
"Hi. What are you doing?"
"I'm driving. Don't know where."
"Well if you're that bored, why don't you drive home? I never see you anymore." her mom says.
Well, maybe if you weren't dating that asshole I'd like to come visit - she wishes she could say. But instead she replies "yeah, yeah, I know. Listen, I gotta go. I have to get gas and you can't talk on the phone while pumping gas. Could spark a fire and I could blow up."
"Ok, we wouldn't want that now would we?" her mom says.
Oh, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, she thinks to herself. At least it wouldn't be an obvious suicide. She could just play dumb like she didn't know. But then again she just explained to her mom that it was the reason she had to go. Fuck....nevermind. Hopefully she'll hit a cow along the way and kill herself that way. Ugh. She wonders how many people have actually died or more importantly, wanted to die by hitting a cow. Hmm...wishful thinking most likely. At least she's off the phone from her mom now. She didn't really need to stop for gas. But it was a good enough excuse. On with the drive!!!
There are bugs in the ashtray.
What are they doing there? There are so many of them too - hundreds of them! She looks closer - oh, they’re just just ashes. She giggles to herself.
It’s time for some fresh air and a walk. The streets are empty but she can hear music and people talking and little animals scurring. The street lights glow and illuminate the sky. Insects bounce off the glass covering the bright bulbs. They keep trying to get closer to the light, almost in hopes that they can somehow permeate the glass and become one with the light. Maybe that is all we are in the eyes of God and heaven....insects trying to be one with the light. And just maybe in the end, we just burn ourselves and die from false hopes.
"I’m thirsty, let’s stop off at this place for a drink and some observation," BC says. They stop at a bar where the first floor is packed with drunk college kids and a dancefloor. The climb the narrow stairs up to the second floor where the middle of the floor is cut out like a fishbowl overlooking the dancefloor. People are dancing - or at least they think they are. To her they look like bouncing balls of hair.
It’s really dark on the second floor minus a few neon lights and beer signs. She spot a light coming from the stairwell. The dark narrow tunnel they mustered up is barely visible with the one lonely light. She sits down at the top of the stairs. To the left of her cheek starts the handrail. She peers down it noticing a few bare spots where the paint has chipped away. At the end of the handrail is the light. Once again she realizes the significance of the light. BC sits next to her.
"What are you looking at?" he asks.
"My life," she says. "It’s like this whole package here - a dark and rusting chipped handrail, leading off into nothingness. I can’t see the end. But you know. it’s ok, there’s light at the end of the tunnel."
They sit there in silence for a moment and she can tell that BC knows what she means.
"I want some bubble gum. Let’s go." she says. And off they go down the tunnel of their lives again.
It’s time for some fresh air and a walk. The streets are empty but she can hear music and people talking and little animals scurring. The street lights glow and illuminate the sky. Insects bounce off the glass covering the bright bulbs. They keep trying to get closer to the light, almost in hopes that they can somehow permeate the glass and become one with the light. Maybe that is all we are in the eyes of God and heaven....insects trying to be one with the light. And just maybe in the end, we just burn ourselves and die from false hopes.
"I’m thirsty, let’s stop off at this place for a drink and some observation," BC says. They stop at a bar where the first floor is packed with drunk college kids and a dancefloor. The climb the narrow stairs up to the second floor where the middle of the floor is cut out like a fishbowl overlooking the dancefloor. People are dancing - or at least they think they are. To her they look like bouncing balls of hair.
It’s really dark on the second floor minus a few neon lights and beer signs. She spot a light coming from the stairwell. The dark narrow tunnel they mustered up is barely visible with the one lonely light. She sits down at the top of the stairs. To the left of her cheek starts the handrail. She peers down it noticing a few bare spots where the paint has chipped away. At the end of the handrail is the light. Once again she realizes the significance of the light. BC sits next to her.
"What are you looking at?" he asks.
"My life," she says. "It’s like this whole package here - a dark and rusting chipped handrail, leading off into nothingness. I can’t see the end. But you know. it’s ok, there’s light at the end of the tunnel."
They sit there in silence for a moment and she can tell that BC knows what she means.
"I want some bubble gum. Let’s go." she says. And off they go down the tunnel of their lives again.
She needs a hit....
She calls BC.
"Yo! What's up?" she says after she hears a hello on the line.
"Sporty!" he says.
He calls her Sporty after Sporty Spice. It's been his nickname for her for many years now. Maybe it's because she loves volleyball. Or maybe because she loves to wear her Adidas tracksuit.
"You gotta help me out. I just talked to Andy, and I'm hungover as fuck and I'm desperate for some fun," she says.
"Oh yeah, Sporty. I got what you need."
"Great, I"ll shower and be over," she sighs with relief.
"Oh, and Sporty - bring some cds."
In a matter of an hour, she's at BC's door.
"Hey Sporty, check this out. I got a really cool Snoopy pen. It lights up when you write!" he says with excitement like a little boy who has just discovered how to burn an ant with a magnifying glass and the sun.
"Cool! Can I hang onto it for awhile?" she asks.
"Of course" he smiles.
The true test of friendship - sharing new gadgets with your friend and trusting them with it.
"Here you are, one for you, and one for me," BC says and hands her a little colorful piece of paper with a smiley face on it.
She takes it and puts it on her tongue. The journey has begun. In about an hour she'll be able to figure out the world.
"Yo! What's up?" she says after she hears a hello on the line.
"Sporty!" he says.
He calls her Sporty after Sporty Spice. It's been his nickname for her for many years now. Maybe it's because she loves volleyball. Or maybe because she loves to wear her Adidas tracksuit.
"You gotta help me out. I just talked to Andy, and I'm hungover as fuck and I'm desperate for some fun," she says.
"Oh yeah, Sporty. I got what you need."
"Great, I"ll shower and be over," she sighs with relief.
"Oh, and Sporty - bring some cds."
In a matter of an hour, she's at BC's door.
"Hey Sporty, check this out. I got a really cool Snoopy pen. It lights up when you write!" he says with excitement like a little boy who has just discovered how to burn an ant with a magnifying glass and the sun.
"Cool! Can I hang onto it for awhile?" she asks.
"Of course" he smiles.
The true test of friendship - sharing new gadgets with your friend and trusting them with it.
"Here you are, one for you, and one for me," BC says and hands her a little colorful piece of paper with a smiley face on it.
She takes it and puts it on her tongue. The journey has begun. In about an hour she'll be able to figure out the world.
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