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ten to the head.
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Idiots, Imbeciles, & Morons

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ohhh baby I love your way (every day)

Thurs|12.19

We stand at the elevators. We're walking out together, leaving at the same time for once.

"Boy, you put in a long day." Sarcastic.

"This is when I'm scheduled to leave!" And I try to explain again how tired I am.

"Yeah, wow, I'd be tired too, working from 11 to 4."

"I have a DISEASE that makes me TIRED!"

"You're not going to CRY again, are you?" Eyeroll.

I punch the elevator button. I really might cry again.

"Did I tell you I got bifocals?"

"How surprising." Mean. Me biting back.

"What's that supposed to mean? That I'm old?"

"Oh, why? Are you going to cry? Cry like an OLD MAN?"

"Are you saying I'm an old man?"

"No, I'm asking if you're going to cry like one."

"You really have a chip on your shoulder."

"Yeah, and it's gonna be going up your ass in a minute."

"I BEG your pardon."

The rain's stopped. We remark on this, then gossip about the holiday party, which I missed. As usual, things are fine, despite the conversation in and near the elevator. We part, me somewhat frustrated and wishing I'd stop expecting certain things from him. Him maybe wishing the same, maybe not. Friends, what can you do.

(Probably something, but. I have to sleep now.)

I just want to feel normal again. Somewhat healthy. Is that whiney, dramatic, self-pitying?

Boo-hoo, boo-hoo. I'm tired.

OH MY TOTAL GOD STOP IT!!

Wed|12.18

First thing I heard a human say this morning was from a cell phone conversation, as a suited gentleman walked past me: "Tell that Mexican woman whose child was spit on by that other woman, tell her yes, we'll do it."

Sigh.

People, stop spitting on each other. Is it so much to ask?

Guy on the bus had a verbal tic: "I sure wouldn't. Would you? I sure wouldn't. Would you?"

He looked to the person next to him as he said it, and all of the various seatmates he had throughout the trip answered him in the negative. They wouldn't, either.

Near the end of the route, he was the only person left in front. "Sansome is on the left, right? Sansome is on the left. Sansome is on the left, right? Sansome is on the left," he said to the driver, but the driver wasn't playing.

So.

I am tired and will now go to bed.

The end.

I oughta cut you loose I oughta cut you down to size

Sat|12.14

My niece is a new mother. I go back to work on Tuesday, after three months off. I've been reading a lot.

It's raining, and has been since early Friday morning (I'm making that part up, I have no idea when it started other than it was before I woke up on Friday or after I went to bed on Thursday; but when was Thursday? Was it last week, two days ago, tomorrow....ANYway), and I went out today into it and my feet got wet from the rivers gushing in the gaps between sidewalk and road. Step! Step! Careful. Misjudged a spot, got totally totally f'n foot-wet.

My biggest grammatical peeve, currently, or hell for a couple few years, is the whole lose/loose thing. People everywhere writing loose instead of lose to the point where you know, it's going to become an accepted variant. Do you think? Or am I just a looser?

What is shaming about having a grammatical peeve is that you, or someone, is reading this going, check her out, judging people for saying loose instead of lose when she says "going" instead of "thinking" in this very sentence, or any of the many errors that I'm sure are contained herein with-here all, that I haven't and will not notice. Oh well.

I've been reading a lot of Chester Himes, and a lot of Antonya Nelson. More Himes than Nelson, because there IS more Himes than Nelson. So far. She's still alive though, whereas Chester, he's dead. So.

Anyhoo.

Now (well not RIGHT now but earlier, and most likely later) I'm reading one of two Himes biographies I borrowed from the library today. Yes, yes, yes. "I went to the library." I just don't know what to write here. It's all pretty boring stuff. Stuff is boring. What would interest you? I have no idea.

ANYhoo.

The way I'm thinking that word, in me brain, ANYhoo, like a big blast of tired air, reminds me of James LeGros in The Rapture, riding in a car with Mimi Rogers and telling her the condensed version of his long, involved life story about Vermont and prison and prison in Vermont.

Blah blah blah.