the monologue

Okay, I changed my mind.  I don't want this up.  I'm sorry for wasting your time with this.  


(And if you happened to already have looked at what was here or read it (for real!?) that's all right.  I read it again several hours later and it sounded harsher during the read than it was during the write, so I didn't want to be misunderstood.)


Basically:  I talked with the president of the union this afternoon.  It went fine.  I don't feel like he hates me.    I do still feel like I'm not the best person for this job.  I think I'm going to continue learning a lot.  It might be a long next four months and one week.

full moon

I asked the moon what she thought
That night the Son died.
She didn't say anything for a while.
Just hung there
And let a passing cloud cover her glow.

When she finally spoke, she said--carefully--
The Son?
She glided a moment more.  Then,
I always shine brightest on the darkest of nights.
Why? she said.
Because of the Son.

And that night was my brightest night.

The Man Who Laughs

An open Skype window covered up the senders and subjects of the gmail account which was open behind.  So I didn't have a clue.  I opened the older new email.  From Dad.  Then I pressed the up arrow to the newer email.

waBAM!  Huge grin, little audible whoops, both arms straight in the air, craning around to see if the rest of the world shares my excitement, pointing at the screen, laughing.

jAnelle junn sent me an email, complete with poem.  Oh man.  It's those little things that really catch you off guard.  A poem!  Just like old times.  Bless you, jAnelle junn.

Saving Private Living

Walking into that welcoming iron door was great.  I was finally home.  Something was different about the little garage area though, and I noticed that it was Mervin's yellow room light glowing out his window.  He's usually not home yet when I get back from work.

Usually, when I walk past his window, whether leaving or coming, I try not to look into his room.  Golden Rule, you know?  Last night out of my peripheral vision though, I noticed another weird thing--a sheet was covering up his big window, hanging from the ceiling like a curtain.  I appreciated that.  I'd put up towels to cover my window just two days before.  They block more light and they make the room less of an exhibit.

For some reason though, after coming in and seeing Mervin already home, and then seeing his improvised curtain, I suddenly felt a little urge to react just a bit--like pull back the curtain and yell I'm home Mervin! or at least just say something.  But I didn't.  There was the ever-so-slightest of hesitations, those fractions of a moment when one is tempted to do something but then doesn't.  But that was it, I guess.  I just went to my room.

I saw the gift on my dresser that I had been needing to give Mervin for Christmas.  A week and a half late isn't bad for me.  I decided this was my best chance.  I hadn't seen him at home, really, for several days, and he'd just informed me that afternoon at work that he'd be leaving the next day (today) for the university to study for almost a month.  Well okay.  So I changed my clothes and wrote Merry Christmas Mervin on the packaging of the gift and went to his room and knocked on the door.

When Mervin came out I had another one of those ever-so-slightest of hesitations, but this time it was because my mind was starting to wonder how Mervin had gotten so small and why he looked so freakishly different.   My mind caught up to me soon and noticed that it was a small woman looking up at me.  Hmm... a small woman.  I was glad I hadn't taken off my shirt or gone in my briefs.

"Oh, sorry!  I thought Mervin was home..."
"Oh, yeah, no he's still not back from work..."
"Right, usually he gets back pretty late.  So you're... Mervin's Mom?"
"Yes."
"Well it's nice to meet you.  I'm Chris, the roommate.  Sorry to bother you!"
"Nice to meet you, too."  SLAM.

Just kidding.  She didn't slam anything.  I walked back to my room and put his gift on my dresser, thankful that my sense of privacy is still greater than my nonsense.

mint ferment

The way I see it, the world is all backward.  The temperature is slowly and steadily rising here in my little city, and with it, the uncomfortableness of my feet.  They just suffer silently inside these stifling shoes.  I allowed my mind to hate on the situation for a few moments just now.  I thought, if I was in some mud-engulfed, rocky, crappy place I'd probably long for stifling shoes.  Or if I was in some sub-zero, icy, frigid tundra I'd probably long for stifling shoes.  But I'm here in a lovely climate, on nice sidewalks and clean floors, hardly needing to walk at all... stuck in my stifling shoes.

So, can I trade?  With that other guy who lives in the jungly place (if he has a job)?  Or with that other guy who slides to work on the ice (if he has a job)?  Maybe I could come to work in some handmade work slippers and he could go to work (if he has...) in my brown leather Scandinavian stiflers.  And maybe while we're at it, we could trade shirts, pants, and ties, too.

But then people visiting the offices would see me barefoot and wonder what the church leaders were thinking, letting in this bum.  After all, bums belong in the jungle and the tundra--without shoes.  Privileged people belong in privileged climates--with shoes.

So yep, there it is.  The world's backward.

(Of course... I wouldn't want to trade my computer or even just my Nalgene... backward world indeed.)

And when I said Enough, my mind stopped hating.  I'm just thankful this is the worst of my burdens this morning.  And I'm sure I'll want my shoes back soon enough.