Author’s note: This is from a series based on my journal. Unconventional and idiosyncratic punctuation and formatting are intentional.
This morning I thought I would go to fitness class but I changed my mind considering the cold and the dark. Just staying home and warm and working out here appealed to me more and gave me more time with my word games and other routines. David across the street has replaced his whimsical Halloween ghost with an air-pumped Frosty the Snowman. He deflates it every night. Every morning it resurrects itself from a puddle of white vinyl wearing a top hat and blue vest whose color matches that of the lights on David’s bushes alongside his front porch.
Among the day’s notifications were likes for some comments I made to Judith’s recent posts and the 100-word story I wrote last week about Granny for Mary Guterson’s prompt. Someone re-stacked my post yesterday about how playing Bingo with seniors helped me put the wheels back on after being suicidal. I also got several more emails from editors passing on writing I have submitted. I am starting to wonder if trying to get published is worth all the effort. Is it a matter of quality or of just finding the right fit? Whatever the case I don’t have the fire for submitting I had a few weeks ago.
This morning at the grocery I checked out with Max the red dread-locked cashier. His ho-ho belly pushed against his denim overalls. He scratched his orange goatee. Unloading my cart I mentioned going to my high school reunion. So weird to talk to people and see pictures of classmates who’ve died, I said. The woman behind me said that her own recent high school reunion had featured a Death Table with candles and pictures and cards. She spread her hands in a circular motion over the top of her cart as if she were laying a blanket and shook her head. Class of ‘75, she said. We’ve had four suicides, I said, in a class of seventy-seven. Whoa! said Max.
On my way home I went to Speedway for gas. An illuminated magnetic sign by the door advertised in big black letters two Monster drinks and taquitos for $8.50. Inside slices of pizza spun on tiers in a warming case by the register. In line in front of me a young woman held a toddler on her hip wearing teddy-bear footsie pajamas and patting the back of the young woman’s neck. Some men in neon-yellow safety vests with reflective striping came in and got Mountain Dews, donuts, and pucks of Zyn smokeless nicotine. The cashier was probably in her late 60’s. Another cashier sitting on a milk crate behind her wore an Army vet baseball cap and snacked on jerky.
At home I cleaned dribbles and spots the kitchen cabinets and swept the deck and kitchen floor. Stacey and I were in touch about the reunion. I told her I thought she probably made the better choice to stay home. Ha! I love your take on things, she said. We made plans to visit next week. Monica and I were also in touch about the reunion. I think she fared better than I. We also talked about colors for the cover of my book of writing about my time with Mom. A long time ago Dad once said to me that three things important to mental health are someone to love, something to do, and something to look forward to. Check, check, check.
This evening at Dairy Queen only the drive-thru was open. Riri said only she and Kyng were working. She gave me a medium because the sole customer in front of me took so long. He was an older man in an early-model silver Honda Civic with a blown tail light. I went by the grocery again to get the toilet paper I forgot earlier. Max was still working. All good! All good! he said when I told him why I was coming back. In the parking lot a man in a beige coat and jeans rummaged in the Dumpster just beyond the parking lot lights. A woman in baggy sweatpants and a saggy leopard print coat and fleece slippers pushed a cart toward the alley.
At home I read Cindy House’s post about how making daily observations helped her purge the bitterness of a recent rough patch. I understand that. Noticing often helps me feel grateful even if is about the most inconsequential things. William was in touch on his way back to school from the football game in Tennessee yesterday. He said he had a good time but is glad he doesn’t go there. Everyone wears overalls and has a drinking problem, he said. I tracked his return with the charges to my Visa. Jersey Mike’s. Exxon Duck In Deli. Wendy’s. 7-11.
The day’s mail brought this month’s issue of The Sun. I like how I can read it cover-to-cover in less than an hour and how there are no ads. In this month’s interview I liked this passage from an interview with William Rees—
One major problem with humans is that we don’t live in reality. We live in constructed fantasies. Someone once quipped: “Human beings are the only species known to mistake their worldview for the world.”
Check.
To read my previous post, “Mortal: 32,” please click here.
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A good idea to try and notice. i will give it a shot and perhaps live in reality. Wonderful quote, too!
I love your observations. Keep writing!