I don’t know where else to be. Confusion at theelevator had me feeling tiny as can be. Why did it go downstair the moment I pressed the button? WHy did it stay downstairs for so long? It was 6:30am and I felt my consciousness spilling over itself, little grains of sand-like specks creeping into my vision. Nothing feels good about this day. I got a haircut yesterday and hate the way it looks. THe guy who did it carried himself like a nitwit. There’s a word I never use.
I’ve been passing a drama in isolation. A woman living in a car for 5 or 6 months. Expired out of state plates. Do I want to know more, or potentially expose myself to an encounter with her? I know not what she looks like or how she carries herself. She was described as older, and she had begun harassing people who live on that block. DHS won’t help because she’s not on the street, sidewalk, or subway. She could get ticketed for never moving the car but cops don’t seem to want to do that, and what difference would it make. This is a street I seldom walk upon but lately I’ve passed by to see if she is still there, and if there is any way I could do something to help. Does she want help, though? No way to know and as long as she is safe in her car I gues it is not my cross to bear.
I pass another woman’s every day when possible. I maintain some kind of poisonous attraction to her, years since we had our little trysts. She had been a stripper in the past and I was fine with that but as things got more involved I began to suspect, quite, strongly, that she did more sex work besides stripping and she was porbably turning tricks while we were together. I’m not as hell-bent on monogamy as I used to be but at the time I felt cheated. This was my last genuine attempt at what would be called a traditional relationship possibly leading to marriage. There has been no such engagement since and I doubt there ever will be. If I hold a special place for her it might be on account of that anticipation, that sense of possibility and positivity that characterized our earliest times.
But it all soured. It even reached a point where I felt that if a weapon had been present she might have used it on me. She was quick to rage after drinking, but sweet as honey by day. But I march past her house, every day I can, sometimes multiple times. I don’t expect any rekindling of our admittedly stilted attempt at romance. I want to remind her, by my presence, how badly and relentlessly she lies to me about everything, and I do mean everything. I will always remember her as the woman who had an awful lot of lies to keep track of, and I didn’t appreciate becoming one of them. I was always decent and kind to her, I never wavered or showed any douchery or assholery the likes of which she complained about in other men.
I am trying to find happiness in my daily life but it’s not there. It is not within grasp. My happiest moments are in the shower or in bed. Walking, which was practically my religion, has become a chore. I get 10k steps in every single day, typically hitting 15k. I had thought working full time would limit my ability to reach those goals (which are newly established in my regimen) but it’s been entirely possible.I never tasked myself with counting steps, but I did savor the double-digit mile days. And the maps could be like a work of art.
I had an idea that led me to purchase a $10 converter thingy that will let me record from a computer onto a VHS tape in a VCR. I’m going to flood thrift shops with VHS tapes of my live webcam. I will leave the VHS tapes labeled as they are now, so the surprise factor will be paramount.
Tiny memories spackle my mind today. Mango. We had a long-running joke about how I plied her with mango vodka and talk of my 72″ television. We hooked up and afterwars I remember her putting her pants back on and saying “I don’t do this kind of thing.” I recalled this little blitz of dismay this morning, while eating a mango for breakfast. She would invoke the mango vodka line of seduction a number of times over what ended up being a pretty lengthy involvement that inevitably became toxic and abusive. Mango is a messy food, I may have to revert back to pears, which can also be messy. And I can only think of the word as two words: MAN GO. Go man go.
There was another tiny thought, already swept away, to resurface again, I’m sure. I am nothing but tiny thoughts.