So, last week, the Fedex guy came and dropped off two large packages for my next-door neighbor, whom I don’t know. She was out, so I consented to hang on to them for her. He left her a door tag, explaining that the boxes were with us, but I didn’t trust his English skills too much. Sure enough, she failed to show up for them, despite having removed the door tag later in the day.

The next day I was on my way out, and I decided I’d just ring the bell or something to see if she was around to get them then. Instead, this middle-aged dude was already standing on her doorstep, inside the main door but still standing in the little vestibule. Read the rest of this entry »

Is Sunday the 13th Friday the 13th’s gentle sister? If so, it’d better prove it fast. Surrounded by wheels when I woke up this morning, bicycle, spinning. No familiar muffin or Tiny. Empty yogurt, full dreams, backwards. A seductress who makes time stop, convinces you of her genius IQ (up in the millions), and gives you projects that satisfy. For me, it was things to assemble. Little screws and washers and nuts with feathers, that attract nursing cats when properly aligned. Old friends abandoned at frame shops for three hours at a time, way past closing yet I still try to pick up the artwork or frame it myself. After all, I have the experience. Putting things in the house to keep them safe, but the door knob has come off, the lock is broken, and the living room is full of uninvited friends and exes, and what to do? What to do?

Shimmering chimeran shimmying was the spectacle of the night. The wings fluttered at diagonals, the bells jingled, the fringe swayed, the swords cut through the air and not through the heads, and the music was all around us. Such is Ivy League college on a Saturday.

It was gradually flooding higher and higher outside the building. Even the Spiderman-Batman hybrid couldn’t stick to the outside, it was so wet. I was in the luggage hold when the steam liner hove into view in the parking lot, viewing it externally even though I was internal. The object of the game was to go through ALL the luggage, listen to ALL the passenger conversations, find out who each trinket belonged to, what it was, how the card game was going from the paintings, who was cheating whom, who everyone was, and what they were after. I could see that this would be no mere weekend of gameplay, and I was eager to start. That didn’t keep me from eating some of the steam liner’s food, but I kept careful track of what I’d ingested, and questioned the demise-portrayal lady closely to get an early edge.

Today is a four-ten-t of doom, as far as I can see. I am utterly unable to wake up for a 10am job, for the zillionth day in a row. Sadness abounds as I am unable to work at said job, preferring to endlessly surf the electronic spider threads. And here I am now.

At least I got in my taxes, 5 minutes before the PO closed. Typical. Had all day to do it, yet there I am. Draining my money away for a war effort I don’t support, while the lady behind the counter gets pre-work-ending calls and vows to call them back. Right now I am tired. In the extreme. I ought to go home or something, but it’s the first actual day in a long long time and I’d rather be on the swings. But I’m at the office, and even the scant two-mile drive home looms large–like a large loom of some kind–ensnaring me in its sleepy, stop-start city traffic threads.