Feelings/ Fixings: I

My heart is broken for Eric Harrises. The Eric Harris who was accidentally murdered by a bumbling police volunteer and was yelled at and belitted as he died unarmed in a street. I googled his family to find out what they are saying, if they're okay. But all I came up with was the other Eric Harris--the Columbine one. And my heart breaks for him too.

People need so much love. We are endless love vacuums. I cannot possibly fathom what kind of life the Tulsa policeman with his big black swoop arm tatts has had to make him believe screaming at a dying man was okay. Police training needs a huge HUGE overhaul. Sensitivity training should be the most important thing they learn. The world needs an overhaul. Remembering those poor Littleton kids--how come they didn't feel love? What could have been different? Is it run of the mill high school bullying or is it a worm in our souls that can never be satiated until it is free?

Walkin' Around Buyin' Stuff

Today is the one year anniversary of getting my tattoo.

Bisque is in LA for a film premiere.

Chicago was predicted to be above fifty degrees.

All this is to say I hatched a plot.

I laced up my new flower tennies and dug a sundress out of my summer suitcase.

This bakery had the highest Yelp reviews.

I asked for a Pop-Tart.

There was only one flavor (peach) left for the day.

The last time I ate a peach anything

was the second to last time I saw my cousin alive,

and it was bad too. A watery orange hand pie.

But, yes, I did come all this way.

I didn't like the cafe.

There was a fluffy boy at the register who listed every single thing in the bakery case.

In a Rainman-esque way.

Even though my previous sentence was, "I'd like a Pop-Tart."

I sat down, made notes in my planner, and took a bite.

The pastry was just chewy enough.

It tasted like brown butter.

No canned peaches.

Real deal, simmered slow.

But the place still creeped me out.

Maybe I should have gone to the second best Yelp bakery.

I packed up my journal and walked another half mile in the opposite direction.

This place was hidden in an alley.

There were no tables or chairs.

There were five Pop-Tart options, so I chose cherry with chocolate icing.

I found a sunny patch of grass to dine on, but I became distracted.

There are possibilities today!

I'm still a chubby wren delicately hopping along.

My pay is meager. My schedule too full.

But right now, it's Friday afternoon, and I have nothing to be.

I went to a barber for a trim.

I can afford this today, and so, I afforded.

The number 8 bus was due to arrive in 9 minutes.

I pulled up my grey hood and ate the pastry after all.

When I saw the CVS in the bus window, I pulled the cord.

Cashews on sale, a birthday card. and a new eye shadow.

Swim with the tide, and buy when it's time to buy.

No No Nobody

Easter ice cream double date!

No no nobody cares--
except for you.
No no nobody is worried--
except for you.

Subliminal Teacher Power!

When I write grammar quizzes I decide on a theme for the "correct this sentence" sentences. For example, tomorrow's grammar quiz:

Add the commas:

"Sherry had fun at the bar but she woke up with a headache."

Correct the pronoun:

"A parent should consider how much they drink in front of their children."

Revise for clarity:

"Spending tons of money on advertising is something alcohol companies do."

These are just quiz questions, but I believe everything we consume is changing us from the inside out. Some other things I like to do--women in example sentences are always extremely successful, men are often sensitive and talking about their feelings, the environment is a reoccurring character. Nobody is mad.

Rollin, Rollin, Rollin

My assignment for this week's class of The Program was to write a scene that included a self-made special effect. Car keys for rain. A flashlight shooting star--that type of thing. A couple days ago I lightbulbed this:

REPORTER: We're here with Randall Thomas, a resident cat-caller. Mr. Thomas, you've been known to defend the aggressive and sexist habit of catcalling.

RANDALL: I think women like it.

REPORTER: We go live to those women now.

REPORTER AND RANDALL CLEAR STAGE. A TUMBLEWEED ROLLS ACROSS. LIGHTS.

So, not exactly high fiction. A stupid black-out sketch that would require a homemade tumbleweed. I had an idea for how the tumbleweed would look--a mass of twine mainly. I wasn't worried. I went to Michael's and hour and a half before I had to leave for class. I bought two foam circles to hold the twine and twine. It cost fifteen dollars. I spent fifteen dollars on a faux tumbleweed.

At home the troubles worsened. I spent half an hour wrapping twine and sticking the foam with paper clips and then sadly throwing it across the living room. It didn't roll. It looked like a hairy frisbee. I started getting anxious. I wasn't dressed for class, time was running out, Bisque saw me practically foaming at the mouth, covered in styrofoam bits and offered to try.

He patiently coiled the skeleton for ten minutes before showing me his final work. It was not a circle--but flat. I said I would redo it. He was obviously sort of annoyed, but he sweetly unstrung and restrung the whole thing. I spent ninety minutes and some good graces of my relationship on a faux tumbleweed. We had to jet. On the way to dinner we found some dead leaves and branches to tie into the prop.

In class, my sketch was close to last on the running order. I strung up a pulley system to make the thing roll at the appropriate punchline. It bumped across the floor looking like a small forest spaceship. The sketch was over. I said, "It's a tumbleweed." "Oh," everyone said. Star added, "I thought it was a cat toy."

The tumbleweed better not be a foreshadowing of the rest of my writing career.

Little Feeling of Freedom

Hunny texted me to ask if I had seen the video Taylor Swift put on her Insta tonight. Apparently she was hosting her best friend's birthday, so she hired a member of Dashboard Confessional to sing an old favorite song of theirs live. The song is "Hands Down"--an old fave of me an Hunny's also. Aw, it's like, their friendship is the same as our friendship. Except for a few million dollars. I went to the Instagram account and immediately remembered why I wasn't following it. Taylor Swift's life in pictures makes me hate mine.

In reality, I'm doing pretty well, and I am generally happy. I wouldn't ask for much to be different right now. I think I'm where I need to be. But...maybe I could have a mansion and hire rock stars for fun and also have very cute blond hair. I KNOW for a FACT, it's not as easy or exciting as it seems in pictures. I KNOW, but it's so hard to believe when all the squares are just so.

Why do I follow any celebrities on Instagram? I guess I figured I liked them so I would like seeing them? But, um, hold on, can we talk about how destructive that is. Waiting for the bus, casually scroll through people way richer and skinnier and "loved" than you. And then go on with your life. It seems like a highly unhealthy way to pass time throughout the day.

I have stopped following all the celebs I did on Instagram. I wondered, "But I want to keep up." With WHAT? I'm going to see the TV Show/movie/hear the record etc. I don't need to see the boats and the trip to Europe and the new headshot with fifty thousand comments. There are other things that are more important! Look at those.

Flannel Coat

Putting away clothes piles last night--
Bisque has dubbed me "Piles" because little stacks
of my stuff accumulate all over our apartment.
Piles of sweaters on the ground by my half of the bed,
piles of papers next to the couch, piles
of candy wrappers on the kitchen table, it goes on.
So putting away a pile last night your flannel coat
fell on me from the back of the closet.
It is blue checkered. You lent it to me
when I was 20 and never took it back. I quite liked
it and paired it with my daisy slip-ons.
The next year we disagreed about a girl's short story
in Advanced Fiction Writing. In the story some girl
was talking to an ex-boyfriend and told him she still
wore his old band tee to bed. You said, "That's weird,
you would never wear an ex's clothes after you
broke up." I said, "I would if I liked the clothes!"
It's my flannel coat, and I don't remember you
in it. I wear it, me. This was the first time in years
I thought about
where it came from.