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| Thursday, September 27, 2007 |
| Close |
She plunges her body into the basin, air bubbles cling to her nose. She puffs out her cheeks as she holds her breath. She likes the way they feel when they are big and full of air. Her hair floats up around her. Long beautiful ebony strands caress her face and shoulders. She kicks her feet, turning and turning her body, slowly, weightless. She bursts through the surface and draws a loud gasping breath. Delight comes at the crispness of it. She pulls herself up and out, her grey t-shirt clings to her now, her hair stuck under her armpit. Her jeans are heavy with liquid. She drips on the wood of the floor, laughing aloud at her moment of madness. Who does this? Who fills the hot tub with water and flops like a fish in it fully dressed?
The urge to run is upon her. This is not her house. This is not her hot tub. She doesn't belong here. She has climbed the fence on a whim. If she is caught, she doesn't know what will happen. Heart pounding, hands cold, knees week, she sneaks to the side of the house. She dashes into the next yard. Its really cold now. She can see her own breath as she stands stiff at the corner. She sees headlights in the dark, a small utterance emits from her face. A dog barks.
She runs part of the way across the front lawn. There is a car turning on the road, so she lays flat on the grass. Silly child. Scrambling to her feet, her legs pump beneath her. Home, home, home. Only four houses to go. The car has turned around, just keep running. She ditches into her neighbors side yard, dives over the fence, entering her home through the back door. She runs to the front window. The car has stopped in her drive. She hurriedly peels off her freezing, wet clothes. Running to the bedroom, she pulls on her robe, slides into her slippers, and answers the door as she throws a towel on her head.
'We saw someone jump your fence, just wondered if everything was alright.' She nervously looks from face to face. They are so serious, so concerned. She smiles. 'I was just getting out of the shower. If you'd like a look around, feel free. But, I'm sure there isn't anyone out there'. They look into the tiny yard. Nothing. As they pull away from her home, she giggles. Close. |
posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 4:46 PM  |
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| Sunday, September 23, 2007 |
| Leave It Alone |
| The boy is curious about that wood stove in the corner. His mother has told him a billion times to stay away because it's hot. He wonders why they are constantly putting wood in its great iron belly. He can't fathom why his father springs back when the shining orange bits spew from its mouth. He can't figure out the mechanism that holds the gate surrounding the giant stove together. So he waits. He does not know what hot means. He does not understand its concept. He should listen to his mother, she may yell or make him sit perfectly still on the red chair by the wall. He doesn't want that to happen. So its waiting and watching, hoping one day the gate can be conquered. His father is hauling in the wood, mother is chopping it in the yard. He moves a chair stealthily to the stove. No one knows because they are out doors. He climbs the chair, hopping off to the tiles surrounding the beast. He feels the warmth of a thousand quilts on his face. Like when he was sick and the water poured out of his hair and down his back and made his hands slippery. He sees something bright and orange licking the insides of the stove. He reaches up, wanting to open the great iron door to peer inside a little better. His chubby fingers wrap around the metal handle, a sizzling sound, a scream and pain like he has never felt in his life. Oh! His mother is there, his father too. He is lifted into the kitchen, his hand dunked in ice water. Mother is frowning, tears stream down her cheeks. Father is angry, slamming cabinet doors, stomping and shouting at mother. He is scared. He is hurting. He should have listened to his mother. He understands now why mother said not to go near the wood stove. He understands the concept of hot. He learned the hard way. He had to practice his individuality in order to fully understand. Unfortunately he will carry a scar and painful memory his whole life because of that lesson, but it won't be the last. There will be many many more. His mother and father will warn him, they will teach him, they will guide him. In the end, he has to learn the lessons he is here to learn for himself. Mother will blame herself, she will shed tears and wish she could take away his pain, his scars. Father will feel helpless and frustrated, he will kick things, shout and stomp. One thing they will never do is turn their backs and no longer love. What a lucky boy. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 1:11 PM |
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| Friday, September 21, 2007 |
| Strike |
| CRACK! The ball has slipped from her fingertips behind her to the floor. Her face flushes crimson as she tries to get her traction less shoes to propel her toward the runaway thing. It rolls of its own accord, twelve pounds of whatever bowling balls are made of can move rather quickly if given the chance. Scrambling about, looking like she swallowed a canary, she snatches the thing out from under an other's legs. Barely a glance in their direction, she glowers as she wiggle-shuffles her way back to the lane. Wildly she tosses the ball onto the wood, CRACK! It gutters and rolls past the tall standing pins. Her frustration mounting, shoulders hunched, she hurriedly pinches up another ball. This time she swings it between her legs. The movement wipes her feet off the polished floor and into the air. She lies on her back. Once again, a crimson face. A silent prayer is uttered as an unkown gentleman offers a hand. Sensing her disgrace, he holds the ball for her as she struggles to her feet. Very patiently, he lines the ball up with his nose and eyes, then mock shots it .. to teach her form. She mutters a thanx and accepts the errant ball. Feeling obligated she mirrors his actions. She isn't really sure what he was looking at, and so aims at the first pin in the middle. She swings her arm back and releases at the knee, CRACK! The ball hits the lane.. she is standing bent and bull legged, but does not care. The ball beelines, hitting the foremost pins, they immediately fall like stacked dominoes! All but one, in the right corner, it's teetering, teetering.. she lets out a little yelp, and as though reacting to her emotional emittance, it falls to its side. STRIKE!! She nearly passes out. But, rather she finds herself jumping, and shouting, and grasping the sides of her head. She does not believe it! It seems the world has turned on it's axis a moment and she glances about. Everyone is looking at her. Again with the crimson face, she saunters to her chair, sighs and drinks the last of her beer. Off come the shoes. She squares her shoulders, straightens her shirt and returns them to a baffled attendant that informs her that she could play the game out.. to this she refuses. 'I just wanted to feel what it's like to make a strike.' and she strides out of the building with her head held high. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 6:19 PM |
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| Wednesday, September 19, 2007 |
| Bafoon |
I am.
Simple as that.
That's all I should ever have to be.
People keep saying, "One day, you will meet someone that will love you inside and out just as you are."
I am beginning to doubt that.
Highly.
I have mood swings. Sometimes I am really happy for no reason. Sometimes I am really mad. Sometimes I am sad. Lately more sad than anything.
I don't maintain a perfect house. At the end of the day, I am more worried about my kids going to bed, snug, clean, read to, fed, and feeling loved.. than I am about the dishes having been washed.
I like to kick cans.
I like to walk and dance in the rain.
I like to sing karoake at the local beer joint with people I have just met.
I like crowds.
I love coffee shops.
I like to wander around and look at wares with out buying anything.
I like street vendors and fairs.
I enjoy watching fire dancers, belly dancers, circus acts, art shows, and listening to poetry.
I like rock concerts.
I love caffiene.
Nothing astounds me more than the human mind in every form.
I am a cheerleader for the underdog.
I love meeting and being with people that most would exclude from most social venues.
I miss my friends.
I had a friend once that passed out roses with me on the city streets to sad people at random. She went with me to dances, to bars, to events. We would laugh so hard our sides would split, or cry so hard we shuddered. We sang together, had deep enchanting conversations for hours, danced together, and helped each other when we were in need.
I had a lot of friends like that.
Where have they all gone?
And so loneliness creeps.
I feel like a bafoon.
Ever get tired of yourself?
Yup.
Thats me.
I am. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 7:13 PM |
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| Tuesday, September 11, 2007 |
| Been a bad day. |
Today was rough.
It really was.
I woke up a bit late.
Out of coffee creamer..
Not a good sign.
Drop off kids.
Forgot medication.
I broke a nail at the convenience store.
Discovered I errantly mailed my paycheck to my parents in Califonia.
Off to work.
The boss is angry.
A co-worker is late.
We need to gas our monstrous vehicles.
Make it to the movie theatre forty five miles away.
We have half an hour.
On our way.
One of the people I work with starts channel surfing the radio..
turning it up.. turning it down..
rolling down the window and screaming into the wind.
I sigh and chew gum.
Everyone wants to go to a different show.
One doesn't want to see any.
The majority go.
I, The Rogue, and a co-worker sit around for two hours playing video games, walking aimlessly and prank calling the cingular store.
Movie is over.
Out come the rest of the bunch, all but one, but we don't notice that, no we get into our perspective vehicles and drive drive away.
The Rogue starts screaming, laughing for no reason, switching the radio, rolling the window down and up and up and down.
Suddenly she is tired.
Suddenly she grows quiet.
We are back.
I drop everyone off at home.
I am back at the office, locked out.
I wait for a half an hour.
Here comes a fellow that needs help with his job.
I am at a loss.
We wait outside.
Boss shows up looking as frazzled as I am feeling.
I am cleaning compulsively.
I do that when I am stressed.
She doesn't care.
We smoke, and I am released.
I go to the local watering hole.
Its like 'Cheers'.
I come in and a man I barely know jumps out of his stool and bear hugs me like we are long lost relatives.
I laugh.
Beer never tasted better.
I talk about my husband.
About his moving away.
Its sad, so I load the juke box with quarters, pick my favorites.
Johnny Cash.
Norah Jones.
Social Distortion.
Rolling Stones.
The Doors.
Guns N Roses.
I am feeling better.
Getting loose at the mouth, though.
I leave.
My boss calls with the news of our lost person.
I want to cry.
She acts as though I should know.
Its not like forgetting to ask for fry sauce when your picking up food for someone else!
I feel horrible.
The Lost can not speak.
He can not sign.
He has no means for communication.
I am worried sick.
Pick up the kids.
To the house, where my stepkids are all waiting.
My estranged husband called twice to ask if I wanted to see them.
Of course.
I cook dinner.
Phone rings.
My boss's boss.
She wants answers.
The Lost was found and placed into custody in Salt Lake City County Jail.
The Lost's father is quite upset.
I tell her what happened on my end.
I am waiting for her to fire me.
She doesn't.
Says to go to work as per usual.
We will meet on Thursday.
Estranged husband has been here.
We eat.
We talk.
We laugh.
We fight.
'Bars are for single people and bar flies'
Wonder which one I am.
The stepkids are interrupted from their quest for grapes growing hot on the vine in the backyard.
He takes them home.
I smoke.
I blog. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 10:24 PM |
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| Sunday, September 09, 2007 |
| Ode to Me |
Rake in all of your choices, pull the decisions from not so long ago.
Look at them carefully, scrutinize, critically, as though with your last breath.
Figure a way to make things right.
Figure a way to ammend the mistakes.
Clean up the mess that you have made of your life.
One can't live in a constant state of regret, remorse and sorrow.
It will stultify your soul.
Laziness abounds.
Any who function here would that they could exsist with out all the hassle.
Surely there is a place to escape where food presents itself for the taking with no work involved.
Surely there is the possibility of lying around in fields of flowers under arched color with out a care.
Is there no sovereign where one can be with out wreaking havoc on another?
Bad decisions in the life of a mother affects all of her children, be they blood born or not.
Bad decisions in the life of a wife affect the husband, his work, his functionality.
Bad decisions in the life of a woman will affect the palpatations of a loving heart.
If in fact a heart presides in that great heaving chest.
The decisions have been made, ground work laid.
One can't help but wonder if one is a glutton for punishment, or if one just enjoys nursing the hot searing pain associated with a broken world.
Its all torrential.
Rotten to the core.
But then, this is something that has been well versed.
This is a page visited once before.
Time to haul your baggage to the curb, realizing it is yours to deal with.
Time for restitution, indemnification, repentance.
You may not be able to fix it.
You may not be able to wave a magic wand.
But, you can pay.
You can always pay. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 10:58 PM |
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| Saturday, September 01, 2007 |
| So Tired. |
It hangs heavy over the mountain tops, huge, golden predictable.
It makes a slow ascent, only a half disc tonight, like a button partially pulled through the silk of the navy nights sky.
A spark of the lighter, crickets chirping so loud one can't collect her thoughts.
I should be sad.
I should be angry.
I should be broken.
I am disjointed, torn, tattered.
How does one pull the pieces together? Where does one find the nails, bolts, plaster, cloth, thread to patch the damage that has been done?
I am flat.
Steadily the golden hue becomes clean, white, bright as an angels wings.
It is oblivious to laughter, to pain, to the beating of a billion hearts.
It feels no fear, has never experienced rejection, does not know sorrow.
Sometimes I would like to pull the button through.
Sometimes I want to fix the incompleteness of its closure.
Sometimes I want to be nestled in the craters and dark spots of that great disc, with out the cares of this world.
A glance over the shoulder, a gentle salute to the lifeless orb.
Goodnight. |
| posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 11:09 PM |
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