Ugly Betty

As you can see my phone is half as big as my foot. There is only one word for it - ridiculous. My own father laughed at me, he told me his phone from the 90’s was smaller. Then he took pity and offered me his new phone.

I’m still suffering. I bought it in a fit of panic; it was all I could get within walking distance. Clearly, I was very desperate.

The thing about this ‘phone’ is that it has a life of its own. It’s sort of like a pubescent teenager: it has attitude, it works when it wants, it calls who it wants and it has the most annoying habit of gabbing away in its static voice, drowning out everything else. Not only that but it’s extremely bipolar. It will unexpectedly throw its suicidal self out of my hands and bust into 4 pieces; only to mock me by coming back to life when put back together.

I hate the damn thing.

Additionally, it's hideous. It’s like one of those giant squashed bugs you see on the road and you can’t look away because the grotesqueness has left you dumb founded and amazed. All it needs is a retainer and the awkwardness will be complete.

Upside down, Inside out

It was one of those days. A day when I felt like the proverbial cat with its fur rubbed the wrong way. A feeling like my hair had been backcombed and my clothing were stuck with static. As though my mind had been shaken and stirred and left a mess. Flustered.

Mentally and physically unsettled.

I needed a walk. I needed to go somewhere where I didn’t recognize anything or anyone, where I had no associations. To clear my head. To regain my peace. But since that wasn’t possible I came home and tried to shut out the world.

I sit at the table and I feel that I should study. I sit on the couch and I can see all the things that need to be done. I lie on the bed and I’m tempted to sleep.

I need to think. I need space. I need sanctuary.

‘If I lay here, If I just lay here. Would you lie with me and just forget the world.’

An idea.

So I do it. I lie down on the floor.

I feel foolish. If anyone could see me they’d think it odd. But, no one can see me and I can’t see anything from down here either.

The floor is…well it’s the floor, it’s entirely neutral. It has no associations, it’s not reminding me of anything. It’s not telling me to get up and go. It’s not telling me to finish this or that. It just is. And at the moment - I just need to be. It seems like a good place to lie and clear things up.

It’s painful. My bones are pokey and the floor is cold. I can’t think and I’m very uncomfortable.

Wait. I can’t think. Brilliant. I’m beginning to see an inch. The chaos is becoming preoccupied with the discomfort. The pain gate theory has taken affect. One stimulus has been drowned out by a more immediate and dominant one. The inch has become a foot. The unsaid thoughts are drifting into corners and the swirling emotions have tied themselves up and are sitting, waiting to be untangled. It’s calmer.

Floor therapy is not so bad.

Somedays are like this, they just attack me. Sucker punching me and leaving me winded. But since I can’t pick a fight with my life I’ll settle for these small time outs while I contemplate how to befriend the bully.

For my future children:

When I was your age I had a car named Binny that was more beast than machine. You’re lucky you go to school in the morning without fear and fond flashbacks of your childhood flashing through your mind as you face unknown danger.

Binny had a mind and a will of his own. And had I not mistaken the length of his front and run into a wall he may have continued to run the AC as he chose and I’m certain had he had it his way we would’ve melted onto the weathered seats one fine day in the tropics.

Although Binny was not unfeeling and a cool wind was provided to us through the indomitable back window, which slid down with every mile we drove and gave us the constant reminder to mind nature and its wonders, as rain poured into the back seat and drenched its occupants.

Binny our accomplice on many night time adventures granted us a grand sense of excitement by puttering on with headlights that provided about as much light as two dim flashlights. Leaving us rounding corners blindly not knowing what would meet us as we straightened up – car, deer or the roaring sea.

As I owned a quarter of Binny I must say I did admire how Binny never ceased to spring something new upon us. Always eager to test our resolve and resourcefulness, some days Binny’s bumper would threaten to tip off the one rusty screw that held it in place and on others Binny would throw his hubcaps off and slouch down on a flat tire. Determined I daresay to give an air of casual humor. ‘Leave the humor to the punch buggy Binny, you foolish Hyundae’, I’d say.

Sigh.

Binny in all his wonder was a free spirit. He refused to be dominated by a driver and it took a great deal of muscle and time to flex the wheel on anything resembling a turn. I do not attribute this to the continual leakage of power steering fluid but more to Binny’s wild attitude and disregard for authority.

In particularly reckless moods Binny would scream from the front left tire area when making turns. A shrill, frightening squeal that enticed the passengers to cling to the seat and say a prayer or two as they wondered when exactly they’d entered a high speed car chase reminiscent of a Bruce Willis movie and occurring at the remarkable speed of 30 mph.

I’ll look back a year from now I’m sure and wonder what poor jungle creatures Binny is terrorizing after he sped off into the jungle upon realizing we were attempting to drop him off at the car pound.

Turning Tables

After a draining final exam month and then a much needed break I came back without inspiration. This unfortunate period lasted for about a week. But now my passion is reignited. Thanks to my roommates. No, don’t be alarmed I have not, dear friend, been keeping you in the dark about my life. I do not in fact share amusing moments with comical yet lovable roomies who may be messy but at the end of the day what’s a little dirt on the floor amongst friends?

No, in fact technically I’m the only person living in here. I’m not even referring to all the people living on my floor. Instead I mean the unwanted ants that have come fully installed in my apartment. They’re no friend of mine.

They’ve robbed me of my sanity and I am now killing them in the masses. There is so much Lysol on the counter that any food that so much as touched the surface has been obliterated. In fact even the memory of food having ever rested on the kitchen counters has been wiped clean. I have no idea what they’re eating. The floor perhaps? Dusty linoleum?

Those sick bastards.

They are however smart little things. This is full out psychological warfare. For example, sometimes they like to walk over to the living room area where there is definitely nothing to eat - just to taunt me. To tell me they’re running the show. They go where they want to go.

I’m beginning to question the balance of power in the animal kingdom. As humans we’ve thus far been assuming we’re at the top with our superior intellect. There may be more than meets the eye and even the seemingly common and insignificant ant is really a force to be reckoned with - something actually along the lines of a trained war machine, with tact and loyalty to the colony on par with any seen in our own history.

I should probably cut down on the Raid and Lysol to preserve what I have now discovered is a sensitive balance of power in the animal kingdom…not only that, but the fumes seem to be getting to my head now...