while your coffee brews

Watching CurrentTV with Tye-Dye boy last night we saw a video that gave us a few laughs. Here is the link to the web site to view while your coffee brews.

debt of reckoning

'Don't you worry about this' advice was given to the daughter. It wasn't so much an act of reassurance, but a defense for the father to avoid the truth. If we just bury this under a stone, or sweep it under a rug, or put on the blinders and look the other way, then it doesn't apply. How long can they avoid what's coming? How long can they plunge into these traps and know they will not be able to pay it back. When will they face up to the bars they've set upon themselves, and own it? Or rather, owe it.

A phone call came one morning. Really three calls but the other two picked up didn't have sound on the other end. But she saw the number, and it was the same one throughout the morning. The last call had a voice on the other end. A deep gravelly voice asking for Charlene with the last name better known as a Princess of Wales. The question was met with a long pause, she knew this was not a personal inquiry, this was a whole other matter.

"Why do you need to speak with her?"
"Do you know her, or know where I can reach her?"
"Who is calling and what do you represent?"
"This is James from Regional Adjustment Bureau."
"Give me your number."

With the opportunity computers allow us today, she could easily dig around and figure out just what this company's services were. It didn't take long, and she knew this was coming: a collection agency.

The call to mom and dad had been tossed around in her mind. Should she claim ignorance or should she come right out and tell them a collection agency is seeking to find them? Playing the ignorance card would be too much work, so she chose to blurt it out plain and simple, "you've got a collection agency calling here for you."

It was agreed that she would receive a call back as soon as they got home, in order for the father to jot down the number. In the meantime, the mother and father managed to speak with someone, it's a mystery who, that informed them this was illegal. The father worked up a bit, well, really mad said, "Give me the number, I'm gonna tell them what they are doing is completely illegal! It's harassment! We're not going to do what they want! They can't be doing this. They've called us before and offered a program to pay back this credit card Charlene has and we are just not going to do it! We've been late on payment, maybe a day or two and they slam us with fines and fees and increase the interest rate. And then if she makes a big purchase they up the rates again! So we decided we are not going to pay it and they can't do anything about it. They just won't get their money!"

She knew to give any advice or contradict this method of madness would result in arguing. Passive in her response, but so very sad internally, she tried to calm him lest he have a stress related heart attack.

These two, her parents, leave such a void in her life. Without a firm stronghold, a foundation, she looks to what she knows and not what they can give her. But yet, she is still without. So she clings, reaches, finds and loses hope but the sun continues to rise and fall, the seasons change and the people make a muck of it all.

She will not worry.

states of matter

The table with the red-checkered plastic cloth is where we gathered. Right next to the neglected grill where you can grill your own steak and have a beer. Rarely was the grill used. I used to be confused why it was even there, tucked into a corner near the tables. But it was the regulars table, a popular spot, so we squeezed in there right next to it. You were recognized if you sat there as a regular, or your face was shown in this joint one too many times.

Denice was my boyfriends sister and the barmaid. The printshop I worked at sat directly behind on Wells Ave. It's easy to see what brought me here. Familiarity and ten steps. Tutalinis tavern (prounced toot-a-lean-knees) is where we sat, displaced and finding ground one beer after another. We found friendship in common with laughter and idleness.

Where he came from, who brought him in, are facts I never bothered to find out. But he was there, a wind that filled our sails, a bolt of electric vibe that was entertaining, inclusive and addicting. His jokes sent roll over laughter through the crowd, his eyes making eye contact in understanding but he only wore a smile. Engaging he would ask questions of us and expand on answers making even the sincerest truths funny. He wasn't making fun of us, but with us and we learned to laugh at ourselves and himself and all the little trivial things in life.

He became a requested person of interest when he wasn't around. "When is he going to be here?" "He usually gets here around 5." "He must be working overtime." We'd wait like it was a show we had tickets for, patiently, expectantly. And then the times he would show up grew few and far between. Rumors hovered that his wife was upset with him and this lifestyle. We justified it, 'it is only an afternoon with friends . . .'
We needed him. She needed him. He needed himself. Like the characters from The Iceman Cometh, we were possessive for selfish reasons. And much like the salesman character, he arrived sober and drinking cola. With a casual air, unlike the salesman, he casually informed us he would not be visiting anymore. He came to a conclusion, with his wife and perhaps himself, that this was a destructive life.

The silence of future gatherings caused me to think. The laughter was never again spontaneous and bursting. We didn't speak about it after his announcement. The numbers around the table lessened until the few left were migrating to the stools at the bar. Our faces pointed directly in front of ourselves facing the mirror at the back of the bar, never again sharing our smiles.

the $1 deal

She spots a laptop at a garage sale

Shoud I get this, maybe J could make it work?

There might be a problem with no cord, maybe you could get a universal cord.

It is only a dollar. Should we get it?

Yeah. I do have that laptop at home that i could fix and you could use.

Well, if we can get this one working it'd be cool to use it.

It may be hard to use with different applications and stuff.

It'd be worth a try, to learn something new. I'll see if J could do something with it. Don't put too much effort into the other one in case this works.

a day or two pass. The laptop is tucked away but not by the one who wanted it. In the meantime, the other laptop is worked on and made to run, but very poorly. It is slow (like three minutes from page to page) and will not show a full page on screen. J (with no speaking role) finds the garage sale laptop and pulls it out of hiding

(from this point on, in order to avoid confusion, the garage sale laptop will be referred to as #1 and the older laptop will be referred to as #2, when necessary)

A dollar laptop, can't beat it! Do ya think you can get it working? she asks.

That's my laptop!

Uh . . . I was the one who spotted it and remember i wanted to see if j could get it working?

But i was being nice and fixing this one (#2) for you! That one (#1) is mine!

I was afraid this would happen. You'd work on this one (#2), with the expectation that I would use it and claim the other one (#1) as your own. What if this one (#1) works better? I'd rather have it since i wanted it in the first place, and the other one (#2) is not working well. That was very nice, but I did say not to work on it (#2) until J has looked into this one (#1).

but all i am saying is that it (#1) is mine to work with that's why i bought it.

but remember, I spotted it and said I'd see if J could work on it. It was my idea to buy it with the thought it would be mine whether it works or not. I only asked you if it would be a good idea.

here i was being nice for you getting this one working and your not going to use it?!

well, if it continues to be so slow i don't see any reason why i should, it'd be a waste of time. Beside that, it was my find, my idea, why now has it become yours?

WORKSHOP:
How has the girl been treated? Was there a bit of manipulation, or was it all a huge misunderstanding.

If you conclude manipulation, define how it took place.

If you conclude misunderstanding, define how it came to be.

captured images

Blank. That is my thoughts today. So instead of words, here are my expressions.

need anything from the store?

Thrusting the bouquet of carnations toward her he fantasized she would bolt up and exclaim her thanks and adoration at his kind gesture. Hero to her desires, he would be elevated to a lofty, lordly position. The inner workings turned on these thoughts but the gears, hardwired for failure and disappointment took hold instead. Preparing himself for the imagined letdown, he expected her to be cold and passive in her gratitude. But still, a small part of him hoped in the fantasy.Readying himself for the calculated dejection, he formed in his mind blame. Blame her for her unthoughtful attitude. Blame her for rudeness. Blame her for ungratefulness. Shift the emotion, then you don't have to carry any, or be accountable for any.

Premeditated actions fell into place as if rehearsed a thousand times. The thrust. The exclamation--they were beautiful flowers. The rapid withdraw of the arm, eyes rolled, stomping off in vocal exasperation. Although he did not take into account she was occupied with tasks. I suppose he didn't hear her exclamations. I suppose he didn't see she was in the middle of tasks, hands and arms already in motion preparing for company. Did he expect her to drop everything and, oh yes, that's right, bolt up and run immediately to find a vase?

Before leaving to go to the store he asked is there anything to pick up. The thought was on her mind the day before to pick up a bouquet of carnations to fill a wall pocket and perhaps have a centerpiece for the table. She dismissed the idea knowing she would have no time at all to make a trip to the store with every minute filled with preparations. So this presented a perfect opportunity. The request was made along with a couple bags of ice.

The flowers were not a surprise, just another item on the list. Yes, they were nice along with the necessary ice. And the offer to pick up items, very thoughtful. These favors were met with gratitude. But it's those gears worn from hurtful childhood experiences that have chinks and broken edges that have been ground to function a little off from true, that slipped off a tooth here and there to clunk unnecessarily. She used to try and file them to true, precise mechanisms turning smooth. Habit and familiarity cause the gears to slip back into position. Her file has long since been put away, exhaused and beat from effort, she will not take the yoke of righting the wrong.

profanity of profanities

Sitting on my porch at my old house I overhear a conversation going on in the street. It's not a two way conversation. It's a construction worker talking on the phone. His voice raised for whatever reason, cell phone necessity? Perhaps he was around the wood chipper too long. I dunno. But I do know I can hear every amusing word used to describe his situation dotted in between with f*****g this and f*****g that. Throw in a s**t for punctuation, when necessary. I remember it was a general conversation, not so much a rant of frustration as you might expect, but a simple phone conversation. Just littered with casual interjections of profanities.

I wondered if he talks like this everywhere. Or if it is difficult not to. Does he have to form sentences in his mind and edit before opening his mouth. Imagine if you were to walk into a jewelry shop to buy a piece of jewelry and the salesperson pulls out of the glass cabinet sparkling rings and necklaces describing them as f*****g beautiful s**t.

It is two simple words that describe this behavior: bad manners. The words and thought typed completely unnecessary. But I still wonder what drives a person to let their conversation be spiked that way. A learned behavior put into practice by parents? By brothers/sisters? By co-workers. I'm not saying I don't have a few similar words tumble out here and there. Mostly when I'm pissed. Wouldn't it take a lot of work to interject these words throughout sentences? Does he feel uncomfortable when he has to suppress the profanities?

Give it a try. It's hard to do.

The f*****g sign sits so tall and red in front of our house. S**t, it's standing firm like a f*****g soldier. Our Realtor's smiling picture presented in full f*****g color. I wonder if it will fade in the s**t assed sun and become a hideous f*****g blue. I am mixed with repulsion and f*****g flag waving pride. It swings uphill from the f*****g wind. The wind always blowing in the same direction. Up f*****g hill. In the winter, the wind changes to blowing at a s**t assed angle. I'm always glad in strong winds, when I see the trees waving toward the f*****g street. I like to think if the f*****g tree were to fall, it would fall in the street.

S**t, I haven't seen any f*****g hummingbirds tending to my f*****g fuchsias this year.

I'm exhausted.