A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || June 15, 2007 || 8:16 am


This morning I noticed myself only dumping a third of the Miss Vickie’s JalapeƱo potato chips onto the wax wrapper of my Subway sandwich. Usually I portion out roughly half the single-serving bag and fold the top carefully, securing it with a paper clip, saving the rest for another day. Today, no. A third or so; the other two-thirds stayed in the bag for other times.

This is how I do with things I only marginally like that are bad for me. With the unfortunate things I LOVE, I quit cold turkey and altogether. Sometimes it takes me a minute to work up to that precipice, but once I’m there I will leap grimly, forcefully and with utter conviction and abandon. This has –on more than one occasion– quite startled surrounding onlookers.

I’m not much of a crier and sure as fuck am not a complainer, choosing instead to set my jaw and Do Constructive Things. I sit here before you now, though, unashamed to tell you how utterly exhausted and emotionally spent I am. I want to go home, get my favorite blanky (of COURSE I have a favorite blanky, DON’T YOU??), the preciously striped one that feels like a hug, wrap up in it and go sit under a tree in the back yard and maybe have myself a good stress-releasing sob for a minute. Days like this are good for hearing the sound of someone reading me a story or singing me a song with my head in their lap. There are only a handful of people I would allow to comfort me, ever, in such a fashion. I need them like hell now and they are all –each and every one– miles and miles and miles away.

My boss-slash-way-tight-homey is not doing so great; I feel powerless to help him and this frustrates me. This, coupled with the selfishly assholey way some people have behaved with regard to his absence from the office has me wanting to say, “Come on upstairs, I will work on you. With a sledgehammer.” Some of these are people that he has poured and poured all his heart and skill and compassion into. My Doc doesn’t just proffer up lip service, he Walks The Fucking Walk and he does it with a great deal of humility. And even now, as wrecked up as he is, his primary concern is his patients. He made a small attempt to come and work a couple hours two separate days and made himself worse, bless his silly and stubborn heart. Normally I would have the mindset of, “It takes time to heal,” but there is something in this situation that is nagging at my insides and refuses to go away. All the worse is the fact that I can’t pinpoint the exact thing that unsettles me, like waiting for a shoe to drop and then observing the brand and styling of it.

Yesterday I drove a little ways to deliver a mess of My People (and surely you all know by now that My People are comprised of those I was born to/were born to me and those I herd up and gather to me for whatever reason like I was Their Appointed Whatever) to a seventies-style retro airport with the friendliest TSA agents EV. AR. (pictures of these fine and rare fellows to follow) so that they could head out to Scotland on a mission trip. My Scouty and My Maxim were among them. I’d no sooner punched out the lengthy drive back and had literally two tires in the drive when Maxim called to explain that the first plane had been struck by lightning (WE HAVE NOT HAD A SPECK OF RAIN IN WEEKS AND IT’S SO HOT AND JEEZOHPETER EVERYLASTTHING IS DYING, CAN YOU DIG IT??) and whoopsies, there were complications and whoopsies, maybe twelve bodies and thirty pieces of baggage were stuck on the east coast for a couple of days.

There were lots of phone calls last night, and given my overall impatience with explaining things to people and answering the same damn questions over and over, by the time I got in the bed last night I –in my characteristically self-destructive fashion– wanted to rub my nose with a baggie of the Peruvian Marching Powder or drive ninety-five down some back roads with no headlights on or walk into the middle of a redneck dive stuffed with drunk hilbillies while I wore a shirt that said “BLACK PRIDE.”

This all, magically and quite wondrously, gelled overnight and morphed into the state of being that I’m riding on now. There are lots of little peripherals besides these two big items that would be fine all on their own, or even grouped neatly together, but all of it at once has me a little fucking tweaked and ready to kill or be killed.

Doesn’t really matter which at this point.

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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