Month: December 2019

Monday’s Theme Music

Counseling myself last night as I stepped out and hunted stars through the descending night fog, I thought about plans, and how easy it is to slip into a comfortable rut and let yourself stay there, successful in the rut to the detriment of everything else. I realized that I’d done that to myself. Easy to do, especially when the rut gives you joy.

My rut is writing. It satisfies me in so many ways, but it definitely steals energy from the rest of my life. I knew I had to shift myself out of my rut when I had my response to agents being interested in some of my work and my response was, meh. That’s just not right.

So I began hunting and shifting the mental and emotional levers to ply myself from my rut. More easily said, am I right? The duality of it all struck me. I’m a person that feels the darkness and rages about once a month, ready to shuck everything in fury and despair. Then that passes and I’m good to go again. I’m fortunate that I know my cycle and cope with it, but not fortunate that I have such a cycle. I’m fortunate, too, that I can see into myself and find the levers to change the cogs. This comes from being sixty plus and having friends and relatives who’d make comments to me that opened my awareness to how others see me, subsequently providing me with greater insight into myself. It comes from luck, too; others know these things but struggle more with it than me. (Yeah, and there’s a ton of other stuff, nature vs. nurture, socialization, genes, etc. We’re dynamic, complicated beings, always playing on the balance of a blade.)

Well, to the music, then, because this is about the day’s theme music. Into this crucible of thought flowed words from “Over My Head (Cable Car)” by The Fray (2005).

Everyone knows I’m in
Over my head
Over my head
With eight seconds left in overtime
She’s on your mind
She’s on your mind

h/t to Songmeanings.com for the lyrics, because it’s easier to get them right by copying and pasting.

It was that ‘eight seconds left in overtime’ that I keyed to, not that there was pressure, nor that time was running out, rather the impetus from the image of a sports game that something needs to be done. The goals are clear; now execute. Get ‘er done.

Laborious explanation for a song choice, innit? Happy Monday, campers. Cheers

 

1

Recognition

Looking up from his phone screen (where he was flipping through social media) (and nothing was catching fire), thinking about what he wanted to do for lunch (and what friends might be available today), he considered the skies outside the windows. (Well, where else would skies be?)

Classes were out. He didn’t go to college (he’d graduated years ago) but somehow, most of his friends were younger than him and students, and had gone home for the holidays. He didn’t, because Mom and her boyfriend went to Mexico for the holidays, and Dad was already in Europe with his second wife and that family. His sisters each had invited him to their homes but they were their homes. He’d done that before, going to Kendra’s home for the holidays once, but he’d felt like a stranger, and didn’t want to do it again.

(Plus, of course, was the sadder part that he didn’t want to dwell on, that he and his partner of four years had broken up the day after Thanksgiving. He’d been planning the holidays with her. Most of the people outside of the young people that he knew were her friends, because he was the transplant to his valley. Not thinking about all of that made it easier to manage.)

Winter had clearly arrived in the valley. Light rain was falling but cold air was drilling through his clothing (he should’ve dressed warmer but he thought it would be a nicer day). It could snow, he thought, even though the forecast didn’t say anything about snow. Forecasts can be wrong, his father used to say, but that was back when he (and Dad) (and weather modelling) were younger. They knew a lot more about weather modelling and forecasting than they did twenty or thirty years ago.

A woman entered the coffee shop. Recognition flashing through him, he stared, unable to stop himself. She glanced his way but kept going toward a table. She looked just like Ilya. He’d worked with Ilya down in California in a past life. It’d been, what, ten years?

Wow, ten years. They’d been in relationships, so they hadn’t dated. It clearly wasn’t Ilya (because the woman didn’t recognize him) (and she was too young) but everything from the strange, fuzzy auburn hair to the athletic (but hippy) figure to her height, weight, the way she carried herself…wow, it was Ilya down to every detail.

The woman glanced his way (probably because she felt his stare’s weight).

He looked away (because he thought it rude to stare at others) (and only did that when he was drinking heavy, which he no longer did). Yet, he couldn’t help but look at her again when her back was turned. Walking across the coffee shop to the counter, it was just like watching Ilya.

His cappuccino finished and his stomach rumbling, he decided to venture into the day to find food. Passing the woman as she left the counter to go back to her table, he said with a small smile, “I’m sorry that I was staring at you.” They stopped, she with a leery glance. He said, “You just look exactly like a woman I know, except you’re about twenty years younger. But you could be her daughter.”

That would be wild, he thought, and laughed to himself. Then, he said impulsively, “You’re not Ilya’s daughter, are you?” He guffawed at his silly joke.

Her eyes widened. “No, but Ilya is my name.”

“No way. Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. It’s just…wow. Well, you look just like my friend, Ilya. You could be her clone.”

Ilya smiled at him. “Maybe I am.”

Was it him or was something happening with them? “Are you in a relationship, Ilya?”

“Not yet,” she said. “Let me give you my number. Maybe we could get coffee.”

“I’d like that,” he answered. “I’ll give you my number, too.”

“Okay, I’d like that, too.”

Outside, afterward, he couldn’t help grinning up at the sky as flurries swirled around his head. Looks like the forecast had changed. Then, although it felt like the temperature had dropped, he took his time as he walked up the sidewalk, smiling at himself, recognizing, something had changed.

Whatever it was felt really good.

 

0

Sunday’s Bumper Sticker

An old, cynical one. Growing up around Pittsburgh, PA, numerous small businesses had this framed on the wall behind the cash register (or beside the register on the counter). I don’t see it much any longer. I blame credit cards.

 

3

Beatflooftudes

Beatflooftudes (floofinition) – The blessings of sharing a life with animals.

In use: “Blessed are those share their homes with cats, dogs, birds, fish, and other creatures, for their spirits are nourished with love.”

 

0

Sunday’s Theme Music

Today’s theme choice began as I slapped my head and asked, “What am I thinking? Where is my mind?”

I was annoyed with myself for being distracted, feeling like I haven’t been remembering things as I should (and partially blaming writing because I was becoming more intense about it).

Then, “Where is my mind?” circled through again. Parts of a song were seen and heard like minnows flashing in and out of a creek’s shadows. I believed that I knew such a song. I thought, well, I can search for it on the net but I wanted to give myself the chance to remember it.

More song peeked out. I remembered, oh, a movie. Wait, is that right? Yes, yes, there was a movie, the song was used in a movie. I remembered that the movie was Fight Club, and then, like it was beamed into my brain, I recalled, oh, the Pixies, “Where Is My Mind?” That made me laugh. I wasn’t sure what year the song emerged and had to look that up (and also confirm that it’d been used in Fight Club). Yes, to the movie, and 1988.

Listening to this song always makes me smile. Don’t know why. Wow, where is my mind?

 

 

 

0

Humaverse

“Listen,” she said. “It’s very simple.”

Although she was a little girl (four, I’d guess, and then remembered, oh, yeah, she told me that before, she is four) with a high-pitched voice, her tone carried a judge’s authority.

“I’m listening,” I said, injecting a hint of jocularity.

My hint gained me an eye-roll. “We remain in a humaverse. It’s only the timeverse that’s changed.”

I conjured up more questions. She stilled them with a small rosy palm.

“Stop. I know what you’ll ask,” she said. “The humaverse is the universe as humans perceive it.”

I pursed my lips to issue another question but faced the all-powerful palm again.

Eyebrows going up, she tilted her head. She did that often, resembling a small dark-haired, white parakeet when she did. “I’ve been through this before. Let me finish. Humans have certain perceptions and observations that create agreed and accepted preconceptions about how everything is supposed to work, like gravity, time, and light, for instance. I’m talking classic physics, of course. Light travels at cee. Gravity is a force that causes bodies to be attracted to one another, as Newton expressed in the most commonly accepted explanation in this humaverse. Time flows from the past to the future and can’t be revisited. Well, it can but you need to shed preconceptions to make that work. Most people can’t.”

Her glance lashed me. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m sure that you can’t.”

“Hey, that’s — ”

“Excuse me, I’m not finished. So, that’s why it’s called the humaverse. It’s the universe as humans define it. Others can use it, though, but they’re not usually limited by the humaverse’s laws. It depends.”

“Okay.” It depended on what? “And a timeverse?”

“A timeverse is an agreed upon reality within a humaverse based on the constraints and parameters established by the results from major events of a specific time-period, as humans think it happened.”

“Like…who won world war two.”

“Everyone always brings that one up.” She sounded mystified. “That, and Jesus of Nazareth. But, yes. There are many timeverses. Some people call them alterverses, but they’re not really. To be a true alterverse, enough residual chi-energy to change humaverse rules must be present. I’m talking about classic physics, of course.”

“Of course.” Like I knew, but I didn’t want another eyeroll. If her eyes were weapons… “So…there can be more than one humaverse?”

“Of course. Now we’re wasting time. Yellow will be coming after us. Let’s go.”

Swinging around, she marched off. “Adults,” she said. I wasn’t sure if she talked to herself, me, or someone else. All were possible with this child. “They can learn if they can just forget.”

As I hurried to catch up with her, I thought with cynical amusement, I never will.

1

Rushed

Catering to his beloved pet’s needs, he opened the back door for his ginger feline. “Go on, then. I’m telling you, it’s freezing out there. You’ll be sorry. You’ll want back in after a few minutes.”took

Despite sunshine, icy air was rushing through the open door. Tail up, the cat bounced forward with a posture that called forth a heroic flourish of trumpets.

Halfway out, the cat went still, paws caught in motion.

“In or out,” he snapped. “Come on, cold air is filling the house, and all the heat is getting out.” He could hear the furnace kicking on. “Damn it — ”

The cat chittered. An enormous scrub jaw was hopping about the icy grass. Apparently seeing the cat, it flapped it wings with an outraged screech and took flight.

The cat ran out but the bird was gone. The cat scowled back at the man with an irritated tail swish (oh, yes, cats can scowl). He was clearly saying, “I could have gotten him if you hadn’t rushed me.”

“Right,” the man replied with a dismissing snort. “That bird was bigger than you. Let me know when you want back in.” He closed the door as the cat walked away, tall up, all forgiven, searching the yard for another distraction.

2

Floof Generis

Floof Generis (floofinition) – The impression that people think their pet is unique, usually due to its coloring, personality, or an unusual physical attribute.

In use: “She thought Dolphin (who loves the water) was floof generis but after posting his photos and descriptions on the Internet, she discovered others’ pets behaved the same way or resembled him. Dismissing the evidence, she remained convinced that he was floof generis; none were like him but you had to live with him to learn that.”

4

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