Flavours of stress

She comes home from work a mess of nervous. Four meetings tomorrow and deadlines lined up like bowling pins have her in a continual state of fight of flight. She bounces between the two with barely a pause. She reminisces about her days of unemployment and the stress free days of sitting around the house. In those days she wanted to work so bad that she would stay up at nights writing and re-writing her resume and cover letter. She was falling behind her classmates from university with every passing day. What would they say about her now? She reminisced about her university days when she didn't worry about the future and all she thought about was her cute boyfriend and the weekend ahead. Of course deadlines of a different sort plagued her days then. Assignments and petty arguments drove her to drink on the weekends. And when she would lie in bed hungover she would reminisce about her days in high school when her only worry was the cute boy in her class and whether her father would embarrass her when he picked her up. Maybe the future would be better, be stress free. Retirement is where it's at she decides and lies in bed thinking about the stress free days of senility.

The Art of Lonely Cooking

The key here is to stay away from anything fancy. No one wants a candle lit dinner for one or a feast to savour by yourself. It's like drinking alone, largely frowned upon by polite society. Simplicity is the theme.

Portion size and ease of creation also hold sway in this underutilized skill. It's few that can truly enjoy the simple art of eating alone. It takes a strong person to walk the line between gluttony and austerity that eating alone demands. It's too easy to live on the greasy portions of McDonalds or slip into a rut of beans on rice when one eats alone. This takes the joy out of life. One must learn how to enjoy food without conversation.

Portion control becomes difficult as one lacks the conversation to slow down the intake of the food. Thus one might finish, and not feeling full eat something more only to feel overly full half and hour later, or, on the flip side, one might quit eating while still a little hungry anticipating this reaction of his belly, but then a half hour after he has finished his meal his stomach still growls and he is forced into scavenging in the kitchen for something to fill the corners.

Some would argue that this art is useless and company and food don't actually have anything to do with each other. But I disagree eating with people is natural, eating alone must be learned.

in absentia

I pace my apartment trying to get my brain to work. Photoshop sits staring at me through my flat screen monitor with a half done project covering the screen like some tattered rag. The screen dims, then winks off by itself. I wiggle the mouse and it comes alive again. Nervous energy overwhelms me and I leave the room to scavenge through my fridge. The carrots are starting to wilt and the potatoes are beginning to sprout. I should use them but I can't pull enough together to make anything out of it. The potato chips on the cupboard are stale but it's my last bag so I finish it off. The yogurt's nearly finished so I grab a spoon out of the sink, rinse it off and eat the rest out of the container. Feeling a little better I go back to my computer to find it sleeping. I wiggle the mouse to bring it back to attention. The internet icon beckons me, but it's fruitless. I turned off my internet last month and the only open network exists just to tantalize me while being mysteriously unconnectable. The screen winks off again.

"Damnit."

The sound breaks the silence and recedes. Maybe I need a little music, something to break the monotony of the apartment. I open iTunes and flip through my catalogue trying to find the right song for my mood. Double click and the music pours through tiny computer speakers. But I can't think now. The project mocks me and my thought flees at the sound of music. It peaks out from where it's hiding but they doesn't get far before it's chased away by the music. The music stops and the single lonely thought pops out again to rattle around in my brain. The screen winks off again.

Callabo

                                                        Photo courtesy of Mystery Reflex

He was practically dancing his feet were so itchy. He stood in a group of people at the train station. Each  person had at least one piece of luggage in their hands, some, having both hands full, were kicking along a third piece at their feet. The talked in loud voices and expansive gestures as the waited in the line for their tickets. He was the only silent one, constantly shifting on his feet.
His face told stories of excitement at the hubbub around him and a certain sadness, as sad at leaving someone behind.
They got to the ticket booth and one of the men approached the window and ordered all the tickets. He handed over his credit card when asked and in return got a book of tickets for the group. Excitement was mounting in the group and you could see it affect the young man. His grin was wider now and his feet seemed to be detached from his body they moved around so much.
The man with the tickets gathered the group around and told them now was the time. A small cheer went up. Now they were ready and best be heading on to the platform to meet the train.
The group turned as one and made their slow way to the gate. Upon arrival they made a somewhat orderly line and got their ticket from the man with the tickets and went through the automated gates. Each went through, baggage in hand or kicked along at their feet.
When the woman in front of the man with the itchy feet got up to the leader he gave her the second last ticket and our man put down the luggage and gave her a hug. After that she was followed through the gates by the leader.
 He stood there, just outside the gates till she left and waved goodbye as she disappeared on the train.

New weird

"You take care now"
The sun was setting in the park and I was late going home again. I'd spent too many hours sitting on this bench talking lately and my wife was beginning to wonder why I was always late.

"Yeah you too. Tell your wife I said hi. On second thought that might not be the best idea."

"No, you're probably right."

It was a small town and being as it was such I knew just about everyone there was to know. Comes from being a cop so long I suppose, but it also makes my job more difficult. If I was a lawyer I'd be pulled for conflict of interest on every case, but in this town that's unescapable. Take this here case. He was almost my brother-in-law before he got too wild. We both look a little worn out now. We both got grey hair and faces betraying our age. We could be brothers, we're probably cousins. But time marches on and we make our choices and then there we are staring at each other separated only by the law. Then he took it too far on whiskey and meth and ended up killing his wife, and though he didn't know it then, his unborn child. When something like that happens it tends to rip away any past, at least for the moment.

"I suppose I should thank you."

"I don't think that's really the case."

"I wasn't doin' nobody no good though. It's easy to see when I don't got whiskey clouding my brain. I've learned a lot since then."

"Good to hear."

"You know I don't know if I can keep doin' this. It gets harder every time you know that."

"Yeah. I guess time does that. Destroys all your ties after a while."

"Hey, you ever hear of how my Grandpa saved a women from a building fire?"

"You're just full a stories now aren't you?"

"It's all I got to do sometimes you know. We just sit around swapping stories. Couple of really old guys have some of the most interesting stories around. Guys so tied to this here bit a land that they've got stories going back for ever."

"Doesn't sound like it's too bad eh?"

"Nah. It can get boring and repetitive though. I suppose after a while I'll be able to move on from that whole thing."

"And then where?"

"Don't know. Not back here though."

We both share a bittersweet chuckle.

"Anyways I really got to go though."

"Yeah I know. There's only so much time you can sit around talking to ghosts of the past."

I put on my jacket and walk away. You know when I caught him I nearly shot that son of a bitch. Figured it's what he deserved. But I made my mind up not to. Vengeance is mine saith the Lord. Turns out the state thinks so too. For all that I would of shot him it hurt when I watched him in that chair.

Underground parking garages are another world

In artificial lighting and stale air four-wheel drones zip in and out of a forest of concrete pillars and squat metal structures. Human activity is cut to a minimum. They zip forth from metal conveyances to exits and back. It's not a human's world down here in the harsh fluorescent light.
Back and forth these drones go ever searching for yellow lines boxing in an empty expanse of grey concrete. Oversized vehicles squish in to undersized squares in a competition to see who can stop the fastest.
Keen eyes gaze from inside vehicles searching, always searching. Minutes tick by as the same vehicles pass the same vehicles. 
The world is squished to two dimensions, hemmed in by concrete over and under. Sandwiching between it these ever wandering beasts of metal. There's no mind down here just ever present vigilance for that one open spot, the space between yellow lines.
And then one of the sleeping beasts awakes. Eyes light up and the world is put on pause as the beast begins it's preparations to leave the space. 
Once all is secure it moves out while another squeezes into the space and a third try to sneak past on it's a unfulfilled quest and a forth goes away with shattered expectations.
Then out of the depths of the metal beast people get out and scurry toward the lights past slow moving metal objects.

Something I've been working on

I am the Lord of Dream

that unscientific wonderland of the mind

The ruler of power and weakness.

For sleep and dreams are fleeting and vital

Those poor few for whom sleep is denied

And dreams only ambition

Steadily lose their connection to reality

and float off into a grey suburb of purgatory

Yet what would happen were the world to

if only for a split second, lie awake?

Many a dream have I pondered this

as women go to school naked and men fail to run from pursuers.

My older siblings Death and Life always get the attention

Like most twins they move in sync throughout the world,

bringing happiness and sorrow in equal measure.

Such a serious duo for a weighty task

But what am I but the prince of The Small Death

and the queen of your ambitions?

What is life without sleep?

And where goes the arrow of your timeline without ambition?

It is with considerably more humour

that I go about my work

toying with the sentiments and sorrows

of the rulers and the ruled.

In laughter and sorrow I dance through harlequin halls

In this ever-changing country of dream

As the world changes I too change

and as the world stays so too do I

With joy I maintain my contradictions

It's the privilege and obligation of dreams to do so.

How else can you see around the corners of this world

except by a twisting of the mind so sever as to pop your arm out of its socket?

It is in opposition and contradiction we live and thrive.

People point it out in the history books

and strive to eradicate it through more research

But they can't

And they never will

For in the heart

Where you fall in sleep

Nothing is so simple as fact