Ha ha ha!

The really annoying, disruptive and fairly disgusting annual fair is in town this weekend, and the weather is terrible, as is usual for the event.

Ha ha ha!



The self versus the package.

So….there I was at the grocery store, in my gaming t-shirt and my oversized shorts and metallic sneakers and septum ring, agonizing over the fact they were out of my favorite coffee, when in walked a lady completely done up: bleached, styled long hair, fake tan, loads of makeup, gym arms, short skirt, and what I call hoof heels — the kind that have a platform sole and a spike heel. She looked at me, and I looked at her, and I wanted to smile and acknowledge that there’s a million ways to be women, but she somehow gave off a “closed” vibe so I contented myself with wondering how and why she wore such vile shoes. And then she grabbed a gallon of milk and lumbered out the door to her giant ugly car and I thought, “This, ladies and gentlemen, is the anti-me.”


So now I’m starting to reference

past dreams in my dreams about the two of them. “Wait, I dreamed about you,” I hear myself saying in the new dream. The same feeling of loss is there, perhaps magnified this time as they move off into their lives, and I know they’re really gone.

The house is sold, the sisters separated. Is A. dead in this version, or the last? I can’t sort it out.

It was all so long ago. Why does it continue to haunt me?