Monday, November 07, 2005

pretty like a plastic bag

There’s sun. Warm on my right side. Showing off all the dust on this too heavy laptop. Showing off all my fingerprints and where I wrote “hi” on the screen a few days ago. I haven’t felt this kind of warm in what seems like weeks but is probably just days. And listen. Can you hear the wistfulness in me because it seems to be resting in all the little spaces that letters hold. It’s in the half circles of the lower case e’s. In the triangles of the upper case A’s. The u’s. They hold a perfect little measure of it. Filled up ever so carefully like cups of tea.

Yikes.

I’m such a girl sometimes. Like cups of tea and wistfulness? Good god. I promise I don’t carry around pink streamers and have absolutely no penchant for skipping. Further more, the last time I probably curtseyed while sober was in the 4th grade. But but but. I go and get myself into situations that pave the way for me to write things like “wistfulness” and “cups of tea” and further more these current state of affairs also make me stare out the window for up to 45 minutes at a time. Even worse, these situations occasionally force my head in his direction, soften my eyes and then implant the idea that my, he is quite lovely. Oh boy! Problematic! Wow! Nothing but trouble!

Can anyone lend me a hand here?

I need to be bubble wrapped and set in a safe place, say the garden spot in the Chocolate Factory, for about 6 – 8 months. I can have two visitors a day as long as they are unattractive and utterly lacking in creativity and spunkiness. I should be fed only hot cocoa and shortbread cookies and perhaps taken out for fresh air on Sunday mornings. In the unlikely event of a security breach and an interesting and darling would-be muse stumbles across my path, the following steps should be taken immediately: 1) more bubble wrap 2) more cookies.

So as you can plainly tell, I’ve accidentally fallen in love. And I mean that in the car accidentally kind of way.

This relationship is like a New York City deli at 12:15. I’m holding my number in my left hand and maybe I’ve gotten the head nod and I've maybe gotten the “I’ll be right with you.” but the fact remains that I’m holding onto number 34 and they are clearly only on number 29. So clearly in fact that it’s lit up in three foot tall red light bulb letters behind the counter. I knew going in it would be busy. I knew when I grabbed a number that I’d be waiting in line. But dang, if I’m not disappointed about it anyway. I had this idea that my number would be up right away because, well, I’m maybe the best thing since the sliced bread lining the stainless steal. I figured the sandwich guy would take one look at me and holy shit, that girl with the number 34 in her hand is about as wonderful as pastrami on rye. Step right up, sweetie - - I’m making you a sandwich.

But nope. I’m waiting in a line that might never move. Or move in a year. Or move in a decade. And then maybe I’ll get some email saying “Hey, where did you go and do you still want that sandwich” and I’ll be living in Sweden with some boy named Hans and that will be that. Two ships. Nighttime. No good.

I hate missed opportunity.

I know it’s a big big world and there are thousands of dark haired boys who will be able to make me laugh and who are in need of some type of corrective eyewear but DANG. I had my heart set on this particular one right now and there ain’t much I can do about it other than be sad for a little while. And hurt for a little while. And wanting to lay in traffic for a little while. Side street, not highway. But still. I woulda swam oceans for the chance of him. I woulda bet my mad knitting skillz on us being perfect fits. Instead, he’s sticking with something it’s not in the cards for me to understand. Hey it’s time to cue the theme song and roll the credits. Time to turn up the lights.

13 comments:

Me.Myself.I said...

I think that I held my breath the entire time that I read that post.

Stunning.

The New York deli - priceless.

"Filled up ever so carefully like cups of tea." Sigh. If only I could construct a sentence so wonderful.

I totally feel ya with what's a goin' on. Guys w/a need for corrective eyewear get me all the time. Ain't that the truth.

Irene I.P. said...

Come home, we'll have blankets of bubble wrap for you.

heatherfeather said...

for some bizarre reason, you put into far prettier prose than i could exactly where i am right now...

"cups of tea and wistfulness"... i've had bottles and bottles of wistfulness lately.

"dark haired boys who will be able to make me laugh and who are in need of some type of corrective eyewear" check, check, check (times two)

mad knitting skillz. check.

cookies please.

jay are said...

wow what fantabulous writing. that was most excellent. I can't wait to read it again.

extraspecialbitter said...

I've been to that deli - their corned beef is the best in The City.

Your post made me think differently about chamomile. Thank you.

Rusty said...

Well written, Haiku girl.

I love the ambiguous locations of the wistfulness.

Choosing words wisely, you have the ability to say the most amazing things; make the most pointed points.

Like your first commenter, I think I held my breath through the entire post. And I'm no scuba-diver.

David Collett said...

How does the wistfulness get into the closed spaces- like the 'e' and the 'A'. I can understand how it gets in the 'u', but not the other two.

Does it come down like rain and is held in the cups by gravity? Or is some other force at work here...

Am I missing something?

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Jay said...

If all this Botox hadn't left me unable to smile, I would be smiling at the prose you dish out for us whenever you feel we're special enough for it.

As it is, you get a grimace. But but but...it's a very heart-felt grimace. :-)

Ace said...

You say things like no other.

Anonymous said...

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David Collett said...

I think that last post was bloggerspam mark 2.0

It's pretty sneaky

Unknown said...

Y'all are too nice. I say that a lot but dang if it isn't true. I'm a lucky girl.

Anonymous said...

really?

i'm trying not to miss my opportunity...