ninanevermore

Today on the drive into work, I was thinking about the discontent that I can feel crawling under my skin like snakes. On one hand, it's irritating. On the other hand, it kind of tickles.

Today at the stoplight, I noticed that the pickup truck next to me, once again, was being driven by a Chocolate Labrador Retriever.  I assume it was the same dog as last time.*  He did not have his Redneck in the back of the truck today.  I wondered where the Redneck was, and hoped he was okay.  I worried that the Retriever had taken to the vet and had him put down.  But the Redneck looked like he was only in his late 30's or so, that that seems a bit premature, unless he was very sick and the dog didn't want to spend the money to treat him.

The Lab was keeping one eye on the stop light while he used one paw to search the radio dial for something interesting.  I wished him good luck; it was the top of the hour and all stations were on commercial breaks.

When the light changed and the Lab took off, I pulled into the lane behind him and was delighted to see that he was, indeed, a good and responsible dog.  On his rear bumper was a sticker that read: PLEASE SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR REDNECKS!

 

*on this day: http://www.livejournal.com/users/neanahe/2005/05/27/

Driving into work this morning, I got to watch a fist fight.

A group of laborers for a road construction project were gathered on a grassy patch not 6 feet from the traffic. Two of them were faced off in boxing stances, with their fists up and their heads lowered. I thought they were just playing, at first. Then one of them through a punch and the other reciprocated. Sadly, the light was green and I didn't get a chance to stay and watch.

I should mention that these were not young men. The younger of the two looked to be in his 40's, and the older one looked at least 50.

It's been years since I've watched a fist fight. Maybe even as far back as high school. But the fights back in school were passionate fights about girls and insults and a need to burn off excess testosterone, with flailing fists and anything goes kind of rules. Heads got banged into lockers and faced crunched into the concrete of sidewalks. This was a measured match of bare-knuckle boxing between two very calm pugilists. I so wanted to see how it turned out.

I was rooting for the older guy. No particular reason, besides that I admired that he was still willing to throw it down at his age.

Driving into work this morning, I passed by a couple walking on the shoulder of the road. The woman had a white-tipped cane pushed out in front of her and was holding onto the arm of the man as she walked.

I have a guilty secret to admit: blind people are my favorite handicapped people, because they don't mind if you stair at them. I love that. You can study them, take them in, watch how they react with their environment, and they never get offended.

People are interesting and intriguing to me. I like to watch them, but you usually have to pretend that you aren't seeing them at all. If you strike my fancy to watch, it means that I find you interesting, like a painting or a work of art. I am taking in the poetry of your movement, your conversation, your clothes, your features. It is a compliment, but only I know that and I can't explain to you that it is because you wouldn't understand.

The woman was young, but large. She must have weighed twice as much of the man. She wore her brown hair pulled back in a pony tail. His hair was long, past his shoulders, and braided into corn rows. She was white, while he was what I call "ethnically ambiguous." They both wore baseball caps. He walked on the outside, his arm bent at the elbow so that she could grasp his upper arm for guidance.

They were a poem, walking along the side of the road.

Maybe someday they will make it into my notebook, and then into one of my readings.

But today, they are just a picture in my mind, my memory of this morning, walking along the side of the road on and October morning in Texas.

Driving in to work this morning, I wanted to turn around and go home. Nothing new about that. I pretty much want to turn around and go home on most mornings.

But rather than home, maybe I could go somewhere else. Just drive until I reached someplace beautiful, and sit there and write and daydream until the sun went down. Maybe I could drive all night, even after the sun went down. Settle somewhere else, become someone else. Someone interesting. Someone with pizazz.

I wonder how long it would take people to notice that I was gone?

Driving into work today my mind was racing and certain ideas and thoughts were like speed bumps, causing my mind to go airborne and land with a thud a few moments later, kind of like the General Lee. Thoughts about doctors and childhood nemeses and family feuds and hypocrisy and man's inhumanity to man danced liked naked pagans around the bonfire of my consciousness, howling and twirling and raising a ruckus.

By the time I pulled into the parking garage, I was mentally exhausted and feeling low on fuel. Caffeine should help; it usually does.

Driving in this morning, I barely paused at The Stop Light. The ferris wheel that no sees but me was spilling its slow spin, and all was well in the world.

It should be a relief, but it makes me nervous. Good times never last; they just serve as bookends for the bad times.

Today on the drive into work, it was raining like crazy. Two blinking red lights, a few flooded intersections.

On the other hand, the only think to keep me from driving as fast as I wanted to was the risk of hydroplaning. Cops HATE to get out of their cars to harass you in this weather. So, for that reason if nothing else, I kind of like driving in the rain.

The hydroplaning thing is scary, though.

Today on the drive in, I was surrounded by garbage trucks. Big, hulking, ugly garbage trucks. I saw one wherever I looked. Looking like rhinoceroses on wheels, they lumbered down the road, got in line first at every stop light, blocked up the lanes of traffic so that I could not pass. They grunted, groaned and squealed. Even though I could drive faster than them, I could not get away from the damn things.

Life is mocking me because I was supposed to put the trash can out this morning, but didn't.

Rats.

This morning at the stoplight the light was green and I did not stop. It's a Friday going into a holiday weekend, so traffic was light. Good, the last thing I need is weirdness today.

Though, considering that this is me we are talking about, a day without weirdness is like a day without caffeine - things are going to be off kilter until I get some in my system.

Now I'm going to be paranoid, waiting around the office for the weirdness to show up. Think I'll have another diet soda to tide me over until it does.