Quasimodo

Today I woke up with serious and debilitating foot pain. It was so terrible that I was hardly able to walk. But I had no choice and had to get to work. I had to make my morning train. I was in a hurry (of course) and had to double time it to catch my train. As I hobbled along the sidewalk, limping and cringing with each painful step I was reminded of my good friend Quasimodo.

I am sure you’re familiar with the deformed bell ringer of The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. (Why isn’t he the mascot for Notre Dame Football? A French named school with an Irish mascot?) I felt like the Charles Laughton version of Quasimodo, as I shuffled along trying to avoid any further foot discomfort. I almost felt like shouting, “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!”, as I climbed the ramp toward my train.  I’m sure the face I was making helped convey the whole Quasimodo look. My lips were snarled, my teeth were clenched and my left eye was squinting with each painful footfall.  

I’m sure at least three of you who read this will comment by saying, “Well go to the doctor then if it hurts so much”. And if it gets any worse I will, but you see, I am a man and won’t go to the doctor unless the foot is juuuust about to fall off. And that would only happen after the duct tape bandages had failed. So stow it.  Plus if I didn’t have that pain, what else would I write about? Happy trees and Disney flowers singing about how bright and sun shiny the glorious day was? Who’d read that? That’s lame. People like to read about pain.

Quasimodo wouldn’t be such a wonderful literary character without the immense pains he suffers. We wouldn’t care much for him if he was just, say a deaf bell ringer with Brad Pitt’s looks. We’d be like, “Damn, I hope that bell ringer falls”.

I digress however and return to my original point, my freaking feet. I thought it might have been the shoes but after buying new ones and still being in pain it must be something inside. I’m sure my alcohol intake and diet of microwave breakfast sandwiches isn’t helping either. But I refuse to accept the idea that my body can’t take care of itself and that I’m not as young as I used to be. I have to face the fact that my metabolism has slowed down considerably. It’s quite difficult to “check yourself before you wreck yourself”.

I also attribute my pains to the lack of any serious tender, loving care. Much like poor Quasimodo, I fall for every girl that wants nothing to do with me; or my pained feet. It’s not like I’m looking for a foot rub, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but it’d be nice to be in someone’s thoughts that way, as if they would consider giving me that foot rub because they care about me in that way and want to ease my self-pitying misery.

I hear bells.  

The rain and the right

Liz honored the rain. She felt it was like a car wash for the city; a quick way for Mother Nature to wash everything down and start over for a while. It appealed to her sense of universal connective-ness. Or as her, “Human Beings Humane”, teacher, Dr. Ragit Bagraba, taught her, that humans are connected to every act of nature and should not fight against it but embrace it as one would a deeply desired lover, or connectivitude.

Liz had been going to Dr. Bagraba’s seminars and lectures and had bought all his visualization books for the last several years. She was nearly as knowledgeable about Humans Being Humane as Dr. Bagraba himself; she just hadn’t reached Stage 13b yet. But in typical style she did not view it as a failure but as an unrealized opportunity for transcendeancitudeness, which was discussed heavily at the conference in 2009.

Dr. Bagraba had described Stage 13b as a state of perpetual calmness on seas of ever swirling energy. It was oneness with nothingness attached only to the inner child of emptiness.  It was a lot of breathing and Yoga and eating things that came from a goat and Liz wanted to reach Stage 13b. It was now her only motivating factor and each morning, after welcoming the sun in her room with the Stage 4a illumination dance, she would begin her Stage 13b preparations.

Since it was raining this morning however she decided to do the Rain Embrace mantra as fast as she could. She really felt that today was the day she could reach Stage 13b. She said her Rain Embrace hymn and hurried to her bathroom. All that Goat milk had played havoc with her digestive system. En route she noticed she had a voicemail message on her cell phone. She grabbed the phone from the charger and continued to the washroom.

She sat to do her morning business and checked the voicemail. It wasn’t a number she recognized but for her, all things happened as part of nature and it was to be embraced. She held the phone up to her ear and listened as her body did what nature designed.

“Ms. Liz Carpenter? This is Jerry with Bonanza Books and Tapes. This is my fifth call to you regarding the outstanding balance on your orders for Dr. Ragit Bagraba’s eighth and ninth book releases. Your current outstanding balance is $352.63. If this matter isn’t resolved by week’s end, we will be forced to send your account to collections. Please call me back at….”.

Liz hung up her phone and grabbed the toilet paper. Since dedicating herself to reaching Stage 13b she decided she wasn’t going to work anymore, so she hadn’t received a paycheck in months. By following Dr. Bagraba’s Stage 11c she could expect nature to provide her with all the things she would need in this life, before reaching ultimate freedom with nature at Stage 13b of course. Then, money, food and even sex, wouldn’t be necessary. Although lately she had been missing the sex.

She had a great boyfriend two months ago but he thought she was getting a little out of control with Dr. Bagraba’s teachings so he left her, but she justified it because that was what nature intended for her. Her soul would find satisfaction, sexual satisfaction in Stage 13b anyway.

Liz flushed the toilet and wished her natural releases a safe and profitable journey as they returned to the cycle of life. She washed her hands and looked up at herself in the mirror. She had let herself go recently, all the Goat related foods had caused to rapidly put on weight and it was clearly showing in her face. She also had been using an all natural soap when she chose to bathe and it seemed she might have been allergic because she had a terrible break out on her face. But again, if this is what it took to reach Stage 13b then she would do it.

She left the bathroom and returned to her bedroom and sat in the 3^rd position as described in Dr. Bagraba’s third book, “The beingness of BEING”. She tucked her heels underneath her and with knees bent in front of her she laid back onto the bed. This position allegedly let your energy flow from your, “centers of power”, and help you relax. Liz’s ex-boyfriend liked this position because it basically pushed her lady parts up and open. But according to Dr. Bagraba it wasn’t to be used for sex as that clogged the energy release portal.  Liz started her deep breathing cycle and chanting on the exhale.

Thunder rumbled outside and it rattled Liz’s windows. She was a little startled and lost her place. The rain pelted her bedroom window and Liz caught herself thinking about her old job and all the wonderful friends she’d left behind. How they’d probably be out now, cowering under the eaves as to stay dry while smoking their cigarettes. She suddenly felt very lonely, which according to Dr. Bagraba, wasn’t Stage 13b.

She switched to the 7^th position and tried to control her breathing, but the wind was howling outside and it sounded like a tree branch was tapping against the side of her apartment. She belched to clear her Maki Center, and tried to embrace what nature designed. She tried to feel sympathy for the rain and nothingness from within.

Her cell phone started ringing from the bathroom, but Liz ignored it. It was Jerry for sure. She continued her breathing and moaning, listening to the rain.

In a flash

I’ve got to write this quickly this morning. I don’t have much time to tell you all about the squirrels gnawing at my windows which woke me up at 5:00 in the morning. I barely have time to describe the construction noises out on the street starting at 7:00 a.m. I’ve only a moment to write about how dreadful coming to work was this morning.

Squirrels are trying to invade my apartment. There are two (I know it’s two) that think it’s just a wonderful idea to start their day by gnawing on the aluminum frame of my windows. The noise is akin to fingernails on a chalkboard and being yelled at by that one Aunt, you know, the crazy one. It woke me up from my usual deep sleep like nothing has ever before; probably because the noise was so strange. I had to get out of bed and search in the darkness for the source of the noise and by the time I figured it out the little rats had escaped.

I was able to get back to bed and go back to sleep for a little while, until the construction started down the block. I’m not sure why they started with heavy machinery so very early. I could have slept for another ½ hour at least. I tried to force myself to stay asleep but it was to no avail. I had to get out of bed and attempt to face this November Monday.

As the train I was riding into work got closer and closer to downtown I could feel myself getting sadder and sadder. The constant thoughts about what awful things I had to do during the day made me want to go crazy. Really. Just have a complete and total freak out on the train. But then, would anybody notice? I had to shake the whole image from my head of running up and down the train car screaming about how pointless it all was. But that would have been weak. And who likes to see such weakness on a Monday morning?

I found myself then scanning the employment opportunities page in the little rag of a paper I grab for free. There was nothing there that I wanted to do. Office guy, general labor guy, firefighter guy, lab assistant guy, it was all the same crap, another job and not a redeeming, worthwhile career.

Okay, I have to get to work. Damn it. For now I’ll have to keep up this mind numbing, soul blistering, cubicle existence and try to look for something better.  Squirrel Wrangler, maybe?

Brain wash

Today is one of those mornings where I am struggling to come up with something to write about. I hate these mornings. I blame one of my drinking companions at the bar last night. He put this idea about how bad Dial soap is and how I should write about how terrible it is. It’s been stuck in my head and has kept me from digging into anything else.

So fine, I’ll write about the damn soap. My friend said he was not very happy with this soap because of its concave surface. Every time he was in the shower, using the soap, it would squirt from his grasp and tumble into the tub. While I don’t consider this too great of a tragedy my friend felt it was a significant design flaw with the bar of soap and he was nonplussed.

He was so upset with this soap that he took the two remaining bars and gave them to some of his employees to take home and test. He wanted them to verify that the soap was just god awful. Thanks to alcohol I don’t remember if I asked him if his employees provided him with any results.

Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system I can move onto other topics of greater gravity. Which are…damn it.  I am still thinking about the damn soap. I need to get this story out of my head. I tried to write about how cruel it is that I can now see into my neighbors second floor apartment (because he doesn’t believe in curtains and it’s his own fault) where he and his new girlfriend are constantly cuddling and laying all over each other on his couch. It’s complete and utter jealousy on my part. I want a girlfriend to cuddle with and share things with and make a spectacle of ourselves in my apartment windows.

But I’m stuck thinking about damn soap. I don’t recall ever using Dial soap, I’m sure I have in the past but it doesn’t stick out in my memory. What does stick out is my stupid neighbor and his sexy girlfriend writhing all over each other while I’m just trying to eat a microwave burrito and stare at them. It’s not a pervert or peeping Tom thing. It’s pure jealousy. This guy, he never goes out. I’ve seen him on that couch playing Xbox or whatever he has, every night. Even on Friday’s and Saturday’s he’s just there, sitting on his couch, shirtless, eating. And yet now, somehow, he’s got a cute little girlfriend who seems to hang on everything he does. While I go out all the time (well, to a few bars) and meet people constantly, yet I sit alone; jealous of my young neighbor.

I wonder if I should ask him what soap he uses.

Ho-Ho-Hold on a second

So I saw several Christmas themed television commercials yesterday. I had to rub my eyes in disbelief and shake my head back and forth like a cartoon character that had just been struck in the face with a skillet. Is it that time already?

This holiday season sure has arrived with unusual speed. It seems like just yesterday I was standing outside of one of my favorite bars, smoking a cigarette and complaining about how I was unable to stop sweating under the unbearable summer sun. I remember quite clearly the heat coming up from the scorched sidewalk blending with the heat from the sky above. It was like a convection oven. I remember wishing for a cool breeze and then remembered the bar was air conditioned so I went back in.

But now, it’s cold, rainy and gray and Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I’ll take a moment not to gloss over Thanksgiving like most major corporations advertising on TV seem to do. Thanksgiving is a great holiday because there’s no giant expense involved. It’s basically, show up at a relative’s house and eat until you can hardly hold your head up. Now that’s a great holiday. No presents to buy, no major decorations or costumes to fuss with. Eat a bird, share a few laughs and go home.  Maybe take some leftovers for some sandwiches later.  It’s a good holiday.

I’m not sure why advertisers hate it so much. I suppose if I was a person of a different faith that might not actually celebrate Christmas; I might be a little frustrated with the immediate marketing blitz and the elves and Santa and the carols. At least Thanksgiving is relatively non-denominational and we can just celebrate it without dragging religion up to the table.  

When I see these Christmas commercials so early I am reminded not of how jolly the Christmas season can be, but of how little money I have and how hard it is to buy people nice gifts when I barely have enough money to buy groceries for myself. I hope everyone likes the homemade macaroni art they’ll be getting from me this year. Oh, macaroni is sort of expensive, maybe pipe cleaners. It’s a Pipe cleaner Christmas.

I sort of wish advertisers would acknowledge how early they start their marketing for Christmas, like a commercial that says, “Hey, we know Thanksgiving is coming, but remember our Christmas lay-away plan. Okay, have a good Thanksgiving. See you at Christmas time. Bring money”.

I know that’ll never happen. The Norman Rockwell picture of a family Thanksgiving has been corrupted by Santa and his slave labor force; pumping out material goods to cram in our overstuffed need holes.

Chri$tma$ needs to take a break and let Thanksgiving get into the club and shake its thing for a while. It’s been so long, I’m sure Thanksgiving will do the Mashed Potato and maybe the Twist and probably get tired by then and need to sit down for a while. Then Chri$tma$ can get back on the floor and fist pump and all that.   

Positive attitude

I try and I try

to keep my chin

up.

I tell myself it’ll be

okay and everything will

be fine.

I can get through it

I can do it

I think I can

But that little engine

that could

isn’t interested because

all the railroad workers

are on strike in the hopes

of obtaining a living wage

that won’t keep them trapped

in poverty or servitude

and wind up old toothless

men, crapping on themselves

in shoddy nursing homes,

begging to die.   

I’ve got to keep my

chin up. It’s only Wednesday

after all.

Love and Marriage

So in order to stay as topical as possible I’ll throw my hat into the hubbub and hullabaloo regarding this celebrity couple that ended their marriage after only 72 days. I won’t use their name in this piece simply because I can’t spell it.  Actually I don’t want to spell it. I think if you do it becomes a gypsy curse and you start thinking you’re important without actually being important.  Cue the gypsy violins…

I haven’t had the best examples of a fully functional marriage. I’m a child of divorce. My parents were on the verge several times of murdering each other, I’m sure of it. But they stayed married for a lot longer than they really should have and when they finally called it kaput it was possibly the happiest day in my life. The stress and constant tension in the home was relieved and it seemed like having a life was a possibility.

When I was a teenager it seemed most of my friend’s parents were either not together or relatively indifferent to each other. I only saw one happy couple but their extreme happiness with each other made me very confused and afraid. Something in their smiles made me think they were each plotting the other’s untimely demise. I think they are still married however and likely just as happy with each other now as they were 20 years ago. Or still just biding their time.

A marriage after 72 days shouldn’t really be considered a marriage and if two people who thought they could make it work were wrong, well, I’m not going to fault them for it. They made a mistake and ended it before one of them wound up in some sort of international murder plot. The real slap in the face is the extreme extravagance of the actual wedding.  Most folks that are in love have to plan and save for a wedding at least a year in advance, and even then they barely break even once the actual day arrives. It’s stressful and an incredible hassle. But, as I’ve been told, it’s incredibly worth it when you see your betrothed coming down the aisle. The cost and expense melt away as you are enveloped in love and excitement.

This celebricouple however spent an incredible amount of money and in the end, for what? 72 days of uncomfortable stares and nervous giggles? It’s a real punch in the gut for the regular folks that are doing everything they can to save the money for just a plain white wedding dress and maybe a nice pizza place for the reception. It smacks of elitism and we hate that. Go ahead and have an expensive wedding if you like, but keep it out of the news and keep it to your family. I don’t consider it news or having any relevance on my daily life. In fact, I’m a little annoyed at myself for writing about it now.  

I hope to get married someday and experience the joy of a strong and honest partnership with someone I can look at in 60 years and still say, “I love you more today than on the day we married”. Then she’ll look at me; maybe take my hand and say, “What?”