(no subject)
Thank you for contacting the City of Minneapolis. You can expect a response from one of our customer service agents within one business day.
Every time I see one of my landlords he is wearing a blue plaid shirt. If you stand close enough you can smell his breakfast. He communicates best through email and even then he ends every sentence in a ?, a classic Minnesotan adjustment, a slight incline in voice at the end of statements to make them more like questions. But this is blatant. He's asking me. We can put the air conditioner anywhere you want? You can park in the back if you'd like? No. Let me talk to the other guy, the nice one, your unemployed partner, I like him, his laugh. Question mark. Period.
It's nine o clock and no one has called. The doc is late so I'm feeding the printer, like my baby, again. I'm one of so few in this building who doesn't have children; I have to compensate. We sit around eating, Patty her chips, Brenda her sandwich, and me and Maryann our week old bagels. Maryann is my cognitive and emotional peer despite the chronological gap so I'm often the only one who laughs at the things she does and says. They're talking about child birth/rearing again. Besides a weekly visit to/from B, these women are my only female companions. The oldest is double nickels and the youngest must be, oh, 35? Outside this social sphere, I inhabit a male planet. It's hot here, controlled by ticking ceiling fans and strongly influenced by dreams inspired by the television series Dexter. Murder, amputation, etc. We communicate through texts, drink our coffee black, talk about camping, drive recklessly and do yoga on Wednesdays. I'm the only one who can do the pigeon pose. I make corrections to papers with corrections in male scrawl. We compare our bruises. And then I require at least a 4 hour break in which I do my own laundry and rearrange the furniture while listening to some female crooner. Thrill, thrilling, thrilled.
Summer weighs heavy and then light, then heavy again. We survive weather in this state, spend too much time thinking about it, avoiding it. Perhaps I'll find the swimming quarry this weekend. Good ol' friend never fails to help.
Every time I see one of my landlords he is wearing a blue plaid shirt. If you stand close enough you can smell his breakfast. He communicates best through email and even then he ends every sentence in a ?, a classic Minnesotan adjustment, a slight incline in voice at the end of statements to make them more like questions. But this is blatant. He's asking me. We can put the air conditioner anywhere you want? You can park in the back if you'd like? No. Let me talk to the other guy, the nice one, your unemployed partner, I like him, his laugh. Question mark. Period.
It's nine o clock and no one has called. The doc is late so I'm feeding the printer, like my baby, again. I'm one of so few in this building who doesn't have children; I have to compensate. We sit around eating, Patty her chips, Brenda her sandwich, and me and Maryann our week old bagels. Maryann is my cognitive and emotional peer despite the chronological gap so I'm often the only one who laughs at the things she does and says. They're talking about child birth/rearing again. Besides a weekly visit to/from B, these women are my only female companions. The oldest is double nickels and the youngest must be, oh, 35? Outside this social sphere, I inhabit a male planet. It's hot here, controlled by ticking ceiling fans and strongly influenced by dreams inspired by the television series Dexter. Murder, amputation, etc. We communicate through texts, drink our coffee black, talk about camping, drive recklessly and do yoga on Wednesdays. I'm the only one who can do the pigeon pose. I make corrections to papers with corrections in male scrawl. We compare our bruises. And then I require at least a 4 hour break in which I do my own laundry and rearrange the furniture while listening to some female crooner. Thrill, thrilling, thrilled.
Summer weighs heavy and then light, then heavy again. We survive weather in this state, spend too much time thinking about it, avoiding it. Perhaps I'll find the swimming quarry this weekend. Good ol' friend never fails to help.