word salad
I just envisioned myself jumping into the rolling green hills on my computer screen and taking a jog in the sunshine. BACK TO REALITY, ELISE. Thank God for imagination, otherwise we would all be robots. She didn't really look like a gremlin, val. But we imagined that she did.
I delivered to a house tonight that could best be described as an elaborate movie set for "The South-Warren Chainsaw Massacre." Scary drunk man wearing long-johns and suspenders told me that I was "prettier than most delivery guys," and then invited me inside. When I refused he became insistant, but by that time we had already made the exchange, so I wished him a good day...
and ran like a little girl to my van.
Now I'm convinced that area's south of nine mile, and both east and west off Van Dyke are the breeding grounds for all things horrible.
Oh, how I miss the consistancies of the cubical. The smell of thousands of clean white sheets of paper, the sound that resonates from the pitter-patter of high heels down the hall, the mid-1980's decor of the conference room...Now, my job is in a pulsing swamp of wonton soup. It's the clump of fried rice stuck to every ticket from China Villa, it's the thin layer of grease that's caked-onto the backdoor of Moy's, and the anticipation after the KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK on the scariest front door your young and vibrant eyes has ever seen. It's the lingering smell of shrimp fried rice (add $2.00 extra shrimp) for Minnie Johnson (2 streets N of 8, W off Hoover) in your car at night. I could go on and on...but I wont. Because it's boring.
...But in all reality, my life is kind of boring.
So I find funny ways to talk about the simple things,
and hope to god my friends laugh along.