They are cutting down trees with an official sanction, six orange trucks lined up nose to tail down the bike line of my street. The men are in jumpsuits, matching, carrying chainsaws and hackblades and wearing tinny little hats. They spoke to me, one of the identically suited men, asked me “Is your car parked on this street, sir?” They couldn’t begin their chopping because none of us had headed the warning, he said, that we weren’t supposed to park here today. I just smiled and said that i don’t drive, though i was inwardly thinking “No, i will not move it. I like the trees just how they are.”
Silly electric company with their flimsy power lines … can’t stand up to some branches and leaves.
When did i start liking life so much?
I’m the only person she links … do i know her, or am i just an influence? All i can garner so far is that she lives in Minnesota and seems to enjoy my favorite band. Hmm.
Duct tape the damned thing into the window, that’s what i intended to do. Because i will not be waking up at five thirty in the morning stuck to my own self and coughing, hacking, until finally i crawl out across the hall to the bathroom so as not to wake up Elise. My personal alarm clock seems to be set for five thirty despite the level of humidity present, but i can’t help but think that i’d have a shot at a whole night’s sleep if i didn’t have so much trouble breathing — this morning with hands braced on other side of the sink either trying to keep me standing or trying to aim well in the dark, fiddling with her stupid drain that always falls down when it should be staying up. I wound up downstairs on the new couch doing a crossword as my vision slowly doubled from the percocet until finally each box had halfway overlapped into its neighbor and i knew it was time to sink back into a largely restless slumber.
I’ve never owned my own duct tape before; it makes me feel powerful. The air in here is cool now, and the doors are closed. It’s my own damned clubhouse. Now if only i brought the portable fridge in with me…
And, boy, let me tell you, if you ever really need to get motivated you should go hang out with your mother for a week during which you can’t go outside, can’t eat, can’t use the internet for anything other than checking email (without much replying), can’t work, and don’t have any money. Within 24 hours of your escape you’ll have taken two walks, cooked breakfast, blogged, caught up on email, set up interviews for two new jobs, and balanced your check book. Sure, all of this motivation could be connected to the fact that my other option is to sit downstairs with a roommate who is coughing her lungs out just to see if my newly reimagined throat can resist the evil lure of virii and bacteria, but that doesn’t mean i’m not enjoying the concept of being organized for the first time ever in my adult life.