Head On Into The Sun

Aw crap. It's raining out. Rainy rainy raining, none of this spitty misty rain, nah it's full on rainy rain and dammit I wanted to go to the post office and pick up a bottle of that Riposso Italian red we had the other night. Dammit. Sheldon sighed, a long, loud, exaggerated sigh, fully voiced, making Corbin the Corgi twitch his ears back, as if flicking off an errant fly. To his credit, Corbin snuffled a beat then fell back into his deep sleep, dreaming of whatever it is that fat under exercised middle aged corgis dream about. Sheldon looked at the sleeping dog. Let sleeping dogs lie, right? Dammit, I should take the dog with me but he hates the rain more than I do. Aw crap, I hate the rain. It never, ever lets up, I swear. Sheldon deflated back into the couch, letting his head snap back on his spine like a marionette, resting against the sagging cushions well worn from hours of stasis spent sitting in front of the television, day in and day out. He should get rid of this couch. He should get rid of most of the furniture but then he'd be living in a bare box, squares of parquet flooring flipping up like teeter totters when the dog clicked his paws across the living room to the kitchen door. Oh look- the rain's let up. When did that happen? Now it was time for Corbin to sigh and groan, stretch out his ridiculously short legs and roll over onto his back, like a dead bug in early stages of rigor. Come on, Corb, up Corb, up! Sheldon takes a deep breath in and heaves his body forward, keeling up and out of the black hole of upholstery and stands above the sleeping corgi. No time like the present, right? Up, up and away we go. Quickly, he thinks, before the sky opens up again and threatens to drown them all. Time to head out and get things started. Leave now, Sheldon thinks, while things are looking up, so to speak, while the atmosphere isn't falling all over him. While the sun is breaking through the gloom, whispering with it's presence, you are pure potential. This day is gonna be better then the last. Corbin barks, then heads to the kitchen door, pawing the scratches etched into the frame. Ok, Corb, let's go, let's get out of here. Let's go for a walk, shall we?

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Moving in Stasis

Go. Get on that plane, that train, that bus. Walk if you have to. Swim, we've got great lakes and oceans and rivers. So many bodies of water and tracts of land to get across. Find a way, they said, just get here, soon. And so Tally packed a bag with just the essentials: a blueberry corn muffin with a shmear of cream cheese, her well worn pocket stone she rubs in her left hand, a packet of mints from the drive in theatre, and two pineapple juice boxes. A clean pair of socks, some dental floss, mom's old cigarette lighter she stole off her bureau, and twenty three dollars and eighty five cents in change. That was the heaviest part of her backpack. She wondered if she was forgetting something but her mind raced with all the things at once. Will her shoes be comfortable on the long journey? Did she feed the cockatiel before she left the house? How can she get across the ocean if the boats aren't docking in the harbour anymore? What if she runs out of money? Will Joseph be
Read more

Kindness Is A Boomerang

If he can make it off the couch to the kitchen, then he'll be up and at 'em. Movement is motion and motion is energy and like a battery, he'll recharge. Feel better. Or different. Good enough. Long nights of hourly wake ups, followed by the struggle to quiet his mind. Loop, loop, looping through endless thoughts of what if and who will and I should and maybe they'll but just go to sleep. Sleep. No tech in his room, just sleep and sex. Although physical touch has been lacking. Wanting. Week seven, but who's counting.  And that's just sheltering in place. Before that, well...seasons. The sky is bright. City living with no light pollution is like life at the cottage on Lac St Joseph. There are meteors tonight, a shower or falling or maybe it's his brain playing tricks on his eyes. Looking for things  he can't possibly see. Four missed calls. Thirteen notifications. No one he's pining for so it's a wash. Is it too late to get up... too early
Read more

Good, Not Great

She hits the down button. Two hospital admin types, young women in almost stylish outfits, the ones afforded on entry level salaries, wait on a car going up. The elevator arrives, doors open, she steps on then realizes she's going up. Force of habit, she says aloud to no one in particular, pavlovian response. The two women sort of smile as they study the floor, suddenly intensely awkward and private. She gets louder as she backs out of the car. Doors close and she hovers her finger over the already illuminated down button. Right, just did that. It's quiet here, far from the madding crowd. Emerg was busy, mainly the geriatric crew. A few indigent and drunk and disorderlies draped over chairs, hanging out of gurneys, buried under sheets and gowns, moaning, rambling incoherently. It's the large-and-in-charge paramedic night: 4 teams of doughy young men stand sentinel with their wards, buried in paperwork, bored with the hurry and up wait logjam of daily deliveries.
Read more