Pencils Pens Gloves and Socks

There are a number of items that once lent, always seem to disappear. Somewhere between hey, can I borrow you gloves and …where the hell are my gloves, they simply disappear. They fall into space and are never seen again. When you remember that you’ve lent them out and when you remember to ask for them back what you get returned is a series of Oh I’m sorry and I’ll replace them.

I wonder sometimes where these pieces go to. I wonder if they plan this the minute they leave the door with someone other than their owners. I wonder if once free of bondage they find a nice warm spot to cuddle together, behind the dresser or at the back of the closet.

I think it’s best then, when lending something out to never expect it to return.

When I was a child I used to carry with me a number of pencils. Nothing particular about them, standard yellow number two pencils. In class people would ask me to borrow them and I would gladly lend them out. It didn’t cost me anything because I was a child who had not paid for them and they might be the small break that would blossom into a friendship. I’d lend them out and I’d go home each day with one pencil, if I was lucky.

As an adult who works in a place with many pens, where pens are vital to the work I do, it’s easy to see the trail. The initial lending and the quick thoughtless path from lending to purses and backpacks and out into other buildings with those who have borrowed them. It’s easy as an adult now to watch this happen and understand where borrowed items go. I have the choice to say something or to let it go. It still doesn’t cost me anything.

As a child however, to me, they would just disappear. What catches me then, as it catches me now, are the ones that I did not lend out. I would put a pencil on my desk at the start of the day and by the end it would be gone. I’d look on the floor and it wouldn’t be there. I would think nothing of it, shove my unorganized papers into my heavy knapsack and rush out of the classroom.

As an adult this continues to happen to me. I make a point every day of placing two pens neatly at the top of my keyboard each morning. I put them there because, despite still being young, I can be forgetful. When they are in the same place I always know where to find them. Only, they aren’t always there. Sometimes I find them under the keyboard or rolled up against the monitor stand. Sometimes they are near the window. And sometimes they are nowhere at all.

It’s like that Garfield joke about the left socks and where they go. It’s perfectly logical until you think that socks have no left or right distinction. Until you think that while the pair is split it’s hard to say which of the pair remains with you.

1 year ago  /  0 notes

I remember you.

He looks at his hands and thinks to himself that those hands are fully capable. He thinks with his experience and his good record that it should be enough. He thinks about the wife that he loves more than life and his children who still manage to bring a smile to his face. He admits to himself that he isn’t the smartest man but he’s a dedicated man and he can hold shoulders that he is a man at all. He finds a way to take care of his family. Even if that means they have to live in the projects. It’s shelter still and they eat dinner every night. He thinks about the city in which he lives and how cold it can be and how much he wishes he could shelter his family from that. He knows he can’t but he wishes he could. He thinks about twenty years of service and his neighbors and what it means. He thinks about his life insurance policy and his various meager retirement plans. At this crux in his life he thinks about the place he finds himself in. He’s just been laid off.

The initial numb surprise has worn off and it leaves a distinct sting in the pit of his stomach. The sting radiates up his spine and infiltrates every corner of his mind. Building up on top of the love of his family and the sting is the anxiety. There are bills that need to be paid. With his meager paycheck there has been no chance to build any rainy day fund and no chance to hold on to anything. He thinks about rent the most. To spend a few days without food wouldn’t hurt him and he knows his wife feels the same but to have his kids out on the street… The thought sits in his chest. He passes quickly through rage and onto darker streets. He fights the need to cry.

He asks his God. He’s always placed his trust in that omnipresent being. He’s lived by the tenants that he was taught as a child and that he more fully understood as an adult. He’s been humble and grateful and despite small hiccups, happy. In his mind he calls out to his god for reason or help. He wants to believe that this is just another portion of a pattern he cannot see. He wants to believe it but the longer he sits there on the edge of the bed in the small apartment in the middle of the day, thinking, the less he finds it easy to keep that faith.

What solutions are left to him. He thinks maybe he hasn’t been as happy as he thought. He thinks maybe there are shadows in every moment of his life that he has not, until now, wanted to acknowledge. He thinks… and an idea forms. It’s an idea he will act on. He doesn’t think about the larger consequences of this action, only on the problems it will solve. He doesn’t think about how this action is just a feeble attempt to regain some control in his life. When he stops thinking, it’s very simple to do. When he stops thinking, it’s the only thing he can do.

When I was a teenager my neighbor killed himself. He jumped off the 59th street bridge into the east river. There was no warning that he would. It wasn’t until after his body had been found and buried that I came by the information that he had been laid off his job. He worked for transit, a bus operator. At the time I couldn’t understand. I could understand how much of a role a purpose played in life. I didn’t understand that working, any sort of work is part of what makes a man whole. I did understand that something had happened and that it effected me an inordinate amount. I could relate on some subconscious level.

To my neighbor and his family. It’s been a while now, but I remember your face. I remember how genuinely nice you were and how not like the rest of the neighbors. More like us. A family trying to make it. Not on public aid or crack or drunk. I remember seeing you every day and passing more than politeness. I remember you and I understand. Even if I don’t agree that you had no other choice, because you did, I know what it must have felt like.

What is a man supposed to do when he can no longer define himself? When he can no longer help and feels like nothing more than a burden? What is a man supposed to do when every where he turns he’s faced with rejection without sympathy or concern and when every place he wants to live costs more than he will ever afford and the only places he can are riddled with dangers and destruction. And who is to blame besides the man for making it and thinking it’s okay to leave a man in this position?

1 year ago  /  0 notes

Things I will not do…

1. squee
2. gush
3. giggle
4. blush
5. make more than
6. make less of
7. miss an opportunity
8. talk about fight club
9. run in circles
10. “Woo-Hoo!”

1 year ago  /  0 notes

1 year ago  /  0 notes

I fell in LOVE a long time ago, now you should too

1 year ago  /  0 notes

I think about it…

… but I could’ve not tonight. I don’t blame -tian but it’s so his fault. Oh well. The hurt of it plays nicely off my ability to fantasize very well.

1 year ago  /  0 notes

I’m a happier person…

without you. That’s why. Within 4 days of talking to you again I felt massive amounts of depression and anxiety. It’s really not worth it. I’m working really hard on building  the life I want and not just the life I’m handed. Don’t get in my way.

In other news? Roman’s grandfather has passed away. The funeral is today and I send my warmest and deepest sympathy to him and his family. I remember when I lost my grandmother, the first time I confronted death as an adult. I cried for hours. I did not come to terms with the thought of an afterlife and I will not. What I did do was move through the mourning process and now, though I still miss her very much, I’m over death. He’s in town for a few days for the funeral and to handle some business here.

Nick is coming back, today I believe. He should be around tomorrow for rainbow cookies, checkers and scott pilgrim. That should be quite enjoyable indeed. I can’t wait to see ya.

I’m about to go iron and meed up with Chris. I’m trying really hard not to make kissy face at him. He’s a great guy for sure. The only real problems are that he lives in Florida and I live in NYC and he’s also younger than me (though very mature) That’s alright, it’s fun spending time and it’s a confirmation of a really great friendship. I really could use more friends. Strike that, I could use more friends that are worth the time and effort and trouble. What are we going to do today? I have no idea. Something, we’ll see.

1 year ago  /  0 notes