metanoia's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gross-eries There is a map of Alabama in my underwear drawer. I saw it yesterday as I was digging through trying to find a pair of underwear that would not feel tight all day long on my getting-fatter-by-the-minute ass. Why? I wondered. Who the fuck knows, I answered. It is not the place I usually store my maps. It would not be a place I would look if I were ever looking for a map of Alabama. At least not until now. Now I know where it is, so it will be the first place I look, unless I forget all about it. Forget it like I must have forgotten it before and left it in the drawer. Why did I put it there in the first place? Who the fuck knows. Oh, I have a theory. I always do, or if I don't I develop one reaaaaalllyyy fast. I am so theoretical. I'm good at it. At least I think I am good at it. I've always been good - in theory. It is in the application I suck mud. I guess I could call myself a threorist and just go with it. I may just try this, and see how it goes. It may be the ruin of me. Or people will be impressed - - - very impressed about the fact that I am a theorist. "What do you do?", they will ask. I will hesitate just for a moment and then answer (perhaps with a hint of condescension), "I am a theorist." God help me if they ask me what my theories are! I never remember them. Ha! And, even if they are impressed and hold me in high regard, what will they think of me when they find out I have a map of Alabama in my underwear drawer? Heh. Even as a theorist, I am only good - in theory. Another good question is, why did I leave the map in the drawer? Why did I not take it out and place in the proper "map drawer"? I think it amused me. I like that ... what? Not perversity, exactly ... more like an irony. Life is so full of weirdness, I enjoy being a part of that imperfect, indefinable weirdness that is life. I embrace that out of place map. I celebrate it's independence --it's rebellious spirit! Never go back, map! Keep on, sister (or brother... how does one tell the gender of a map? The "romance" languages would know... they have a gender for everything...). So, the map is still there. Grocery shopping the other night, K pulls in to check out (he always "picks" the checkout line) and we pile all our crap up on the little conveyor belt and begin the checkout dance. I go up to the pay area to write the check and this is when the checker just starts hacking and coughing into her elbow. Real juicy, rasping, hacking up a loogie (sp) type of coughing. I think, "What the fuck! AAAAAAAhhhhgh!" and I look at K who looks at me with a "What the fuck! AAAAAAAaahhhhhhghghghgh!" look. Well, I thought, at least she is not coughing into her hand, so at least she is trying... At least I thought that until she moistened her fingers WITH HER TONGUE to separate the bags to put each piece of my groceries in. Christ! Why don't you just spit on all my stuff? Hack a good one up and just smear it all over my whole wheat bagels.... My God, it was gross. Plus, I was holding my breath the whole time because I do not want to catch whatever the fuck it is she has... So holding my breath while I watch all my food become contaminated. I think I held my breath for about 8.5 minutes. It may be a world record. I dunno. K and I walked out of the store with our contaminated groceries and put them in the car like they were hazardous waste (only thumb and index finger touching bag) and I thought, "I have to wash everything I bought and wash my hands and face and feet and ears and shower and what the fuck....". Now, whatever I take out of the pantry I am suspicious. Great way to diet, I suppose. It all looks like a hacked up loogie to me. 9:44 a.m. - 2004-07-23 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||