And what kills me the most is that you started fanning that piece of paper nonchalantly toward your face. You know there’s a bathroom just down the hall? And that big airy hallway between?

You’re still cute though. I like your wavy red hair and your black rimmed glasses. Both go well with your soft complexion. Your blue eyes and those little freckles below your lashes.

There’s something innocent about the flannel you’re wearing. And that green hood coming out of the top. I picture you sitting on your couch at home in front of a fire, farting under a warm blanket. Sipping from a steaming cup of tea.

Almost out of habit, the pink paint covering your fingernails is chipped away revealing pruned tips.

After sneaking a look under the desk, I see worn leather boots.

Wing tipped ranchera.

Maybe I’m intimidated at my perception of your wildness. Otherwise I’d walk over to you right now, demand we talk. I’d confess that I’ve been spying for the last ten minutes. Who knows where it will go from there. And you have strong looking hands, I don’t see you gouging my eyes, so much as you punching my lights out.

Clair had just moved into her new house and Peter missed the move-in party where he would have been a part of her group of friends who showed their support by lifting her belongings from one place to another. So instead, he came by later in the week after she’d begun to settle. They’d been friends for about a year and had shared their insights on life and relationships, but mostly they just enjoyed calling each other randomly when one or the other needed some company.

On this late winter’s day, the sun shone late in the afternoon’s clear skies. Clair’s dirty wagon parked in her new driveway had not been washed since the end of summer.

Peter lifted the bottle of detergent with his right hand. He set down the squeegee in his left hand and opened the bottle to squeeze the contents into the bottom of the old laundry bucket. Soap piled in bluish goo and he spoke to Clair, “I met a nympho girl from Lewis and Clark the other day. She asked me out to coffee all while saying if she likes a guy she will need him have sex by the fourth date. To seal a commitment. She reminded me of you, because you go to that school.”

Standing in the garage, Clair opened one of kitchen cabinets she used for storing utilities. She removed two leather chamois and two wash mitts, “Whoa… let’s hope that’s the only reason.”

Peter walked around the side of the garage and turned the spigot with the hose connected, “So are you liking this new place?” Pulling the green line from the reel, he dragged the hose into the street, and then back into the driveway. He set the nozzle to the ground, and walked back to the entrance of the garage where the soap bucket waited to be filled.

Questioning himself why she hadn’t responded, he looked and saw her on the tips of her toes, reaching high to grab a scrub brush and some tire cleaner. “Need some help?” he said.

“I’m still getting settled. I’m having fun with it. It’s good.” She walked up to Peter, still holding the soap. She dropped the wash mitts inside the bucket causing some soap to splatter around the basin. “What I really like is that I’m only three doors down from Niaz and Rex.”

Peter brought the bucket to the back of the car and squeezed the nozzle into the basin causing frothy foam to fill the inside. “They’re a hot couple. And they’re married, I’m envious of them.”

“What are you envious of?”

He turned the spray of the hose onto the car, “That they’re married and a hot couple. That’s something we don’t see often in real life.” Loose chunks of dirt, rocks and pine needles stuck from inside the crevices flowed loose in a stream of water, along the gutters, between the body panels and on to the driveway below. “Because they seem like regular folk.”

Clair knelt next to the front left wheel and started scrubbing the alloy with the recommissioned plastic kitchen brush. “Yes… they are the best, seriously the best. They are super attractive as well. It’s kind of beautiful.” She continued to work the brush on the sidewalls of the tire.

“These days, usually the uglies are the ones getting married.”

“Or the super hot ones get swept off the market before anyone has a chance.”

“Like those two. It’s kind of a waste.”

After the car was rinsed, Peter dunked his hand into the bucket, grabbing a wash mitt. Starting on the roof, he scrubbed in a circular motion. The mitt sopped heavy with suds supplied rivers of foamy water flowing down the windows and doors. He looked over at Clair who was standing up to rest her legs after finishing the first wheel. He asked, “Do you suppose you’ll be getting married anytime?”

“Hmmm.” Clair walked around the front of the car to the wash bucket. Dunking the brush in the suds she replied, “I’ve thought about this. I used to be able to see it. I still like the idea of it, would love to… but not just to get married. I would love to have a fucking awesome relationship where I can actually grow and change, together, and still love, and actually like each other in thirty years. Or even ten years. Whatever.” She started working on the front right wheel with the brush.

Peter lifted the front wiper blades and continued scrubbing the windshield, “Do you agree that because our society is changing so much, that because definitions of commitment are changing so much, that we are in a situation of really having to choose? Because it’s socially acceptable to never marry. I mean, not just let our friends and family push us into it?” He dunked the wash mitt for some fresh suds before he continued waving his hand in a circular motion across the driver’s side windows.

“I actually thought I wanted to marry my ex-boyfriend. It honestly didn’t occur to me that we wouldn’t be together always. Which is why my heart was totally demolished when we weren’t.”

“You were long distance weren’t you? Is that what you mean? I hate long distance relationships.”

“Oh. Yeah we were long distance actually. I meant when we broke up I was demolished. I thought we’d always be together.”

With half the car finished, Clair picked up the nozzle and began to rinse starting with the top. Water flushed the foam on to the ground which proceeded to drain in streams off the driveway into the street. She moved around the car, rewetting the door panels and spraying the finished tires. Dark water drained underneath each wheel when she sprayed. She quickly flashed the spraying nozzle at Peter getting his attention with the innocent sprinkle, “You’re doing well?”

Wiping his face clear of the water he replied, “I did start an internet dating account with okcupid.com.”

“Never heard of it. That’s cool though how are you liking it?”

“It’s pretty fun! Was created by some Harvard students. Uses multitudes of statistics about individuals to suggest their compatibility as well as how much they are enemies. It’s a free site too.”

“Wow. That’s really cool.” Clair started on the rear passenger wheel. Wedging the scrubber between the alloy spokes.

Peter started on the hood of the car, “I did meet with a girl from the site last week. She’s a psych grad from UP, working for a public housing office in old town.”

“Wow! How was it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. We talked the whole time and laughed a lot and everything was really good. It felt pretty friendship oriented all the way till we said goodbye. But when I got home I was missing the time we had together. A little.”

“Hmmm.”

“She’s way faster than me though. Very responsive which was slightly intimidating.”

Clair moved around the rear bumper to the driver’s side rear wheel, “Yeah, you think about your words a lot before your speak. I don’t know, you’re more strategic?”

Rubbing the mitt into the mashed bugs on the front bumper he replied, “I avoid saying, ‘um’ unless I’m using it deliberately.”

“Um, ok.”

When the car was finished, Peter sprayed down the remaining suds. Bubbly water drifted out into the street carrying the dirt with it. He dumped the bucket down the driveway and rinsed it out. Then rinsed the mitts and wrung them out. Clair handed him the scrubber and he rinsed that too.

She walked into the garage and picked up the two leather chamois, “Hey Pete, we’re not done here. I still need you to help me dry. No one likes water spots on their clean car.”

In that moment, they both looked at each other and realized they had found their ideal spouses. The next day they drove in her clean car and married in City Hall. They Honeymooned in the back of the wagon with the seats folded down and again on her new front lawn, when they got home. They lived happily ever after and he deleted his okcupid account. He never called that girl from UP again. She thought of him often. The End. (sorry)

Here’s my excerpt for today. This is First Draft!

Learning Disabilities

Compassion is a necessary tool. Stupid people as well as over emotional people (note, not synonymous) need shit explained to them with a lot of compassion. Otherwise, their personal disability filters out whatever honesty the person just shared with them. These special people become focused on all the wrong things and tones, creating a big problem for the person addressing them.

That person being me.

Earlier today I was in Loco Loco’s for lunch when my roommate walked up behind me and put his arm around my neck as if he was going to slit my throat with his thumb. He said something weird about taking my burrito, and I wasn’t really having it.

After releasing me, I noticed he was with his girlfriend. I wasn’t really listening, but he continued about how funny it would have been if he was slicing my throat for a burrito, and I interrupted him,

“You’re making everything awkward for everyone right now.”

And he knew I was being honest, so he got butt hurt and ducked his head into his girlfriend’s armpit. She laughed and also gave me a shocked look.

I walked away and sat down at the table to eat my food.

They ended up sitting next to me for lunch and we continued on like nothing happened. Even better I think we actually enjoyed ourselves.

But then some weird shit, I went home a few hours later and they were way up in his queen size bunk bed making love or something. I never heard them doing anything but they are always playing red light green light with the rest of the roommates. nasty.

This evening I read a really interesting blog post from one of my other roommates.

He said,

Sometimes I can’t differentiate between jokes and rude, condescending comments.
Jesus teaches us the principle of loving those who persecute us and let me tell you sometimes it’s very difficult. It just leaves me in an awkward position, especially when it happens in front of other people. No one laughs at these comments, so is it just bad joke telling?
Shamefully, I’ve pondered the thought of maybe dishing out a smart ass comment and acting like a total jackass in return. I don’t think I could pull it off, and besides it would just lead to more unnecessary stress to my life.
I’m choosing to be Christ-like, praying that this person finds peace because obviously they seem troubled taking out their stress on others who don’t provoke it. I’m not sure how close this friendship will be, especially since there’s obviously going to be more support from my end.
I’m just praying my heart is in it %100
Reciprocity-The extent to which resources and support are given and received

I was immediately struck with the feeling this was directed at me %100. For instance, last week I returned to the house from studying and noticed the shower basin and the floors were disgusting. I am probably the last and only person to have ever cleaned the house.

I started by grabbing a dry erase marker and scribbled right across the front of the television,

Maybe instead of watching TV, you could do some chores

Or something like that, I think it was cheekier. If that’s the word I’m looking for.

Then I wrote with that same pen on the white board,

If you are feeling like you need to pick up some slack,

-bathroom/shower basin

-carpet

-kitchen floor

I thought I was doing it with a lot of hostility in my heart, but I was also feeling like I was being pretty funny. It made me laugh anyway.

When I got home later that night, the markings were erased off the television, and someone rewrote my whiteboard note with Christian formatting.

I also noticed the carpet was nasty as ever, the bathroom sink  had been ‘wiped’ but not sanitized. Not even close to my standards.

I thought maybe the shower basin had been sprayed with chemicals. Still, not even close to my standards, I have to scrub the shower basin like a meth head.

So I wrote an email to my roommate, after deciding it wasn’t a good idea to post the response on his blog as a comment,

Somehow I feel like you wrote this to me.
I’m never going to have much compassion for people who choose to suck at life.
I do have compassion, until I realize they have a chosen learning disability (Example: video games, television, too much time with girlfriends, anything in excess,) and they won’t understand what I say no matter how I put it. They won’t understand anything until someone pulls their head out of their ass.
In the meantime, especially when their choice affects my living situation, I will continue to be without compassion.
So, if you’re talking about me… you can guess my reaction. And I can assure you that I don’t want that ‘help’ right now.
Otherwise, good luck with whomever that is.

Within the hour I received a text from my roommate,

When will you be home?

And I responded,

Midnight, and that doesn’t

mean I’ll have time to talk.

I figured. I don’t know what

kinda stuff you’re going

through but if you need

anything I can talk. My piece

wasn’t about you btw

goodnight J.

Ok, it would suck for anyone

to read that about themselves if

they knew you hadn’t

confronted them about it first.

Oh I did confront them, it was

more venting though. Thanks

for making me aware of that

point of view.

At that point I was done multi-tasking my iPhone and was more interested in listening to Pandora, so I didn’t respond.

Anyway, it’s almost midnight now and I suspect my ex hasn’t found the courage to talk to me. But I’m not really expecting her to say anything… remember?

Here’s my halfway point excerpt,  and I’m going to the bar to have a Makers Mark with ice.

But I’m always walking away empty handed lately, at least without the things that I seem to be so focused on getting.

On the way home, we got into it one more time. She said something like ‘we can never manage to hang out for a whole day because we always just get into a fight.’ And I started to hold my tongue and I started to lose my temper, but I kept it to myself somehow managing to carry a simple conversation.

Then she said something, before we got to her exit on the freeway. She said, “are you going to go take a nap?”

That’s her passive way of saying, you’re going home because we’re done. And I wanted to address it and call her out like the smartass that I am, but I asked her to repeat it, like the freeway noise was too much, and I was distracted, just to give myself a little more time to come up with a reaction that wouldn’t start a fight. And I just said “yeah I’m going home to take a nap, probably.”

But I didn’t really take a nap, I just put on a movie and sat on my bedroom floor under a blanket waiting for my bad mood to pass.

Sometimes I would pass thoughts through my head. Sometimes I think I have the situation figured out, and then I can’t remember it later.

I texted her at eight in the evening,

That was horrible today.

And she didn’t respond right away so I started another,

it’s ruining my life, and you could be out with Kasey, having

a good fucking time.

But I know that she probably was, or something that felt the same way.

Whatever it was that she was using to fill the space, she was definitely not sitting at a computer somewhere by herself hashing out the days events. Not trying to work it out like me. And so what if it’s not just like me, I’m pretty sure that she’s just not putting the effort in.

The last few days I’ve met some people who have been able to relate to me. My good friend Sarah told me that she’s been going through the same thing for four years. Part of me was strangely attracted to her just then, and I wanted to hold her and give her a hug like I knew what she was going through.

and I felt better talking to her about it and then I said to her that maybe we won’t need to talk about it. It was a hopeful thing to say and I felt like a jerk because we’re both in awkward situations and not being able to let ourselves get out of them.

And my reading group partner,

She sent me a really sweet email the other night and it made me smile. She told me to keep on writing. And something about that just made me smile and made me feel like everything will be a little bit better.

my ex responded two hours later,

yeah. I know. So bad. Sorry.

And I tried to respond to her about ten times.

And I said,

Ya. Can’t keep it up

I feel ya.

And I got pissed off because I feel like I’m idealizing her with everything I want and putting my expectations on her.

But really, I don’t even know.

I started to freak out,

Sorry. I know you don’t want

to talk about it. Have a

good week. I’m going to go

find a girlfriend.

And then,

I meant to say, you’ve got your

feet in both pools and I’m giving

you way more than you deserve.

So I can’t keep waiting for you when

I know it’s because your

heart’s in two places.

And then, to just be a total dick emotionally out of control, on the verge of balling my eyes out over a text message,

And you’re not stopping me. So I’ll make my way out now.

How dramatic could I be? I mean seriously.

There were a long stream of massive texts that I wrote following that, I know that she was sleeping and stuff,

And I probably just ruined her Monday. And I said it all in a way that should have enabled her to come crawling back. I’m such a dick.

And how bad is she going to resent me when she comes crawling back and I’m still unsatisfied with how the relationship works?

The only way that I was able to let myself relax about the situation, because I was partly waiting for her to respond was I asked her to not respond to any of it because it wouldn’t be worth her time.

It was a dick move to do, but I thought I’d have been up all night waiting for her to respond.

And then she did exactly what I figured she’d do, she responded blaming it on me for contacting her in the middle of the night. She said it can wait until the morning.

Please calm Down I

won’t talk to u when

you’re like this.

No it can’t wait. You’ve been

putting all this off and I’m

hurting really bad now.

I’m sorry. We’re not on your

schedule. I’m not talking about

it now. Are u looney? Please

get some rest and speak to

me in the morn.

Look I didn’t want to talk about

this tonight I just wanted to

pretend I have my mind made

up and leave as hard as I can.

You’re not hard though.

You’re a softie. Get some rest.

We both need it. I’m ready to

talk tomorrow.

(middle finger)

And like that I feel like she salvaged my whole wreckage. All that shit about me expecting her to come crawling back and shit was because I thought she’d been playing me this whole time. And was really insecure and shit. But she wants to talk tomorrow. What does that mean?

Is she coming for me or is she just going to break me once again?

I don’t think she is going to.

And I think it’s not going to be the talk that I’m waiting for.

But once I think about it, that talk will only stress me out.

I don’t want to get into a relationship with her right now.

Did you read how insecure I was just then?

having fun and I’m starting to develop the path leading to the finale of the book, I think… it’s reallllly exciting.
So much has happened since I last posted an excerpt. Ty is an aspect of the Narrator’s personality. This is not a schizo ‘fight club’ or ‘me myself and irene’ situation. I love those movies, but this is an aspect of the personality. Both are aware of each other and are building a cohesive relationship.

My Horoscope read an interesting piece today, I never know how to apply these things, because I don’t take every word they put into as verbatim, there’s no way to make it useful by taking it as verbatim. Otherwise it rarely makes sense.

It said,

One of your favorite family members has been asking you to slow down your life a bit, and you should listen. They might know what is best for you right now, and they definitely have your best interests in mind. Try to slow down your life and give them time to catch up with you. And give them more space to be in your daily routine. Whether you share a meal, have a long phone conversation, or just sit and watch television together, they’ll appreciate the time with you.

At first, I thought about applying this to my ex girlfriend. She’s been in my life and so close for so long that she’s practically a family member. And after today, I am pretty clear that we’re either going separate ways, or she’s just been slacking off on important things for a long time. I thought today that I was way ahead of her on being relaxed. And she drank last night, blamed that on why she wasn’t feeling good. She said that about two minutes after she picked me up. Great this is going to be not much fun. And, I thought this might be true, because she seemed to know that she’s been slacking off.

But then I’m a total hypocrite because I drink sugar-free redbulls several times a week. But I think I use those for the caffeine while I’m studying… I see Diet Pepsi as a pleasure drink. Yeah it has caffeine, but it stains the teeth, and leaves them with a nasty texture, and that shit has been proven to rot your mouth and make your fat.

I’m not trying to defend myself too much, I just think that drink is not positive. And she said she wanted a cigarette.

And the whole thing about why she wasn’t feeling well today because she drank last night, and then she said that she didn’t know why she felt that way because she didn’t even drink that much last night, and then it was, ‘I don’t know why I feel so sick, I didn’t even drink last night.’

Oh god, I’d like to belive that she’s not an alcoholic, but I think everyone knows that’s the language that boozers use.

And she’s pretty good about admitting stuff. Or maybe she isn’t, and maybe it’s just me who’s good at admitting it.

the story has taken on a life of its own, apparently. I’m loving it, and i’m also struggling to write on track with the plot that I have in mind. is that ok to do? I mean, sometimes I just find myself rambling away on the paper. my rambling topics will be about real stuff, but I fear that I’m losing focus, or waiting, or procrastinating. But I’m really trying.  no excerpt here, maybe this weekend I’ll get something up.  ciao

So, Ty asked us to help create a distraction on the docks near the cruise ship. This way, the people would be looking at us, we’d be public about our fighting and that is a horrible place to be. She’d be calling me names, hitting me, I might tussle her around. We’d be fighting so Ty can casually pass through the front door on to the cruise ship.

Ty had located some cruising clothes, shorts and t-shirts. And also scored on of those beanies that everyone else wore…

Standing in the bedroom early morning with a fresh towel slung over the shoulder with several shirts piled on top, Ty stood weighing socks in each hand. The left hand felt lighter, but maybe that was because that arm was used all summer to hold fish while the right arm wielded the knife.

The left hand held black sport socks, cut below the ankle and the right had held white cotton socks cut above the ankle.

A plastic bag on the floor held several other particles of clothing already disowned. They would be used as rags to clean the house, then burned in portions night after the fire was started.

Ty located an open spot in the bag acknowledging that white cotton is unacceptable.

Picking the shirts off the towel slung over the shoulder, the decision maker identified which colors and graphics will be going on the boat. Six were placed on the bed and five lay piled in the plastic bag.

Sipping from the hot toddy,  stepped in the hallway with the towel on the shoulder and paused looking out into the window near the front door. The sun was beginning to rise and the streetlights were still on. In minutes they will shut off while people stir from their homes into the lanes, to the factory.

Ty entered the bathroom across the hall, set the toddy on the counter and struck a match. Holding the burning match between the index finger and thumb, Ty lit four large candles resting on the counter between the sink and toilet.

The candles illuminated the bathroom with flickers and a soft glow enough to see the walls, the shower and floor. Ty rested the towel on a hook wall across from the toilet and pulled the shirt over head, lowering the pants, settling the clothes near the feet.

Cold air flushed on the bare body causing soft hair to stiffen. The tile floor quickly absorbed warmth from every toe.  Coming in from off the snow covered street, light hit the mirror, gently engaging the wall. The light worked for inspecting the shoulders for blemishes while running fingers over the skin.  Half embracing with the left arm crossed resting on the right shoulder, calloused finger tips felt rough on soft skin, pressing into the warmth. The right hand rose, touching the lips. Kissing on the skin, and warmth from the mouth awoke the finger tips.

Watching a reflection, both hands pressed across the front of the chest onto the legs and down the thighs. The movement of the skin caused a short warming before cooling in the air. Standing erect, looking in the mirror at the hair, the shape and curve of the muscles, and the outline of the waist as the edge of the skin illuminated in the light. Ty rested a hand on the shower wall and pulled the handles, and waited until the hot water steamed.Scrubbing every crevice with soapy hands making sure the bottom was extra clean, the shower warmed the body and relaxed the muscles.

After the shower, Ty dressed in warm clothes. Stockings and thermal layers went on before putting on the final shells used for protection from wind and snow. Standing in the kitchen with a cup of yogurt, two eggs over easy with steak salt and some carrot slices, Ty quietly chewed every bite fully before swallowing.

Still on target, 8,426 words. I’ve organized the narrator to be Ty’s new best friend. Ty is going to be a link to an epiphany inside the narrator. That won’t happen until the story is told of course. So far the story is being told casually and what the hell gender is Ty?! this is first draft!

The excerpt is here

On this day, last fall, she and I were fighting in one of the worst ways. We’d tussled in the past, but it wasn’t until a couple years after the coke incident that I got really bad.

That day we took turns hitting each other. But it wasn’t quite so organized,

When I picture a man hitting his wife, he’s out of control, and has been for years. And he’s always teetering. And sometimes a little slip up pushes him over. I think of him having other control issues in his life, like alcoholism, cheater, and drug use, anything in excess. The wife is the type who is always enabling his problems by continuing to stay with him, but the wife doesn’t lose her temper.

She’s told me she’d kill me in my sleep, with a knife or that baseball bat on bedside. Something in her voice meant she wouldn’t lie about something like that.

When I think of us fighting, I see us both out of control. I see me out of control, and I see her out of control too. I see two kids, like a brother and sister who’ve no parents to stop them, tearing each other from limb. And what matters that she is violent first? Whether it’s her pushing me first, or breaking something of mine, I’m the one who takes it too far. I’m the one who tries to destroy everything. I’m the one who stopped her from calling for help.

She couldn’t walk straight and my glasses were broken.

We’ve tussled before, but a year and a half earlier was only one other time that was worse than this. That time, I was seriously in the wrong. Yet, something about it felt so justified.

I rented a convertible flex car for the day to drive to the Oregon coast. We visited Cannon Beach and ate pizza. We drove all day with the top down, and enjoyed the weather. We ate dinner in Pacific City and had drinks at the dive bar across the bridge. All day seemed like we were fighting. I think we knew our worst fight was coming. The fight when I was determined to kill her with my bare hands on the side of highway 101.

It was her 21^st birthday present, the beach trip.

And driving home that night, after I felt like I’d given her the best gift I’d ever given anyone, she was drunk, went off ranting about me, and I popped.

On that winding highway, I started hitting her in the head and realized I needed to pull over to continue. The top was down and she got a hand on my glasses and threw them into the highway. Enraged, I gave her my strong left anywhere I could land it. Chest, head, pulling hair, arm, arm, head.

I parked the car, got out running around the car. She cried no! no! scrambling to undo her seat belt. I got there first and pulled her out onto the pavement. Sitting on her chest with her wrists under my knees, she was too drunk to fight, and I was too sober to stop.

I pulled her hair and screamed curses in her face. Screaming god knows what about my feelings.

I hit her more and ran to the car and drove off leaving her crying and beaten on the side of the road. A quarter mile later I turned around, realizing if I didn’t go back that I’d probably get more people involved in the fight, when she flags down help and they call the police.

Still laying was still on the ground, I saw her gasping in that way when you’re crying so hard that you just can’t get enough air. I parked and got out to pick her up. I felt so sorry in that moment. She protested my help and I put her in the car.

I put the top up, she cried herself to sleep in the passenger seat and I drove us home.

Ty interrupted us, “Hey are you guys OK over there?!” but at that point my girlfriend needed to go to the hospital.

The hospital in Nankek is more like a room with band aids and a back room for gutting animals, than it is a hospital where people are healed. Ty helped me walk with her propped on our shoulders the floor blocks to the ER.

She and I were already joking about our fighting and talking about how we are so out of control and need to get help. At that point our fighting was this public thing between us around other people because we both want to change. Right now it’s about all we seem to focus on, no matter how hard we say that we’re just going out for drinks, we always get into a serious talk about how to change our situation.