Shout it from the rooftops. I am being hunted for sport. There is a special sort of whistle that purports to stop me dead in my tracks.

But I’ve yet to hear it.

She wants to own her own business. She wants to work in a flower shop. Let her think those things. You think things and you are smart enough not to let anyone know. But that’s only a technicality. Let dreams be dreams, loud or small, quiet or loud.

Or some sense of ‘meh.’ Meh is just “me” with an “h” at the end. It’s Me with a quick sigh.

But it should be a really, really long sigh. Or a yell. Something long and distasteful, for everyone to hear and smell.

I dreamt about you last night and I’m sick of it. I can’t have you and now that I don’t want you, I dream about you more than ever.  It’s not nice to point fingers, but its is You. It’s You with h”

Youh.

Waking up is easy, you spring out of bed. You land on bread. You smother yourself with grape jam, peanut butter, that marshmallow fluff.

Eat me, eat me: you beg others. No one does.
Okay. Fine. You wash up, get dressed, present yourself as a normal human. Still, no one is interested. But to your credit, you’ve not asked them to eat you.
So there.

There are no more things to discover. I’m not talking about science or any information. I’m talking about my take on the humans.
That has changed recently. I like learning new things about the way people exrpess themselves. I always end up imitating something new, then somehow I make it my own, like a dinner recipe.

You went to your New Orleans and your relationship with the city is as benevolent as it has ever been. You made friends with food and drink. The beignets and cafe au lait with chicory are now your cousins.

Air travel is what it is.

You jogged along the Moonwalk, the river churning, the boats passing, trains roaring. You felt alive.

Now what?

I don’t mean that literally but I did see a whole bunch of Holiday specials being shown. But that really mean is shows about Christmas. I didn’t notice any other religions being show. But I was only watching this one show so I can’t be sure.
Jane Alexander was in this one. I missed her so much, since her Glory days. She was very nice and helpful in this one. One of those aunts. she was, who helped her nephew fall in love with a woman who was new to the town. It was one of those Lifetime for Television town. In upstate New York, they have so many.
Maybe they do on the Burbank lot as well, who knows? So why am I telling you this. Ah, because of Jane Alexander. Man, that woman an salve the woundiest of wounds and there was ever a time to be salved it was by turning on Lifetime and seeing her give some good old fashioned homespun truths.
I don’t remember what she said but it was good enough that I didn’t have to finish the rest of the movie, although I’m sure she was quite in the rest of it and offered more help.
I just went about my day in a state of appreciation. Thank you Mrs. Alexander.

And so is everyone else. But some are still over there.
I wave to them. But I stay here.
Won’t you come here? I ask sheepishly, at first. I entice with things I already like about here: The coffee is nice. Not perfect. But, then, how perfect does coffee have to be?
“Well some things should be perfect,” they say, well-meaningly. “Well, maybe not coffee but there are some things you won’t put with over here since you claim they aren’t as good as over there.”

This person is confused. They thing there is here and vice versa. This always happens in these conversations. It’s best just to wave and smile. Sometimes you apologize for your confusion (It helps to say its yours because they won’t except “ours.”)

“Don’t apologize,” they say. “Your fine.”

But you aren’t, you want to say.”Just stay over there. And I’ll stay here. I’m waving? Do you see me?”

But they are too busy making coffee. Their version.

Tusks afoot. Astonishing gray pelts that pelted me as they dodged playful punches. It was fun to play with paws and sear them equally with my gaze.
But their eyes outdid mine. They never looked away, never felt shame the way I did.
For this I am grateful. I was watched, taken care of, played with and ultimately slaughtered along with them.

I didn’t ask the Giant next to the display of gummy bears. I kept moving, looking for the quartered chicken, the hummus and the bottle of Witch Hazel.
I found them and checked them out. I paid. Dearly.
Sufficiently priced, all of it, including the knockwurst.
The lettuce came softly and played some music while I slept through the checkout line.  Checkout isn’t what it’s used to be. I don’t see kids tortured by the candy display.

They are on their phones, playing games.

The Lettuce’s last words: “I come here only for the sheerness of it, the wilt thou or won’t though of Lettuce speak clearly until our throats tickle.”