I had a notion that flickered for a moment. I tried to grab it, like it was a butterfly. But I was distracted by someone asking me to pass the butter. I passed the butter and did other things you are supposed to do at breakfast time because it was breakfast time. But is there such a thing as thinking time?
“Yes dummy,” someone said. “Meditation.”
But I don’t think that’s the time to think of what I had been thinking. Although I do not remember what I had been thinking. But if I was thinking something that was okay to think about during meditation, I find myself thinking of meditation. Which I don’t like to do. Because it feels like doing nothing. Thinking feels like action.
Meditation feels like passing the butter.

The fingers slid up my sleeve. They were my own. I just wanted them to be someone else’s; to feel attention on me, physically and verbally.
I talked to myself. Told myself how attractive I was. I giggled in response–but I wasn’t sure if I was giggling because I was flattered or because I was talking to myself.
Anyway, the date with myself went alright. I might go out with me again.
Unless I find someone better.

He turned the crank of the mechanism. He had to do this several times as these things took time. But he was very patient. He had to be. There was nothing else to do. His girlfriend had broken up with him and whenever he reached some impasse or disaster he preferred to work. And work hard. He focused so hard under the hood of his car, that when she returned–he didn’t notice her standing there, in the garage.

It’s not anyone’s fault for that special someone who is the boss of me. They didn’t’ meant to be the boss of me. But they are. I don’t have to comply. But if I don’t, I will be asked to leave. That’s fair. I’ve made an agreement with this boss, his organization. I could have my own organization, be my own boss. But if I had ever hired someone, it would be the same thing but in reverse. Would that be any better?
In some way yes. But would they be as understanding of me as the boss? Would they make an effort to understand the other side?

You can’t breathe enough air and relish it enough. It fills you up only for a moment and then you need more. Literally.
I sat and breathed in crowded outdoor cafe, letting my coffee steam silently on its own as the conversations floated in and out of my person. My inner voice had a lot to say. And as usually I had no choice but to listen.
And breathe.

A small foyer greeted me, begged for entry, telling me I was the most important person at that moment. I felt like it.  Dressed the way I was, it was easy to receive the reception reception captain (or whoever he was) at his podium, to receive his direction to the restroom. There, I peed and pranced in front of the urinal. I winked at myself in the mirror, rested my heel on the shoeshine stand and took stock of myself. I was not important or even remotely regal. But I could pretend I was, for the moment. After a quick once-over in the mirror, I was off to the second floor, filled with ghostly gallantry, ready to make waves at the party.

How much news is good news? Can I piece it out like a great snack?
Or do I have to divulge everything in one long tweet?
Life holds a balance and I say, “Hold it. Balance is for the birds.”
And in that regards, when I go out, especially when I am in the park, I look for those feather friends–sometimes fiends–expecting their secrets to be revealed.
In one very long tweet.

She’d always loved lightning and thunder even as they surrounded her tiny blue Mazda like a closing fist. Her headlights speared the driving wind and rain just enough to make her confident that she’d taken the right turn off from the main highway. She could just feel she was on the right track. She certainly got a whiff of home from the look of the live oak that swayed violently in the wind.

There could be worse storms. Like her relationship with her sister.
Now there was a hurricane category five throughout the year, rain or shine.
She and her sister would prove a interesting propulsion of elements as they waded through there latest moment regarding Adam.
Another storm entirely.

The two men walked back into the house.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Gary asked.
“The nearest one would be down this hall,” Ben-will said, pointing to a small alcove. “It was the servant’s bathroom but we haven’t had any in a long time.” He tested the door and it gave way. The bathroom was sparklingly clean. Leave to his brother to make sure that the entire place was immaculate.
“There you go,” Ben-will said, opening the door. “Be my guest.”
“For now,” Gary said as he entered and slammed the door behind him.
“And that’s just fine,” Ben-will said. “Just fine.”

Who exactly was Dr. Ben-will? And what pull did Karen have over him?
Or, was it the other way around.
This is what Gary was trying to figure out as he held the tiny yellow rose that Ben-will had given him. A peace offering he supposed. It felt like a trick, to take the rose, to accept anything from him. Even the information he gave, about his sister.
But Karen would have her own story to tell.
What would she offer Gary as a peace offering he wondered as he dropped the rose at Ben-will’s feet and sad. “Tell me what is really going on here.”