In college, I worked the night shift at a dormitory that housed high school students enrolled in a math/science program that enabled them to complete two years of high school and college concurrently. I never got used to the night shift even though I did it for many years so I'd take an over the counter sleeping pill in the afternoon before work and hope to be awake at midnight. I didn't mind the work itself -- I'd pop in a homemade Bob Dylan mixed tape and sing along with his reedy voice while scarily smart teenagers tried to sneak out of the building or at the very least, hang out at the desk. Those kids were brilliant and not above flaunting it -- one of the most popular t-shirts the little darlings wore was one that read -- Don't Laugh. You'll Be Working For Me Soon. I told them that wasn't the case -- I was in no way competent enough to even get an interview for a job working for any of them in the corporate world.
One evening before my shift, my old high school friend Robin showed up appropos of nothing from her college (about an hour and a half away) and coked out of her head. I'd already taken my pill and was trying to wake up, slurring my words while she rambled on about meeting a married man at a local graveyard at three in the morning to have sex with him and most importantly, get some more coke. I hung out with her until I went to work, and she left to do God knows what, only to return at seven the next morning, nose bleeding, coming down from all that coke. I tried to comfort her from behind the desk (nobody was allowed behind that at the threat of firing) and engage her in conversation. I asked her about her graveyard assignation and she warmed her hands to the subject. Love, it seemed, could make almost anything bearable.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"She wanted to die. And she wanted to live in Paris." Gustave Flaubert
Cosmo Lies Bleeding
1 part triple sec
1 part vodka
1 part cranberry juice
1 part grenadine
Serve as a martini with a peeled grape as garnish.
Benedictions and Maledictions
Anniversary, Almost
Forget all alone and try dead, but
you are still as real as yesterday,
its promise strewn about the floor
like clothes abandoned for love.
I try to care about other things, but
my new life won’t have me yet,
a hotel room that hasn’t been cleaned.
Even with a key, I choose to wait.
8 comments:
Dear Michelle,
Charming as ever, both in the photo and post. I would choose Paris or London any day. We will die soon enough. Luckily in today's world we don't really have to make that choice anymore. We can live how we really want to, if blessed with good fortune and a steady paycheck or provider. Bravo!
Today's triple-header "Quote of the Day":#1: The fool of the Tarot is a skillful player who disguises his sacred text as a pack of cards. He uses guile, chance, stupidity, the joke or revelation to turn us aside to the truth of his distorting mirrors.--Lynda Sexson;#2: The story a narrative text tells often competes for our attention with that of the author; its telling proposes multiple perspectives, including possible alternatives to the telling of the narrator/author. Like detectives, we must sort out the REAL reality of the narrative, something that possibly is hidden even to the author herself.--Daniel Schwarz;#3 Life is like a beanstalk, isn't it?--Procol Harem.
The "near celebration"poem sounds like the classic approach-avoidance conflict. Cheers.
Today's 2nd "Quote of the Day": But I wandered through my playing cards and could not let her be.--PH
That Robin never read "Requiem for a Dream" eh?
Cajun Q,
that robin's a wildcat. is she dead or alive now or MIA? that drink sounds mighty good with beer chaser maybe. R2 C2! Rockj out Foxy Mama!
Great post Michelle,
I think I would have to choose London... I don't speak french. HAHA! I would love to see paris one day though.
Much respect for the night shift. I'm a perpetual night owl and I couldn't do that.
Drugs are bad.
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