Being interrupted. The sound of a tire blowing out
when you’re already late for work.
Burning your husband’s birthday cake,
the one his mother baked so well. Unwanted
surprise parties. Neighbors who play loud music
at all the wrong times. Men who let the door
slam shut in a young woman’s face.
Unwanted attention from ex lovers
and meddlesome family members.
Being met with a blank stare of indifference
in eyes that you loved, that you imagined
had loved you. Household appliances
breaking one after the other. A friend’s silence
while he tries to “figure out his feelings.”
Watching helplessly as relationships fade.
And then there’s that. I will continue to be frustrated by ornery people until they grow a pair and sort themselves out. And pick up the phone.
I’ve been revising “There’s No Such Thing as Safe Sex” for the past five and half hours. It’s probably the most emotional piece of fiction I’ve written this semester, and working on it is keeping me running sort of high, emotionally speaking. I just want to get everything sorted! Why can’t people just have it all out in the open??*
*Recognizing the irony of my being slightly cryptic. However, consider it a respect for a friend’s privacy; I’m not being cryptic with them, I’ve been trying to contact them rather regularly and if they are not a literal bump on a log they know what I think about all of this.