Thirty-one days hath October.
Only two dates matter to me this month, for different reasons.
Their meanings are not important.
I asked the universe to please not schedule things for those 48 hours.
Naturally.
The universe responded.
“Computer says no.”
So now I rethink a trip to Brighton on my 55th birthday.
I can’t even do the right thing without doing the wrong thing.
(I’m gonna get hate mail for that title.)
And scene.
Can I get a non-geographical location?
What?
That’s the joke.
It got a reaction.
Lights down.
Moving along.
…
It’s the equivalent of a blackout in improv.
They’re pretty rare.
Like when I was doing lights for All-Canadian Theatresports.
Guy got a suggestion of street football.
I brought up the lights.
He jumped up and down on stage, waving his arms.
“I’m open!”
Boom.
Lights down.
Huge roar from the crowd.
An entire story told with two words.
“I’m open.”
He’s the kid they always tell to “go long” to get him out of the way.
I knew it.
The audience knew it.
The performer. Didn’t know it.
He berated me after the show.
The director limply came to my defence.
I didn’t do lights for them after that.
Got my revenge just before Covid shut everything down.
I wrote a short play.
Go Long.
Exact same premise.
Only the conversation between host and performer continue after the host tries to end the scene and move onto the next.
It ends up involving the playwright and his wife.
Extremely meta.
And it could only be performed once.
Just like a blackout in improv.
Yes, I’m drinking coffee at 10:14pm.
No, it won’t keep me awake.
I’ve forgotten why I opened this page.
I’m trying to give up video games.
The Facebook ones.
I’ll keep playing Scrabble with Mollie. It’s simply that: Scrabble. And I must enjoy the game because she kicks my ass 19 times out of 20.
But Texas Hold ‘Em. I’m just collecting the four hour bonuses. I hate playing against randoms online because 98% of the time they don’t know how to play. And the algorithms are hardly fair.
But they also want you to buy tokens and points.
Fuck that noise.
Euchre was good but there weren’t many opponents I could play consistently. I didn’t like the randomness of strangers.
Angry Birds is the worst.
I say this as a recovering Candy Crush addict.
That was a tough detox. They got a fair amount of coin from me.
But Angry Birds.
Everything is designed to get you to spend money. Power-ups, bird coins.
It’s been 4 days now. I’m itching to waste the last of my power-ups and bird coins and call it a day.
Better to do it cold turkey.
Rip the band-aid off.
Still up for a good game of Scrabble. And I beat Kevin 50% of the time.
Spoons.
Spoons!
Who’s holding?
I’m in the market for spoons.
I’ve run out.
The drawer is overflowing with the bastards.
But I’m bereft.
Just one spoon.
Please.
I don’t like feeling like this.
It feels… selfish.
I’m the kind of person who tries to help everyone.
Only I sometimes falls short.
That makes me work harder.
I start second-guessing.
My nose gets out of joint at an imagined slight.
And because I’ve used up my daily supply of spoons.
I stew in this calorie-free, carbonated anger, resenting myself.
Because I think I’ve upset them.
And maybe I have.
But I don’t have the spoons.
Can someone pass the Splenda?
Who’ll walk me down to church when I’m sixty years of age
Sixty Years On, Elton John
When the ragged dog they gave me has been ten years in the grave
And senorita play guitar, play it just for you
My rosary has broken and my beads have all slipped through
You’ve hung up your great coat and you’ve laid down your gun
You know the war you fought in wasn’t too much fun
And the future you’re giving me holds nothing for a gun
I’ve no wish to be living sixty years on
Yes I’ll sit with you and talk let your eyes relive again
I know my vintage prayers would be very much the same
And Magdelena plays the organ, plays it just for you
Your choral lamp that burns so low when you are passing through
And the future you’re giving me holds nothing for a gun
I’ve no wish to be living sixty years on
Oh gods.
Don’t do it.
Please.
I’ll reschedule my dentist appointment.
It won’t be on Thanksgiving.
There are two choices.
A flip of the coin.
I was going to type.
“I can’t breathe.”
But that would be disrespectful.
And this, this realization, helps me understand.
It’s only a day.
First world problems, much?
Don’t be so goddamned selfish.
Think of others.
Their pain.
Be there for them.
Like they were there for you on your 50th birthday.
We ordered in.
Ran it through one of those food delivery sites.
Accepted.
Preparing your order.
…
Where’s the driver?
I swear I stared at the monitor for a good five minutes, even while making coffee I never took my eye off the screen.
Where’s the fucking driver?
Another five minutes.
Another five minutes.
Drive finally shows up on the map.
Another five minutes.
He finally gets to the storefront and collects our order.
Five minutes later, he’s on his way.
Driver is currently five minutes away.
Time has no meaning.
I put my phone on airplane mode when I go to sleep.
I prefer not to be woken up by a 3:30 am email.
Forgot to turn it off when I woke up at 8 am.
The first call came in 90 minutes earlier.
I took my phone off airplane mode shortly after noon.
There were two other messages left.
Three messages before noon.
They say good news sleeps until noon. So. three messages first thing.
Good can never come from that.
I worried my dad had passed.
It was his brother.
When I need a pick me up.
