Lost In Transition

A few months ago I woke up itchy all over my legs. It was really bad. There might as well have been a homeless man sleeping with me, because I'm sure his situation is not any better. Although, he probably has them all over his body. In his mouth, in between his toes and crawling in and out of his anus hole like ants on parade. However, it was not from a homeless man, because when I checked every morning it was just me.
"Its Bugs!" I'd say the next morning. Convinced I was right, though I rarely was, even though this time was different, I began looking closely at my sheets, daily, with my desk lamp. Any little speck could have been a bug, but upon investigation, most turned out to be just skin, hair, or thread. No bugs, but not good enough. After I vacuumed the mattress all over, under the seams and in the crevices, I felt a little better. I actually thought I'd get a better sleep and not itch and scratch my itchy-ass legs. I woke the next day even worse and did not know what to do. The sheets were still new- only a few months old. "Still itchy," I told Paul and Brigid, walking out of my room late. "I just don't get it." They were already up. I had not slept well. Paul's eyes hardly moved from their steady position of "Steve Wilcos," on TV. " Have you washed them?" Brigid asked, looking up at me. " Yeah, but they are still new. - Only a few months old "
"When was the last time you washed them?" She asked.
"I don't know... like three months ago. I think?" Paul's eyes slowly shifted from Steve to me. They both looked at me like a was holding some kind of wild, jungle lizard.
"Hueso," Brigid began. "You have to wash your sheets every 2 weeks. -Sometimes every week."
"I haven't been doing that," I told them both. "I did not know this."
"Yeah, pal. Thats why you are getting the itchies," Paul finally chimed in.
Feeling better that maybe I had figured it all out, I tore them off the mattress and put them in my dirty clothes pile. Three weeks later we did the laundry and for the first time, I was actually excited to do it. That night, I put my sheets back on, feeling positive. And for the first time in a while, I got a good night sleep.
About a week later, I woke up with something feeling like a bug bite. It felt the same as before. Like bugs. I was itching. Maybe I didn't vacuum well enough, I thought. So, I washed them, yet again, feeling agitated about the whole thing. And it was the same thing.
After a group meeting, we came to the conclusion that the sheets must go. Maybe something in the dye was bothering me. Or maybe, it was that they were made in India. No one knew.
I found some loner sheets of paul's that were too small, packed away in a box and planned to use them through the weekend with plans to buy new ones the next week.
Three months later, I asked Paul to just go with me, because apparently I was having problems deciding on some. We found a home-goods store near to our previous apartment. they had a lot of options. At the time, I had been looking at K-Mart sheets and found some cool zebra-patterned ones I really liked. I hope this place would have them, but also tried not to get my hopes up too high. There were three mini-isles full of different kinds, colors and thread count. I began to aimlessly walk around, which is probably why I never got any before. One of the workers was in the area shelving some products. He was on a knee and grunting as he bent down. He was wearing some big red suspenders that I liked. They held his old jeans up, but boy, I wish I had those suspenders. His hair was long. It was some dirty blond color and unusually shiny. I continued to walk around, feeling the different, dirty samples that hung over the packaged ones. Paul asked me what I thought. "I don't know." Then, a low voice of an elderly man rang out, "can I help you two gentlemen find anything?" It was the person who was bent over grunting. This was no ordinary man, though . His hair was not shiny and dirty blond by the nature of our fellow man. It was fake and plastic. It was a wig. A head of lies. Soon, he stood right in front of us, describing the sheets that are, "really, going like hotcakes."
"Really?" I asked. "You must be kidding. At these prices, how could anyone not need more sheets?"
This was the most lost man-in-transition I have seen in a long time. "You see, the great thing about these sheets, is that they are are really stretchy." He made hand motions of being stretchy and the image of him wearing only a diaper popped in my head... "I guarantee they will fit." I saw his old, wrinkled hands as he mimed stretching sheets. They were too weathered to be working in a home-goods store. They belong on the field, harvesting corn or wheat...something like that. He had to have been in his seventies and trying trying to hide the wrinkles on his face with the hottest pink blush his beautician could find in the back of the boutique. It was blinding and really popped out with the deep blue shade of eye shadow, sloppily colored on above his bright blue eyes. He lathered on, what seemed like hours ago, a different shade of hot pink lipstick that differed not enough to his blush. I tried my hardest to not make any sudden movements and throw off his concentration enough to be found out. The "flub-jiggler" that comes with old age, swung to and fro under his chin with the emphasis of his phrases. That and his clothes, were all he appeared to have as part of being a man. I would like to say I wasn't thinking about the "flub-jiggler," and I would like to say that I was concentrating on his speech. I would like to say that. But, I cannot and I'd be a damn lair if I did say I was concentrating on what he had to say. It would only take two fingers to pinch, squeeze, slap and flap that thing all night. Time would fly, but unfortunately I came to work. I accepted everything he had to say, making the right amount of eye contact with him and panning of the store. "Thanks," I told him. It felt really warm in that store, as I backed up and headed in the isle Paul had abandoned me for, a minute before. "Those ones seem pretty nice," he told me. "Yeah. I just with they were softer. They seem stiff."
"They will soften up when you wash them."
"Are you sure?"
"Well," he said, "go ask her, him. Her...umm...hmm...." He stopped and just pointed. I went back to him and as I was about to ask him if they were the best choice, when a call came on his walkie-talkie. "Shelf help is section D," the voice said. Keep it together, Matthew and we will both get through this, I thought. Grabbing the microphone, I noticed his nails couldn't have been more prettily painted. "Stephanie here, I got it," he said to the voice. "Thanks Stephanie," it replied. "I have to get out of here very soon," I told Paul...and myself. I picked the sheets Stephanie told me to get, mostly because he said they were "going like hotcakes," and I know I like hotcakes and like to talk about them. As we headed toward the register to check out, we both stopped and saw Zebra-patterned sheets. "We will feel them?" I declared. I wanted them. Badly. Paul brought up the point that they were less threat count but same price. "But, they are a novelty. And I like novel things," I said, smiling like an ass-clown. "I know and novelty can cost a lot," he countered.
"Fine." So we walked out with my new sheets. Only took half a year!

...Thanks Stephanie.

culterize

I met a friend from my speech class a few semesters ago, today because we hadn't hung out in while. She is always so busy doing homework and studying and doesn't make enough time for TV. I remembered when we met before, she was not so good at directions once she'd come up from the train. She wouldn't know east from west, north from south. Before we met this time, I was sure to send her easy, phonetic directions:

"its on Washington and Dearborn"
"walk one block west on Washington"
"Walk 1 block on Washington AWAY from Millennium Park"

I was waiting for about 30 minutes before she shuffled in; her hand covering her face. She slumped down in her chair across from me. "Hey buddy, hows it going?" I offered. She did not smile. "I did not know where to go when I got off the train, and I walked over there." she pointed towards Millennium Park. "Well, I sent you easy directions. Why didn't you read them? You got here." She put her hands over her nose and asked me to get her a tissue.

I like to hear about her Chinese culture. She has only been in the states for about 4 years, and is still learning about everything that makes America the Land of Opportunity and the Home of The Brave. She told me about her job in a restaurant, south of Chinatown. It gets pretty shady as you go south of the loop. "Is it dangerous where you work?" I asked, knowing it is not in the safest neighborhood. "Uhh, yeah we are safe. You see, we have these huge walls of glass over the counter that protect us." She turned and motioned a wall with her hands all along the cash register counter of the coffee shop we were at. "So we are safe," she confirmed. "Is there a little metal tray under the thick glass for customers to slide their cash," I asked, motioning sliding cash in a metal tray to match her stride. "Yes," she said, nodding her head. "Well, i'm glad you are safe. I was a fool to think other wise."


As a prepared for bed tonight- brushing my teeth for 2, dentist-ordered, New York minutes, I reboogered myself into a staring contest with the man in mirror. "What have you done?" I asked him. Most people de-booger, you see, probably while they prepare for bed, maybe in the car driving to work. Some people just do not care, I have learned from personal experience, and they find it quite easy to dig for booger buddies on the public transit bus. I tried to re-step my tracks and find the SOB that ended up sliding down the pipe. Luck was not on my side.

time?

The hardest part of my day before I go to school at noon, is calculating whether I have the time to do 2. On the weekends, it is less of a challenge, But during the week, I need to use my college/adult smarts to keep me out of trouble. For the hell of me, I cannot go at school, at work if I had a job, or even if I am out out of the house altogether. Only when when I am home does it work. And even then, it is sometimes a challenge. I do know I have two minutes once the heater starts and makes its noise... Being an imperfect man is no easy task; especially when you only have two minutes to take care of something so precious.

Dream 2

Last night in my dream, a friend of mine won a million dollars. I saw her in the street, crossing the interesting with one of those big-ass checks. It was rainy. I thought about it a moment, then I realized that I almost won a million dollars also. "Oh, ankle burgers!" I thought. "I better do something about that." On TV, there are always people winning "The Jackpot" or "The Lottery" or "Winnings Town USA" ...what have you, and then the people who won are always having people come to them and ask for money. I thought of this, you see. So, just as precaution, we (me, Paul, Brigid and my sister Amy), moved into the trashiest, shadiest, falling-downiest, apartment in Chicago, to hinder any thoughts anybody might have ever, about asking me for money...all because I almost won a million dollars. Walking through the halls to our new home, huge pieces of gray paint chips lay on the floor below bigger ones hanging off the walls. There was a gun shot. It was quite surprising to find a somewhat nice apartment room once out of the halls and community space. -Nice hard wood floors. Although unfurnished, remnants of past tenants lay scattered throughout the entire place. There were baby dolls stacked in a huge pile in the closet. In that room, hanging on black poles, were black, leather, baby-sized masochist vests. "Whatever," I thought. "This floor is great for sliding on," as I ran and slide a few feet on my chest. As I was still on my chest, I heard police sirens and Amy ran in the room, scared with throw-up in her mouth, claiming the police are coming for us. "They keep panning the window," she said, worried. I saw more throw-up in her mouth as I stood up and I thought it looked like old milk or something like that. It began to drip out. "Okay Amy," I said, "lets get you out of here."

Dream

Last night I dreamed my mom and I were going to Honduras. Along the way, we stopped at a gas station for something to eat. I got a Margarita meat wrap/sandwich/roll and a soda. When we got up to the dirty, candy-filled counter to pay, the woman behind the register was very nice. If this little meal was going to set us back in spending, I could feel better because she has a knock-out smile. When our little bill came to about 29 dollars for two items, my mom sighed loudly. She hung her head and we waited there in front of the counter. Was she waiting for the woman to changer mind? Does my mom not know that its not up to her how much we pay, because she just works there? I looked around and found no one to be waiting in line behind us. There was no one yet. I reached into my pocket and fished out my wallet while my mom, still hanging her head, was looking at the counter as if her life was in the hands of this poor gas station attendant. Yet, neither woman budged. The women, cheerful as ever, happily kept telling us the price we owed and even told went into her spiel about other yummy products we might be interested in. -Like hell that would ever happen. I took out my debit card and handed it to the women, crossing the tension filled counter that lay between the women. My mom didn't say anything, but just turned and headed towards the door. In a fit of rage I was not quite sure how to explain, mom angrily grabbed one of the plastic-wrapped cups stacked in a pyramid on display, for sale. She tore the wrapping off it faster than I had ever seen. I looked around to see what commotion she was making, but on one was there. By the time I looked back at her and realized she was a thief, she was filling her new cup with ice and soda. Back on the road, I was really nervous at any moment, I would see red and blue police lights in the rear-view mirror. Although, it did not happen. However, The Bond family from many years ago showed up. All ten or so, of them. No sooner did it seem odd that they were actually running along side our car with the grace of a brisk walk, that I found they could turn into house cats at any moment they desired. And they did along the way. They wrestled and played and still kept up with us. "How the hell are they doing that," I thought. Then, I began thinking about how we would actually get to our destination of the little town of "La Villa de San Antonio," and I worried no one would pick us up from the airport when we arrived. It did not occur to me in that moment that we were driving the whole way. I do not know the streets of our arrival city, Tegucigalpa. What if we get shot driving through? That won't help us at all.
...And so we just kept driving and driving. The Bonds just kept turning into cats. My mom tried to enjoy herself but could not because of that damn woman behind the counter and I began drinking from her stolen cup on accident. When I drank it all, only leaving the ice, I looked at my mom. She looked straight ahead as if hypnotized by the oncoming road. "She's gonna be mad at me," I thought.

todays

Thursdays are really long for me because I go to bed really late almost every night. I have class at 9:30 AM until 1 Pm. That means I have to get up really early...like 7. Most nights I just cant fall asleep due to me racing mind. ....But last night, I went to bed earlier and actually felt tired. I was happy enough to be feeling tired, that I couldn't relax. But soon I was drifting
...I woke up at 2:30 AM because I threw up a little bit in my mouth. I guess I can't be that lucky. I mean, It felt like bees in my throat. Good thing I had that water bottle by my bed.

person notes

March 3, 2010
Personal notes, recommendations and ideas for the day:

with an emphasis as a light question, and geared towards (but not limited to) strangers or people I do not know so well...
Start more sentences with...

But,
Anyways,
Clearly,
But, you know...
Mark my words...
Actually...
Chiefly...
Yeah,
Because...

Scenarios:

A teacher asks if anyone has any questions or comments on the upcoming exam. Raise your hand and say something like, "No, I don't think so. I think we are all pretty ready."

"Hey Matt, how are you?"
" Actually, I got foot fungus athletes foot, what have you
...you believe that? ...Itches like Hell right now, right between the toes."

"Do you have any spare change, sir?" says the homeless man.
"Because, this bread dough Ain't gonna bake itself!"

thanks Marshalls

I often think about the time I left Art History class and headed down the escalator to leave. I had not gotten far before Audra, a girl in my class who sits on the other side of the room, caught up to me and told me I smelled good. She asked what I was wearing. Feeling as if I had to justify myself for reasons unconscious to me, I quickly told her it was called "Curve," and that I got it at Marshalls for only fourteen dollars. I went blank after that. She might have smiled and she may have walked on, going about her day just as any other. On the other hand, she may have stayed and continued to ask me questions about myself, my classes, or possibly lunch at Subway. But I happen to blank for five floors. It was not until I got to the bottom floor that it all came flooding back like a slap in the face. Only then did I realized that a simple, "Curve" and "thank you," would have been just fine.