Thursday, July 22, 2010

sketchbook: out of order

I am waiting for last shift’s coworker to finish typing up the day, so mine can begin. Its already an hour and half into my time and I pick at my anxiety, this peeled edge of sticky thought, that doesn’t like it when my routine is disturbed. Work first, write next. I am sifting through pages and pages of poety searching for inspiration while I wait and come no closer to finding it amongst a sea of poems then I do getting my time on the other computer. The other computer, where my tardy coworker sits is where I process the paperwork for the next day. It could be done on this computer, but then I can only do half of the shift notes since said coworker isn’t done with his half. I send out a gusty wind of frustration at my bangs that have grown over my eyes, sigh outloud, while my coworker goes “I know, I know. I’m running behind.” Its kind of funny haha, or maybe its just not, here I am so thrown off by the simpliest change in my routine. I am rainman eager to count the box of toothpicks if it will give my brain some reprieve from this rediculous anxiety. Work first, write next. I thought I could waste my time wisely searching for well written prose on  road trips, sea voyages, or some kind of journey of the soul traveling alone between horizons. Still my Asperger's flares and I cannot get past the fact that I have done no real work on the overnight. Work first, write next. Should I just do half the paperwork to relieve this itchy goody twoshoes stepping all over my mood? Or perhaps I will simply read more prose while my scurrying thoughts finally seccumb to the idea that tonight I write first, work next.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

What did the ghost say to the bee?

Morning begins with a letter stamped on the day - a friend 123 days new marrow fed and free from leukemia.  Friend, also known as boss, can't make it to festival. Healing suckles time and life retires to the smaller rooms for some rest. The pink booth will miss her on the land, I think to this self as I become  aware of this quiet legend orbiting my sphere, or rather I orbit around her.  Boss, also known as round robin, had a way of collecting what she loved best - music set free to fly on stage and she enjoyed every minute at service to the song.

Boss interviewed me for the warehouse.  This puddle wet kid just trying to get closer to music who had no clue how to pack a box, did not get the job. Instead Boss called me back to interview for the bookkeeping assistant job, gave me a second chance with numbers. As I count the years by and bye, that expedition into accounting leads me back to this day. Even New York started the day I stepped into that job with Bubble Bee Z, the new warehouse peep, sitting next to me in her kelt emailing me the answer "Boo Bee". I knew I'd be smiling for the rest of this job, working for boss while she listened to music. 

Exiting out of the email, I sip my coffee and turn the page into the noisy hum of this apartment. Resting my words while I prepare to head out onto the streets - midwest mitten playing with snap shots of the Big A.  Friend helped me to get to my today. Friend gave me a chance to spread my wings and fly with all these songs forming the world and though she won't be at festival, I will for her, round robin Boss.

Here's to the healing process.