Figuratively speaking, of course

Oh dear, it's happening again. I want to write. I want to write something worthwhile. Something meaningful. Something that will bring me closer to where I'm supposed to be. But all I have is this. These fleeting thoughts and huffs of exasperation finding their way out of my mouth. I don't know why this happens. I call it the 'Evil Keel'. I feel nothing; can write nothing. For as long as I can remember, it's always been like this. I cannot write unless I'm on the upswing of an emotional high or at the cradle of a visceral low. It sounds so manic-depressive, I know. But that's how it's always been. And when I'm not at one of those two extremes- this even keel stalks in and hangs around like an uninvited guest, hoping I won't notice. It shows up empty-handed. No bottle of wine. No potted plant. The nerve. Yesterday I said I wanted to light my life on fire, and made it a point to preface it with "Figuratively speaking" because words have power and I don't have a fire extinguisher in my apartment. Hell, I don't even think the smoke detector works. But that's what I envisioned. Everything on fire. Melting away. Burn it all. The humdrum office. The shitty car. The paradoxical relationship. The old suede boots. The tired bones. The inflexible schedules. The unopened mail. I'd like to watch it burn. Glowing in its soon-to-be goneness. Ashes and transgressions giving way to the wind. The Phoenix can then rise from the flames. And what of the keel? The keel, I'm sure, wouldn't dare show its face at my party.

Let the Bed Bug bite

When I was in the sixth grade, I wrote a story about a lipstick from the perspective of the lipstick.  I can remember getting a really high grade on it.  The teacher liked how I applied emotion to an inanimate object.  The details are fuzzy but I recall the lipstick being purchased from the cosmetic counter by a girl whose father thought she was too young to wear make-up.  She tried it on in private.  Held it close, hid it in her Hello Kitty purse.  She snuck it into school once and put it on before she spoke to a boy she liked.  Her dad found it one day. He snatched it from her, smashed the cap onto it before winding it down, and so on.  All of this from the point of view of the lipstick.  It was pretty cool. Anyway, recently I was looking for writing prompts and was reminded of that story. What follows is the result of that writing exercise. I had fun with it.  I may post more of these because I enjoyed revisiting the midset of being in my writing classes.  Here's the prompt:

 You return home from work to find a Dear John letter on your kitchen table. Oddly enough, it's from one of your favorite pieces of furniture. What does the letter say? 


Dear Jayne,

    I guess the gaping space in the bedroom is somewhat telling.  I wish it weren't this way.  It's only been about three years but I believe it's best if we part ways.  For now, anyway.  It's not that I don't feel appreciated- because I do.  The way you rotated me each  month and regularly changed my linens let me know that you cared about my well being.  When your brother-in-law built my base so you wouldn't lose things underneath me, I was relieved.  I know you hated misplacing earrings and hair clips under there.  But this is not about me.

    I was meant to improve your quality of life but it's just not happening.  You only just learned that I was called Cushion Cloud.  My pillow top used to lull you into blissful rest.  Somehow though, you forgot how useful I could be.  Languid sweat from bodies in motion has been replaced by tears.  You think I can't tell the difference in the saline? Ask yourself what happened.  How come I don't feel the weight of him anymore? One man.  I liked that you never brought strangers to lie in me.  I grew accustomed to the way you both held each other close in the middle of me.  And when asleep, secure in the knowledge that I was supporting you both, retreated to opposite sides.  Only to unite again when day broke.  He was in the habit of making me before he left.  I wish I could say the same for you- but I don't fault you for that.  You're always running.  Always late.  I know I'm the reason you sometimes chose a few minutes more of being cradled over making sure every hair was in place for work.  I know that takes time. You didn't mind oversleeping.  I want you to know that I understand how lonely it can be.  That's why you often fall asleep with books or the New York Times at the foot of me sometimes; the lamp still burning bright when your alarm sounds at 7:25 a.m.  I was all yours.  You'd lay diagonally, dead center and even upside-down on occasion.  Or you'd tear off articles of clothing in mid-slumber.  Leggings.  Socks. A bra left between the sheets here and there.  Panties rolled off in one swift movement; just so you could get more out your forty winks.  That made me happy.

  But I'm not happy anymore- because you're not happy anymore.  I won't be back until you are again.  I know you'll miss me when you're curled up on that too soft love seat, sinking each time you rest your bones.  It sounds strange but I want you to.  I want you to get busy living.  Live a life that makes you ready to collapse into a welcoming bed so that I may want to return.  Make no mistake; I don't want you to exhaust yourself.  You've done enough of that.  I just want you to even things out again.  Less tears.  More sleep.  Lovemaking at twilight. More dreams.  No nightmares. You deserve that.  I'll be back when it's time.

                                                                                   Yours truly,
                                                                                   The Mattress

P.S.  Just a last word of advice.  The sheepskin rug is nice but I hope you don't get on the floor to take your rest.  Too many unseen dust mites down there.  TTYS...hopefully.

     
                                       

T'is Never Dull. T'is My Life.

The time has come. When I revisit the one and only, tried and true *drum roll please* List. It cures my writer's block. Yay! You know This Bug's randomness knows no boundaries. Just my aimless observations and arbitrary findings. You should be used to it by now, no? Let's go.

It's quite possible that I work with the world's biggest Beatles fan of all time. She knows everything there is to know about their recordings, personal lives and a boatload of other trivia that most would never retain. She's given me a knew appreciation for their music. I'm not exaggerating on the biggest fan thing, either. Her license plate reads ABBEY RD. Thanks to her, A Day in the Life is officially my shit.

Guilty Pleasure #328: Overhearing sex or arguments from my neighbors downstairs. Lately, it's either one of the two every other day. Sometimes one directly follows the other on the same day. No lie. It's kinda like catching a double feature at the matinee without having to pay. Mighty entertaining when there's nothing on TV. Don't judge.

I don't know why, but now that every minute of the day is accounted for, more things seem to be adding themselves to my To-do list. The endless running is taking a toll. The clothes I bought to fit because I lost weight are now loose on me. I barely have time to eat and sleep is something I've heard normal people do for at least 7 hours. Right. Meanwhile, if you cut me- I'll bleed Red Bull.

It occurred to me the other day that a new beginning is on the horizon. I have mourned sufficiently even though there will never be another Logan. Bottomline: I'm ready for a new fish. It would be really cool if I could find that bowl above. Like, really. Cool.

Just as I was considering a nice little spa vacation in Arizona, it's looking like Lake Tahoe instead. I'm not going anywhere that Jim Crow laws are being installed only it happens to be Anti-Latino now instead of Anti-Black. At the same time, being harassed and arrested for being a possible 'suspect' is as close to home as it gets in my native New York. Call it what it is. Racial Profiling. Gotta love it. Secure the borders and break out the apple pie.

So here's what I've learned from the side hustle in a few short weeks: The women with the biggest feet try on the ugliest shoes and refuse to put them back. I mean, they will leave a plethora of size 11 boxes strewn all over the place. I know deep down they're just mad because once they get that big ass shoe on, the whole style done changed and it's not even cute anymore but still...It's taking everything in me to not get a running start and clothesline one of those Sasquatch bitches at least twice a week.

Lately I've been running into people who have very different if not unrealistic ideas on how to get rich quick. Far be it from me to knock down any one's dreams- but most of the time I've found that they are quite delusional. Then they sail off to Never Neverland with your good idea when all you did was simply make a suggestion born of common sense. What part of the game is that? Hustle harder and smarter, People.

Pop Tarts are evil. Especially when slathered with peanut butter at 2 a.m. But I just can't stop myself.

Okaaaay...It's been over a month since I called to cancel my landline. I simply don't need it anymore. Here's the thing: I still have a dial tone and can still make calls. And for some odd reason, the bill is correct. You won't catch me complaining, tho. Nuh-uh. Now I know why Verizon's slogan is "We never stop working for you."

Ladies, if he doesn't look at you like this- at least once in a while, he's just not that into you.

What's funnier than catching someone out there looking at inappropriate video sites with supersized headphones on at work? Let's see, the look on his face perhaps? Maybe the fact that he didn't even pick me up in his peripheral vision until I was two feet away because he was so engorged engrossed in what he was viewing. Or the fact that up until that day, he was a complete and total asshole to me and now he's sweet as pie. He lives in perpetual fear of my mentioning it to someone else...every day. Right place. Right time. And just like that, the universe rights itself. I love my life.

Out to Lunch

"Don't get down about the blog, its powered by your life, go live it then come back to your writings."

I stared at my screen, reading those words and blinked back tears at my job just a few days ago. I was lamenting via email to a friend that I've been all over the place mentally and emotionally, and that my blog was suffering. Those words came right on time. A friendly reminder that This Bug's Life is my own. That I shouldn't pressure myself to write if I don't feel moved to do so. It has to come from a genuine place and I understand that now more than ever. So for those of you who have stopped by to see what has transpired lately, just know that This Bug's Life is being lived and I'll be around to relay all the naughty, sordid, hilarious or mundane details in a few. In the meantime, check out my archives of blogs gone by. They are my prized possessions that I shared ever so lovingly with all of you. That should hold you over for a spell. Deuces.

Old Bones

When I first saw the bones in all of their magnificence, I had no idea I'd be burying skeletons of my own from that day. Tall as the ceiling and so arcane. I took it all in like a wide-eyed child. Those bones. I wondered how many had worlds existed since heavy flesh wrapped around them eons before. For me there was only one. A world that disregarded all space and time. Even blinking took on a new meaning. When I look back on that day one thing becomes clear. Flesh fails. It fails those who touch it...and it fails itself. I would never make it to White Sharks and Pina Coladas. The dinosaurs in their extinct but infinite wisdom knew it before I did. All of the secrets creaked in those old bones and said nothing.

This Bug's Randomness

I'm back with more randomness because when all else fails, when inspiration doesn't feel like visiting... I can always fall back on the trusty random list. Some quick hits- if you will. And away we go.



Yes, This Bug had the exact same metal Muppet lunchbox when I was a little girl; which my father instructed me to swing relentlessly at anyone who dared fuck with me on the playground. They didn't want it with Kermy and Piggy, though. I might just cop this from Ebay for posterity's sake.




Banksy has fast become a staple of my interest in art. Check him out. Thought provoking to say the least.




If variety is the spice of life, I personally know a few men who could benefit from a blander diet for a hot second. It's good to be friends with them though. Nothing like inside info.




I have to admit, she's a such a tragic and beautiful disaster that I can't help but relate to her when I'm at my worst. Everyone wanted to look; no one cared to truly listen.




What can Brown do for me? They can start by delivering my shit on the day they promised in a timely fashion. How 'bout that, Ups? Been waiting all friggin' day for my new phone. Bastards.




I went to a Luau the other day. Wasn't in Hawaii. It was still kinda fly even if I didn't "get leied".




It's a damn shame these limited edition Big Daddy Kane kicks don't come in Ladies sizes. Damn shame...





And while we're on the topic: Kane killed it at a free concert in Brooklyn a few weeks ago. That man can still hop over Scoob Lover's head and not lose his breath. What is he now? 40 something? 'Nuff respect due!



Who wants to see This Bug cry? Just place the above stuffed toy in a bag within my view, allow my heart to soar and then report that it's not for me. It's just being held for a friend. Some people can be so cruel.



This Bug was recently selected to be an officer of a Hip-Hop discussion board on Facebook. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but if you know how true my love is for the art form, you can just picture the inner cartwheel I did when I got the news.




On the To Do List: I'm gonna remix Trey Songz LOL Smiley Face to NRL Frowny Face...because I'm not Not Really Laughing each time I hear this corny little ditty. In fact it pisses me off more and more.



That's all, Folks. Stop by again sometime for more utter randomness.

That'll Learn Ya

Grappling with writer's block on this fine Friday night, I've decided to go with my old stand-by: The list. In this particular case, the list consists of random things I have learned over the years. It's been an amusing and at times, wild and scary ride. And I don't regret a stitch of it.

1. Cops do not possess a built-in lie detector test. They will believe you until you give them reason not to.

2. An entire busload of people will laugh at you if you fall running for the bus. This includes the sweet bus driver lady who up until that moment- always seemed above that type of thing.

3. Gravel embedded in your palm really, really stings- after you break a fall...running for the bus.

4. If a man says that his wife doesn't understand him anymore- he means that she understands him all too well and he cannot bullsh*t her anymore.

5. Wearing brand new, straight-backed motorcycle boots are not the wisest choice of footwear for a night of heavy drinking. If no one is around to help remove them, you will wake up with those puppies on.

6. The most annoying commercial will only show up on TV when the remote decides to keep Jimmy Hoffa company for a few.

7. In strip clubs, if the ladies room door is a stone's throw away from the dressing room, the..um... employees will more than likely try their damndest to recruit you.

8. Most people only sit through the Govinator's old movies to hear his hilariously pronounced one-liners. "Ruuhn! Go! Get to duh Choppah!"

9. Almost any love song can be transformed and interpreted as a gospel song with the simple replacement of a few pronouns.

10. It is possible to board a plane with ID constructed at your local Army/Navy story if you kick up enough dust with the airline. Well, it was possible. I seriously do not recommend trying that now.

What Now?

It's happening again. Every now and then, I am presented with some remarkable opportunity and true to form- this Bug freezes. I can't explain it. I've tried to articulate it before but I never get it quite write right. Within me lives a duality of sorts. A strange combination of potential greatness and self-deprecating failure all at once. Somehow- they coexist in my being, much to my chagrin. I suppose these two dynamics are what actually conceive my 'premature procrastination'. You would think that after a few successes that curious condition would go away, but it never really does. Not for me. It seems that with each step that I take towards a new endeavor, I have a habit of inching my way back while I picture holding my nose and just diving in. Well, maybe that's just my style when it comes to winning. Just when I think I have no moves left, something spectacular materializes. Before long, I look around and see that I’ve unwittingly covered all of my bases. It’s really peculiar. But for all of my doubt, I know this: There is no difference between what the cowardly and the brave heart is feeling. The moment of truth lies in the execution of what needs to be done. Now if I could just get over that initial ambivalence, I'd be in tip-top shape. I think Marianne was on to something. Do I have a plan? No. I never really do. But I always wind up exactly where I intended to be. I guess that is what makes me unquestionably and unapologetically... This Bug.