img_6482There are times I come out of the men’s room at the Microsoft campus and can’t remember where I am. I look left and right, I pick a direction and walk with confidence but it all looks similar and slightly different, and I have to stop and check myself. There’s the picture of Kurt Cobain wearing sunglasses and a boa around his neck, that helps if I keep it on my left and head the opposite way.

More anti-aging facial cream came for my mom today so I put it under the sink in the guest bathroom with her other things for when she comes back. What’s the harm in using it, better than surgery I guess?

Charlotte gets nervous if I put the maple syrup on her waffles, prefers it on the side so she can apply the right amount herself but won’t use a knife or fork, pushes back on tying her hair, to keep it out of the syrup.

With the cat I have to take care when changing brands of litter because that causes distress, that’s what the animal behaviorist said we paid $500 for, before taking the dog and two cats to Germany, and what a fucking jackass I must have been sitting there talking about that, like I needed therapy myself, it would have cost less.

Coming out of the restroom it’s like a funhouse where the floors tilt and the walls move, like being inside a cup they use for shaking dice on a board game.

A mural the size of the wall by the elevator at Microsoft with Picasso and a quote by him, how everyone starts out as an artist when they’re young, the challenge is remaining one as you grow up. And can you call yourself that if you don’t sell, or if your art is making coasters for the coffee table, or blogging?

For reasons I don’t understand the dog leaves her bone by the back door right where we walk and when I put it in the basket she puts it back like it’s some game.

The quiet in the men’s room between urinals when two men are trying to go at the same time that can only be filled with small talk and distraction. The quiet grows to consume you, it sucks all the moisture out.

Ginger’s bone gets muddy and bloody and more like a real bone, not a sanitized or store-bought one, and I think that must be the trick, her game: to simulate real life and return to the pack, to undo all this domestic cleansing. She doesn’t understand why I use toilets and nor do I.

Categories: musings

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12 replies

  1. Our male cat leaves his stuffed mouse at the same spots, always in the way. When we tried to throw it like his other mice, he looked shocked or hurt. I highly recommend Dr. Elsey’s Precious Cat litter, which comes in back-breaking 40 lb bags. I’d pay $500 too if it came to that or giving up a pet.


  2. everyone has their rituals and odd moments. one man’s kurt cobain or bone is another’s…..

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m thinking, among other things the piece draws out, that nobody is less like Kurt Cobain than Bill Gates. Irony!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. So I glance over, and there, in the column of blogs you follow, is your face, following your blog. With this post today, it felt like some kind of in-joke, an Easter egg. I’m afraid to click it.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Thank you for the Twenty-first Century’s version of The Waste Land. I will keep that in mind the next time I blog.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ha, it’s nice to see you and your thumbnail again my friend! Thanks for the literary callout there, I like that. I’ve been fighting inside the form to see what different shapes I can make, foibles and all. Foibles and marbles hard to keep in the bag. Bill


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