Rolling My Eyes

Jill thought she should maybe write the journal. It was fast becoming her final decision. Her therapist, Johnson, said it would help. Jill knew Johnson really meant do something, anything. Don't give up. Life is good! Whatever. Jill knew she had never liked writing, but she thought about Johnson's words and she had rationalized down to: when was the last time she had wrote anything besides a grocery list, anyway? Jill knew she liked to talk and that is why Jill was a telemarketer. Higher paid than most. Her therapist was praised often, by others, who seemed sane. Jill would follow his advice. Jill thought to stop at the Wal-Mart on her way home. She needed dog kibble. She needed shampoo and a plant. And she needed a notebook, too, she reminded herself, when she walked through the doors of Wal-Mart. But Jill soon forgot, and then remembered, while she was in the checkout line. When she saw the bright orange notebooks. For ninety-seven cents. So, Jill bought one, and a bla...

February 14th Minnie, I just got home from visiting my grandmother in the hospital. I brought her some flowers. Some pink ones. I think they are carnations. She is always planting flowers. All over her bedroom. And in anything. Margarine containers. Pill bottles. She always buys me things on Valentines Day. Not just a card or some chocolate. I get that stuff, but I also get a new outfit (that is always cool) and things like walkmans and shit, too. It's kinda like it is my birthday. She usually kisses me like a hundred times. I can't stand it, to be honest, when she is kissing on me. She is always buying me shit, and I…never buy her anything. So, I went to cut a few lawns with Bobby on the weekend and bought her the flowers. Then I just sat there with her. She did not wake-up, but she is not going to wake-up, anyway. I remember the first time up there, at the hospital to see her, like three weeks a go. This nurse says to me, 'Talk to her; she will hear you....

Jack was a mighty, jolly chap. It is even what he considered himself to be. Yes, Jack was quite the fellow. Jack fancied polka-dots on his ties, only for the wearing of this type of tie, fit his definition of what it meant to be a fellow. Jack believed the world was his stage, that he was the lead actor and that everyone else on earth were co-stars, but only to each other. Jack lived his life. His way. Jack was jolly, so he was allowed to, by and large, by others. And others could never figure out why Jack was as jolly as he was, for Jack was as skinny as hunger. In his shiny black suits, to outfit his polka-dot ties. One time, Jack walked into a house and it had pale blue walls in the kitchen. White, painted polka-dots stood up from these walls, too. Jack bought the house and Jack lived in the house, although the kitchen had been the only room he fancied, in the entire house. Jack found the backyard was too big, too. But Jack was jolly, anyway. Fred, who lived next-door to Jack, ...

I started a new Everyday, just over a month a go. I was able to ensure what I always have ensured before. That most Everyday is another day that I get to open my eyes and my ears get to hear my Alarm Clock Music. Taking place at a definite 7:30 a.m. Most Everyday. This should make me smile. Except for-there is This Bird. This Bird that makes noise. Louder than all the other birds. At 7:30 a.m. I do not know This Bird. I have never seen This Bird. And I do not want to, either. I am already guilty of throwing a cup of coffee out of my bedroom window, last week. And I can blame it on This Bird, if I want to. I fear I would become Al Bundy, if I ever laid eyes upon This Bird. My new Everyday can be a lot of fun. But it is not as...stimulating as my last Everyday. And The Voice agrees. Just admit it, The Voice will say to me. You are getting lazy. When The Voice says this to me, I get mad. I tell The Voice to Bite Me. Because my new Everyday has a more...relaxed atmosphere than my las...

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high. She did not think Tommy noticed her in the school parking lot. But he knew she was there. She was always there. It was where they used to go together. Tommy did not know what to do, after reading Minnie's letter. So, Tommy put the red envelope into his back pocket and then he just walked away. Tommy raised his hand only five minutes after his math class had begun and asked if he could be excused to the washroom. He did not have to go. When Tommy arrived in the blue-stalled bathroom, he sat on one of the toliets and Tommy read Minnie's letter again. Then, he crumpled her letter into a ball. Tommy had felt his fist clench tightly, felt his hands weild all his mighty, Tommy power upon paper. Which somehow seemed wrong, so Tommy loosened his grip. He smoothed out the paper, on his knee; with his hand. And Tommy read the letter again, before going back to algebra. Tommy saw Minnie a lot during the rest of...

A few weeks a go, my son and I were on our way towards home, a short trip to the variety for milk. Terri poked her head outside of her front door. "You want a cat?" she asked. "No," I replied. "Well, how about a kitten?" "O.K." I replied back that time and watched a smile spread across my son's face. "You better pick the cutest one," I threatened him, as we walked up Terri's steps. And so the parade began. One unfortunate kitten had lost his paw, after birth. A neglectful mother bothered not with umbilical cords, and his own had twisted around his foot, and now the stump thumped on the floor, when he walked. Thus he was named, 'Thumper'. An ugly cat with a ugly brown circle of fur above her lip was fondly called 'Madonna"; Terri laughed, bent, as she sputtered the name. The other four were called Cat. Or sometimes, Kitty. I had not even looked over the other four, when my son held out a small ball of grey fur...

George Martin, a banker, was sitting in his living room in a well-to-do suburb of Boston reading a local story in the newspaper headlined "Barking Dog Saves Family of Five." But this is not the the story of George Martin. Or of banks. Nor is it the story of a dog who saved five lives. However, this is indeed, a story of a dog. A brown dog. A brown dog with rather large brown eyes. Who did not live in Boston. The brown dog was sitting on the floor, facing the front door. He was staring straight ahead. He had been sitting there for over an hour. The brown dog was just waiting. And thinking, too, for brown dog really wanted to smell something new. And the newest thing the brown dog knew of was the fat, gray cat that had been living in his house for close to a month now. But the fat, gray cat hated the brown dog. Or so the fat, gray cat let on. She would arch her blobbed back, her hair straight as arrows; thick as a well-kept lawn. She would open her mouth and her sharp ...

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high. Minnie never slept anymore, so Minnie was high a lot. It was 6:30 in the morning and she could hear her father awake, moving in the upstairs, from room to room. She could hear the drag of her mother's feet following him. And she could hear her mother crying, whimpering. But everybody knew it was going to happen this time. This time, her father had not changed his mind. This time he had not given in. Minnie could feel the hate wrench in her stomach, could feel that same hate in her eyes and across her mouth, as she took the last toke off the joint. She did not care anything for her father. Minnie tried to care for her mother. She heard the sudden thump and patter of Teddy and his seven year old feet upstairs. Minnie tossed the roach into her ashtray, lit, and got up off her bed; quickly, to cross her basement bedroom floor. She climbed the stairs, into the kitchen, where her parents now were. "...fuc...

It was four o'clock in the afternoon, and Tommy was sitting outside. On the front lawn and under the maple tree. It was raining; had been raining all day. Drizzle and five-minute breaks of fat and fast and rolling rain. Tommy's legs were in shorts, knees gripped to earth. He was wearing his jacket. And the maple tree was old and thick and full. Tommy could hear Momma from the house sometimes. The windows were open and there were no curtains hung up yet. Momma was still unpacking. Momma was swearing. "Fucking piece of shit," she would say, and Tommy would repeat it back, whispered into his chest. Tommy had not spoken to Momma all day. Nor had he spoken to Aunt Lynn the two times she had already been over. Nor had Tommy ate breakfast that morning. And Tommy had not went into the new house for lunch. Because he did not care if it was pizza. Or who had paid for the stinking shit. In fact, the only person Tommy had spoken to all day was the friendly delivery boy, b...

Earlier That Day It was ten-thirty in the morning. Edward Julian Watson always woke up on Sundays, at ten-thirty in the morning. Only Edward Julian Watson was in a blue bedroom. And Edward Julian Watson usually slept in a white bedroom. Edward Julian Watson had a headache because he was on a bed, in a blue bedroom and it was a blue bedroom he had not been in before; at that. He rubbed his temples and that is when he noticed the crumpled green dress on the floor. Then, the rumpled, red hair and white pillow beside him. Edward Julian Watson could taste the grit on his teeth; sour rum (the real reason for his headache). "I have to go," he said, out loud. "Okay," said the red hair; the red hair that did not move. Edward Julian Watson always woke-up at ten-thirty in the morning on Sundays because Edward Julian Watson always met his mother for lunch at noon. Becki walked through the automatic opening door that brought her into the mall. Dim lights and brow...

Later That Day After finding out about lice and going out of business sale Edward Julian Watson took things for granted. Edward Julian Watson was on his way home from Sunday lunch, driving in his blue Datsun. The oil light was on, flashing red. Edward Julian Watson would stop at the gas station, close to home, he thought, as he ploughed through the streets. But the gas station close to home was closed and he did not understand why. The gas station was always open. So, Edward Julian Watson just drove his blue Datsun home. And watched the football game on the television. Becki was standing at the meat counter. In her yellow skirt. “I gave you an extra half-pound,” John, the man behind the counter, said to her, as he handed her the package of cooked ham; wrapped. “Thank you,” Becki smiled up at John. “You deserve it,” John replied. And Becki smiled at him, again. But she wondered what it was she was so deserving of? She wondered if it was important; whatever she had d...

It was not a good day, the day Gwen’s mother never came back. Her father had made her sit in the corner, close to the fire all day. A hot day. She played in the dirt and the soot, fingers opened or closed, the filth still seeped through her hands. But all too soon her hands were streaked with sweat. A hot child. She sat at the fire for a long time (three hours), before she realized the silence. She wondered why. She knew it was Saturday. And Saturdays were feast days. And feast days were always loud. Her father was with her all day long; she wondered why he was. Gwen could not see her father; she could only hear him breathe. He had grabbed her, woke her from her sleep, earlier that morning. She screamed until she saw it was him, but he had dragged her to the fire anyway. “Sit here and shut-up,” he had said to her. They were the first words he had ever said to her, so Gwen had listened. Gwen did complain when she became hungry, nor did she wonder where her mother was until nightf...

489 A.D. Everything felt new to Gryfflette, as he wandered through the thick grass; it was damp and his ankles were cold. Everything felt new to Gryfflette because in a sense, everything was new. Springtime had begun and the many rains over recent days had started the growth of life. On this day, Gryfflette saw that the sun was sometimes hiding behind the clouds; they were rimmed in grey, but otherwise white. When the sun hid behind these clouds, Gryfflette would feel horribly cold; no relief he could think of for his bare arms. But this was not reason enough for him to go back home. The wind whipped his blond curls; sometimes covering his eyes, so sometimes Gryfflette could not see. Gryfflette was not far from home. He was only twenty feet away, down the small steep hill of Benwick, and his mother knew where he was. She knew her child and her child was always wandering, wandering. Malaline was Gryfflette’s mother. Malaline had lost Gryfflette once, but only once. Just for ten...

So, the other night Charlie is over. Sitting on my couch. And Jake is sitting at the computer. Jake is giggling sometimes and it is sometimes worth looking over your shoulder to find out why. Charlie has the television remote. So, me and Charlie watch an infomercial for ten minutes. About these ceramic hair straighteners. Made with REAL ceramic. So, this very night, Jessyca and I are having a chat. I am sitting in my living room. Hans Frauenlob is on my TV. And Jessyca loves my hair. I know this because she always says she does. Tonight was no exception. ...A ceramic hair straightener...she also says these words to me. On this very night. But, to get right to the point, Jessyca thinks I should try one. Assholes.

They were walking home. “I am not doing that,” Tommy yelled, and slammed his feet to a halt on the snow and sidewalk. He was not going to take another step. Ever again. Tommy hated cleaning his room. Momma stopped to turn and look at him and Tommy noticing, stomped his feet again, dirty, grey slush flying fast and hitting the white snow of someone’s lawn. “I mean it!’ he yelled, at Momma. And then Tommy took off his blue mittens and threw them. Into the snow bank. Turned to glare at Momma. She turned around and continued walking down the sidewalk. “I am not picking up these mittens!” Tommy yelled at her. “I don’t want them! I am staying here!” Momma did not answer Tommy. She just continued walking. “Momma!” he screamed at her, and again, “Momma!” She hoped he would stop now, not further this. Then she heard his boots pounding the sidewalk to catch up with her. “I am not going back to get them, either,” he said, not looking at her, when he did. “Okay,” said Momma. “I mean it,” h...

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high. She took a long drag off her cigarette. Tommy watched her lips slightly slip a part; watched the puff of smoke slide between them. "You still think it was all my fault," she looked at him. Longer than she wanted to allow herself. Tommy fixed his eyes onto the ground. Minnie could feel the hurt fly fierce into her eyes. She threw her cigarette on the ground. Tommy watched her blue sneaker grind it into the gravel. He watched her feet turn and begin walking away; shoes scratching. Fuck, she never looks back, he thought. "Minnie," he said, after her. Tommy... "Minnie," he said, again. And she stopped walking. Tommy had never seen Minnie cry before, so he went to her and he held her. They were in Tommy's bedroom. On the bed and near the open window, they passed the joint between each other, but not words. The radio played. I lose my head I close my eyes They won't touch me ...

"Do you want bubbles, Sissy?" Tommy asked. She jumped twice, arms flapping in front of her and then she stopped. She looked up at him. "YES!" she shrieked, then pulled at her clothes. The cookie clumped on her face and mashed between her fingers made Sissy look ugly, Tommy thought. Dirty and ugly. "Shut-up, Sissy," he said to her, as he bent over the tub, pouring shampoo into the warm water. And Sissy jumped some more, behind him. Sissy hated soap, so Tommy was very wet, as he sat down on the toilet lid, to wait while she played in the water, for awhile. The cuffs of his shirt were sopping and his wrists were itchy. He thought about rocket ships. He stared at the ceiling. Sissy was dressed for bed and they were standing in the bedroom, but now they could not find Lydia. And now Sissy was crying; loudly. Her fists were in a ball and her feet looked as though nailed to the floor. She was screaming and red in the face. Tommy ran out of the room and did no...

Edward Julian Watson was beginning to wonder why he ever bothered to look into the mirror. My cheeks are getting fat....GAWD, and he patted his hands against them. They were definately getting fatter. He then shook his cheeks with his fingertips. Oh, and definately wobblier. Edward Julian Watson was wearing a white undershirt. And blue boxer shorts. And brown socks. Edward Julian Watson was driving in his blue Datsun and it was 7:09 AM, his really cool digital watch had told him. He had glanced at it because he was sitting at a red light and really had nothing better to do. This is also why he looked in the rearview mirror. And noticed his cheeks again. Edward Julian Watson went dining on his lunch break. To K-Mart. Edward Julian Watson placed many white paper napkins on his lap, while he ordered the hot beef sandwich. The peas that came on the white plate were just too green to eat. Edward Julian Watson had drank too much coffee on this Tuesday morning. And poor Ed...

She opened the crumpled paper carefully. It was more than just another oddity spring cleaning turned up, though it was found buried in the corner with a heap of credit card receipts and discarded napkins. The letters were scrawled in a familiar hand. It was only the ink she didn’t recognize. She slouched down into the kitchen-table chair that resided next to a clutter she called affectionately, “computer desk.” The kids were screaming about something in the backroom. Sometimes sound has no meaning. Bills were pushed aside. The computer bleeped to say that Tom had just signed in. She laid the paper down in the small clearing in front of the keyboard. She didn’t like the strange silence of this new one as her fingers flew across its keys. Her eyes lingered over the paper, then she got up to find her cup of coffee. Then she sat back down. Then she got up again as there was no lighter to spark her cigarette into a flame. Before calling in the kids to find it, she looked at the words ...

She scooped the Kraft Dinner out of the thin pot, onto the gold and white plates and then placed a naked hot dog, beside the noodles. Wanted to vomit from the smell that filled her nose. "I want ketchup," Tommy said, from behind her. "Me, too. Me, too," Sissy echoed. No manners. But it did not matter. "There is none,” Momma picked up the smelling plates; her eyes watching a ray of sunlight splashing the wall underneath the cupboards. And Tommy said nothing in reply, but she could feel his eyes burning into the kitchen table; right through the metal. She turned and two steps and dumped the plates; fast, onto the table, in front of the two children. Then Momma left the room; headed towards the washroom. Could feel the bile, burning the back of her tongue. Her cold feet slapped to a stop in the middle of the living room. She took two, deep breaths. Relax... Momma sat down on the couch. She busied herself, pushing back her cuticles, from scratched nails. Sh...

One day, Edward Julian Watson had on a yellow dress shirt only; he had not done up the buttons on the cuffs yet and this is what Edward Julian Watson noticed, while standing in his yellow bathroom, looking into the mirror, that was above his bathroom sink. Of course, what Edward Julian Watson noticed was not noticed at first. In fact, Edward Julian Watson almost looked away from the mirror; but when his eyes snapped back upon the reflection of himself; those eyes widened; so wide were the whites. And yes, Edward Julian Watson's hand did indeed grip the edge of the sink, as he leaned forward and perched his puckered pinched fingers to his hairline. Edward Julian Watson was wondering if he should be fainting. Because his heart was pounding very fast and wanted to leap from his chest. Edward Julian Watson was scared. Because Edward Julian Watson noticed he was going bald. He just knew it. So, he did not touch his hair, not even with the very tips of his fingers. Instead, Edw...

February 14th Dear Tommy, You asked me once about God. About what I thought. I said, "Who the fuck knows?" Then we kissed. We were in Krystal's backyard. But I know that is not what I was really thinking. I always think the same thing, when I hear the word god. I was probably four years old and we were standing on the front lawn. Me and Mom and Daddy and there was other people, too. Two others. I do not know who. But, I was wearing a purple dress that day, pretty and pale and down to my knees. I had in my hands the most beautiful heart, cardboard; something I had cut out myself. I had painted it red. It was for my Uncle Garth. I liked looking at it and paid no attention to the grown-ups. It started to rain. On my heart. So, I looked up. The sky was full of huge, grey clouds. It was dark suddenly, just like it was going to be nighttime soon and I had not even had my lunch yet. And the rain would wreck my heart. I told my Daddy that I wanted to go inside....