I have unexpected roommates until Friday. I am a good enough person to help someone. I am also a good enough person to know how long I can force my good temper. I am glad that when I say 'Shut-up now', this person feels comfortable enough in my home to find something else to occupy herself with. She can buy a few extra days for that. Plus, she makes coffee. She is also my employee. My daily Baby-sitter. My almost ex-sister-in-law. And my friend. ( I know! Creepy! )
So, it is during this time she is shutting-up, I am struck with a very profound thought indeed. 'I am going to write that down; I need to read that sometimes', I say to myself.
I get my pen and journal out of the book bag I have to look for. I plop on the loveseat and look over. Cindy is writing. She has a lovely blue pen.
It is her pen from her house. It is in my house and I have never used it before. It seems somehow wrong.
I look at the pen I have grabbed out of the bottom of the bag. This pen is ugly. It is white. It no longer owns a lid. It no longer owns the end of it-the little part that holds only some pens in. In fact, it is made of soft plastic and there is lots of the white bitten, too. This pen is really ugly. And Cindy's is so not...not ate.
My pen also writes with black ink. I am not fond of black, preferring the blue. In richer feeling moments, I have bought new packages of pens and thrown the black in the garbage. Cindy's pen has blue ink. I really want to use this pen.
I look back up at her. She has her pen in her mouth, sucking on it. Hmmm...I think. I ask her a question on purpose, just so she would take the pen out of her mouth to answer. I study her pen while she talks.
It has a few bite marks in the end--only a few but they are deep marks. Even little chews have to be satisfying...My God, how do I get this newer pen of hers out of her hands? She likes pens, too! This is going to be tough.
I say, "Let me use your pen."
"No," she says, her eyes narrowing.
I say, "Cindy, you know I do not like black ink. Trade me."
"No," she says, her grip tightening on the pen.
"Listen dumbass, I am letting you stay here." We can say this stuff to each other after workhours.
"No," she says. She is getting mad.
I know there is only one last chance to get that pen before she would screw off into another room with it. Only briefly, I feel desperate.
"Cindy," I say. "We would be doing each other a real big favor. You like black ink. I like blue. I like to chew pens. You want to chew on that pen. But it is still a bit too new to go to town on. I want to use your pen. I cannot chew on your pen. It is not mine. On the other hand, you see my pen is chewed so you know you are allowed. You have been denying yourself chewing. Chew mine and you can chew yours later. Double the fun for you."
So,Cindy handed me her pen. And here I am using the keyboard.
But anyway, with all this going on, you can see how I might have lost my original train of profound thought.
May 20th is also International Be Kind to Losers Day.
So, it is during this time she is shutting-up, I am struck with a very profound thought indeed. 'I am going to write that down; I need to read that sometimes', I say to myself.
I get my pen and journal out of the book bag I have to look for. I plop on the loveseat and look over. Cindy is writing. She has a lovely blue pen.
It is her pen from her house. It is in my house and I have never used it before. It seems somehow wrong.
I look at the pen I have grabbed out of the bottom of the bag. This pen is ugly. It is white. It no longer owns a lid. It no longer owns the end of it-the little part that holds only some pens in. In fact, it is made of soft plastic and there is lots of the white bitten, too. This pen is really ugly. And Cindy's is so not...not ate.
My pen also writes with black ink. I am not fond of black, preferring the blue. In richer feeling moments, I have bought new packages of pens and thrown the black in the garbage. Cindy's pen has blue ink. I really want to use this pen.
I look back up at her. She has her pen in her mouth, sucking on it. Hmmm...I think. I ask her a question on purpose, just so she would take the pen out of her mouth to answer. I study her pen while she talks.
It has a few bite marks in the end--only a few but they are deep marks. Even little chews have to be satisfying...My God, how do I get this newer pen of hers out of her hands? She likes pens, too! This is going to be tough.
I say, "Let me use your pen."
"No," she says, her eyes narrowing.
I say, "Cindy, you know I do not like black ink. Trade me."
"No," she says, her grip tightening on the pen.
"Listen dumbass, I am letting you stay here." We can say this stuff to each other after workhours.
"No," she says. She is getting mad.
I know there is only one last chance to get that pen before she would screw off into another room with it. Only briefly, I feel desperate.
"Cindy," I say. "We would be doing each other a real big favor. You like black ink. I like blue. I like to chew pens. You want to chew on that pen. But it is still a bit too new to go to town on. I want to use your pen. I cannot chew on your pen. It is not mine. On the other hand, you see my pen is chewed so you know you are allowed. You have been denying yourself chewing. Chew mine and you can chew yours later. Double the fun for you."
So,Cindy handed me her pen. And here I am using the keyboard.
But anyway, with all this going on, you can see how I might have lost my original train of profound thought.
May 20th is also International Be Kind to Losers Day.
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