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I, Robot

Outside the sky looks hazy. I notice my windows need cleaning. Sara runs around in her short skirt and pink shirt. She must be cold. My daughter wears her jeans, at least.
The three boys ride their bike lazily, circle after circle in the driveway.
The Bratz are everywhere. Even coming off of the stereo.
And then they are off to Jamie-Lynn's, my daughter pops her head in the door and is gone again.
The work is piled up on the desk. A deadline Wednesday. Two deadlines Thursday. One extension until Sunday.
At the dreaded midnight.
Kittens are everywhere. One stupid one always caught under the couch.
And the house is so messy, I wish the city would find a reason to just bulldoze it.
And Charlie is gone.
A polite fuck you and the blocked door.
For three days, I have secretly wanted to strangle any person who smiles, as I smile back at them, but I don't.
Because smiling.
That's what friends are for.

I do my dishes first. Placing the glasses along the outerside of the drain rack. Wash silverware. Wipe away at the plates.
I poke my head in the living room, knowing I will have to grab the cups and probably the one bowl that will be sitting on the table.
The sound of the rushing tap water does not make me want to cry. It is, instead, a reprieve. It is doing the job for me.

I wonder what it would be like for someone else to feel it all. Just for ten minutes. Everything that I feel stirring in every part of me. To feel my gut, my throat, the energy coming off of my fingertips as I write this...
Just anyone. I do not care who. As long as they were willing to let me take what they felt.
Because maybe we could help each other figure it all out.
Maybe they have felt what I am now and maybe they have answers.
To whatever it all is.
But I wonder if we would just find out, we all feel the same. Think the same.
We just act out differently.

My daughter comes in the house. "Sara does not want to be my friend. It's not even my fault."
She crosses her arms, when I ask her why. "I am going to watch TV"
She watches Scoobie-Doo, until she comes out in the kitchen, where I still am. "Her Dad said I am not allowed to play with her too."
I ask why and she blames Stephen. She blames Shawn.
"Then go explain to her father."
But my she gets mad at my advice. "I don't want to." And there she goes with the arm crossing again.
And I sigh, "You need to go apologise to Sara for whatever it is you did."
She glares at me, before she goes back out the door.
"No, Mom," she says.
And I wish I could just apologize. But neither I, nor Charlie, have anything to apologize for.

I take out the windex and I am out of paper towles, so I pull out the newspapers.
Then I am looking out my window. And at my daughter and her friend. Hand in hand.
"We are going to the park." The blonde head pops in and out of the door, again.

Comments

~AprilD said…
I need to keep up on you more often Q! Missed you!
Sunday, 23 April 2006 at 17:59:00 GMT-4
Jennifer said…
I do feel it Queenie... I really do.

Hugs
Monday, 8 May 2006 at 10:20:00 GMT-4
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