Miss Direction

It has been a strange 2013 for Holly and it's not even April yet.

lots of ups
a few downs
a high frequency of "you've-got-to-be-kidding-me"s

Speaking of "you've-got-to-be-SHITTING-me"s, the universe must be addressing me and I don't mean this. In moments when conditions are so perfect and so en pointe as if only made possible by read-alouds and dress rehearsals, I can only revel in the moment and respond by doing my best cheesy sitcom "Oh, you[niverse]!" with hands on hips, head tilt, eyes rolled, shaking ones head.

Rewind to 2004 where Holly fulfills the role of Sandwich Artist. It's a complete cliché of a day.

late to class
pop quiz
spilt coffee on self
run-in with awkward friend
unexpected traffic
low on gas
late to work
scolded by manager
assigned to shit work

I remember thinking and grumbling, "This.... this is not my day." as I swept the back kitchen which is to this day my least favorite chore.  Stewing deep in my own thoughts, I almost didn't notice the little love note from the universe. A latex glove from creating art making sandwiches had been left on the floor. Both the broom and my ego-centric brain took a break as I began to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Why?

It just so happened that the glove had folded in all of its digits except for the middle one.

Oh, universe.

+32° 45' 46.75", -117° 6' 27.70"

My eyes are closed for the majority of the performance. I tell myself it's because I'm really into the sound and get too distracted visually... which I guess is true.

Also I don't want to make eye contact.

As I absorb the set, a pleasant transition occurs as the "Burger King" quietly whispers a nostalgic ghost from the past.

....I made you a present you'll never expect it...

One particular black-hoodied beardman gets real excited. Earlier in the evening, I randomly chatted with his girlfriend in the bathroom. She tells me he's a huge Menomena fan.

Of course I admit I was quite excited to hear this song as well, but I was also managing my overwhelming urge to bolt and sprint home. Perhaps in a different time and location, I'd act more like that super fan. However the stars that night were aligned so that I'd act a complete fool, but that's a different story for a different day.

Anyway, the point of this tale is what happened after the song ended. Over a controlled cloud of polite claps by unknowing hands and sparse hoots by nodding followers, our Mega[Menomena]Man whistled "Yeah!!.... [how about] Evil Bee?"

With furrowed brows, I popped open my eyes to catch a lightning fast glimpse of the stage, to see his face. His reaction prompted me to laugh nervously to myself as if to say:

This is awkward. I feel awkward. This fan is trying to connect in the most endearing way he can. He doesn't understand that Evil Bee is probably a sore subject.

Which prompted the other me inside my brain to say:

Holly, stop being creepy. Ya dunt no nuffin'.

[sarcastically] Ok self. You're right. What do I know? I'm purely speculating that Evil Bee was in the end more of a Justin song after the cut and paste process. [somber] Actually, you're right. It's just silly thoughts from a passive observer. What do I know?

Although, as I type this I'm currently listening to Under An Hour and it's pretty obvious who composed which track.

I don't know... what do I know...

the bullets fly and ricochet

Fight or flight?

I realized something last night.

It's in those quiet hours when only the crickets and late night lovers communicate.

where the planes announce their presence across the light polluted sky.

I left my honeycomb studio with some aimless urgency

keys in hand
phone on the bed

as I always do when I feel it in my gut

windows down
sunroof off
heat blasting high

Driving without direction, I usually get on a freeway and just go. I tend to get lost on purpose, take an exit I've never traveled.

but I almost always end up at sea.

My mind is pretty empty through this process, just feeling the present moment

crisp breeze
the smell of the night air
heat on my arms
parked cars
homeless huddled in heaps
orange lights
stoic trees
engine humming some sort of lullaby

By the time I get back to bed, I'm left feeling a little bit better, but mostly bitter that "I just wasted a bunch of gas to go to the fucking beach at night alone."

but then I heard it.

I heard the bullets fly and ricochet.

They called out, "Are you listening to us? Figure it out, we're giving you the space and time to process this."

So here I am
sitting
typing
processing

and I think it's helping.