I read through my journal, or part of it, and now I’m fighting the knee jerk reaction to delete it. What was I thinking?
Oh, right. I wasn’t thinking. The Universe(TM) has put me on autopilot.
(“Look ma, no hands!”)
I’m pretty tired of conversations involving phantoms these days. I think The Universe must be proud of me for deciding not to dwell on fantasies and instead work on reality. Reality is this: my tortured back hurts to rehabilitate. It takes hours per day to get results. But, finally, after 1 year, 4 months, and 11 days, I’m nearly pain-free. After 20 years of being in pain… I am nearly pain free.
I have… soon to be able to use the word “had”… vertebral subluxation. “What’s that, Toots?” Don’t call me that, I’ll shoot your eyes out. That means that one or more spinal bones (vertebra) misalign, lock out of place, and alter nerve flow. This most often occurs in the neck, low back, or tailbone/hips. Thank you, Auger family chiropractic.
The Universe(TM) says I had one subluxation in each area, thanks to various injuries over time. Three car accidents and a douche bag falling asleep on my left hip for hours. Those happened in reverse order.
I’ve decided to fix her back because I believe that her back problems are the reason why she’s being non-productive at this time, you see. It’s taking hours of work every day, stretching this way or that. Today, we caused great agony to try to get her left hip in alignment. We’re over halfway there, but she decided she’d had enough pain after two hours of work. I thought I could get another half hour out of her but, as it turns out, now that she’s had a taste of comfort, she longs for it to return.
She metaphorically limped through life for almost two decades. Near the end, she literally was limping, thanks to some asshole putting her in the same sexual position day in and day out. How many of you ladies are experiencing that? Doesn’t it get old? Tell them to get bent, they need to figure something else out. You must be tired of doing yoga to counteract that bullshit, amirite?
“Wait, yoga can counteract that?” Why, yes. Yes, it can.
Basically, any pose that helps you stretch backward. Your back is crying for a break, between all the sitting in the car, at a desk or computer, or the couch.
Suddenly she hears Ke$ha’s PRAYING in her head. She’s not a particularly big fan of that particular Ke$ha song. She bites her lip, wondering who might be thinking about her to associate her with that song. It’s just the refrain, so it’s probably stuck in their head. Could it be… Sir Deli Man?
That would be too serendipitous, she concedes. Why would anyone who is probably beyond lovely want anything to do with her? She’s been limping through recovery for two years now. The second anniversary of her death is almost nigh, after all. August 8th, 2020.
She’s a ghost, there’s no way a man with such vitality would be interested in her. Even with rainbow unicorn hair, who gives a shit? She is quiet and withdrawn. She only speaks when spoken to. She is a transient in her own life, her reality is elusive, and her sanity is definitely long gone, evidenced by her penchant for talking to herself constantly.
Unbeknownst to onlookers, that’s The Universe(TM) keeping her talking. She humbly asked for a boon, a gift, when we first met. She asked me to correct her inability to connect thought to speech. There’s really nothing wrong with her other than the habit of not speaking must be broken. To be in the habit of not speaking is something most wise men wish for. Alas, she finds it to her detriment; she is unable to express herself properly on a daily basis.
I think he’s here, she says to me, quietly, inside her head. She’s practicing being silent again for her ancient ones have the inclination to be nosy. She’s extremely private in nature. Not to mention shy. She’s so shy that she had three chances to speak to this young man I’m pairing her off with and she blew it, but I understand completely. I forgive her.
He is here, I tell her, hearing the songs she’s playing on Spotify. We’ve been through this drill more than two hundred times now. I pretend to be Sir Deli Man for a while, until an asshole in the back of her mind from the former life she led enters and throws a monkey wrench in it. After playing mental target practice for weeks, we might be ready to speak to him. Finally. Except it’s important to note that each time we remove one of her obstacles (read: dude she dated that refuses to let her go even though she burned the bridge… actually, she blew it up and napalmed it and the works, because she’ll never go back to a single one of those fuckers), she changes a little more.
It’s difficult to tell who she’s going to be once they’re all gone. Herself, one would hope. But who is she? “Who am I?” she wonders. “Who are you?” he wonders. He’s been wondering who she is for months. He lost his job, wouldn’t you know? It wasn’t his fault, either. Some bitch in management isn’t managing properly; she could give just one task that was his to another role, an under-worked role, and that would have solved it… but as it stands, that role has 15 minutes too much work scheduled, resulting in constant over time for whomever lands the role. Which also results in dismissal because someone, somewhere, thinks they’re milking their breaks.
They’re not. The fifth person to be fired this year just walked out the door today, jobless, because that jackass in management won’t budge. She has eyes the size of snow, wouldn’t you know? She finally sees the error is her own, but it’s too late. Upper management has caught on that they’ve lost some really great workers a little too consistently from the deli. In fact, their turnover rate is astronomical. No one from September of last year is still there. No one stays very long. The one person who has been there the longest is some old white guy. Methinks she’s an ageist, folks. She cuts the old guy some slack for being old and decides all the young’uns are slacking because they don’t quite get the jobs done as expected.
Here is your wake up call, Wegmans. You have fired over 100 employees from the meat department of Peach Street’s Wegmans unfairly in the past two years. The pandemic covered it up, allowing this monstrosity of a manager to fester negativity in the hearts of over 200 people. Today, we heal those people. Every single last one of them… Right after a restroom break.
I will teach you all a bloody lesson, yes I will.