Day: June 22, 2005

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Intruder Alert

A seemingly impossible thing happened today. The painting I’ve been thinking about doing for months now, finally happened. But that’s not the impossible thing.

I decided to read some more of Anna’s book, “Middlesex”, while I waited for the primer to dry. It’s one of those books where you can’t wait to get back to it, but at the same time you dread the fact that you’re racing through it so fast that soon it will be over. Suddenly there came a rustling from the other side of the house. It sounded like someone was on the stairs. Must’ve been the toilet just topping itself up, I thought to myself.

I had a roommate about a year ago that believed someone or something haunted this house. How silly I thought, it’s just an old house; old houses creak and twist under their own weight. It’s probably just the wind.

The toilet moaned again. Or was it? I knew that my house is 100% apparition free. There are no such things as hauntings, there is always a reasonable explanation. Another pause, then more noises. I put my book down and peered down the hallway. There was nobody in my house – this I knew because both the doors were locked. Shuffling in the living room. Oh !@#%&.

“Hello?” I ventured, “Is anybody there?” I knew I would feel silly after I discovered the obviously logical explanation, but nervously I grabbed a chair to defend myself against whatever interloper happened to be in my home.

As I rounded the corner, there in my living room was a small terrified bird feeling trapped inside this old house. She smashed herself against the glass terrified of what I might do to her. I opened the door and the small creature set herself free. Goodbye my little bird, I said as the beautiful sparrow flew into the sky. I have no idea where that bird came from.

Having such a visitor is supposed to be a good omen; a signal that something good is about to happen to me. It reminded me of someone else I used to call “My Little Bird” and whom I also set free. Of course if she ever wanted to visit me she would be totally welcome, because she’s my best friend.

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My First Mocha

Quite a personal post two days ago. I guess the sadness sometimes makes it hard to keep it to myself. Here comes another one:

I never made it the full 48 hours of computer hiatus, I checked my email at school and inevitably booted up my computer to show my brother and his wife a video because my Xbox refuses to play VCD’s, (I guess Microsoft is worried about copyright violations, even though the one in question is of me free-flying in Malaysia). But disconnecting (for the most part) from my computer did help. I cleaned up my house and completed a boatload of errands. I’ve even had time to start reading “Middlesex”, which is a facinating book and the respite has allowed me to hit it hard.

My jet lag is slowly but surely leaving. The nap I took on Monday started at 11am and lasted seven hours. Yesterday I laid my head down around 3:30pm and got up at 5:00pm; my naps are getting shorter and once again I’m sleeping through the night.

I went to Starbucks yesterday and ordered a Mocha Tall. It’s not the first one I’ve ever had, but it marked the first time that I’ve ever ordered coffee (or a half coffee half chocolate anyway) when no one else was around saying, “hey you wanna get some Starbucks?”. I’ve never had any reason to drink coffee. I’ve never particularly liked the taste of it either, though the smell has started to grow on me. I find it empowering to try something new and to really decide on my own if drinking the occasional coffee is something that I like.

You may be reading this and thinking to yourself, “What a complete weirdo, he’s acting as if drinking coffee is some kind of crime.” I should mention that for me consuming coffee has always appeared as a horrible mortal sin, the first step in a hand-basket down the road paved with good intentions. As one of my favorite bloggers explains:

“My parents raised me Mormon, and I grew up believing that the Mormon Church was true. In fact, I never had a cup of coffee until I was 23-years-old. I had pre-marital sex for the first time at age 22, but BY GOD I waited an extra year for the coffee. There had better be a special place in heaven for me.”

Outside the Starbucks a disheveled blonde man with a mullet approached me. His golden coloured hair was long and oily, he had what appeared to be the fresh swelling of a severe beating, gauze over his left eye, and half a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“Do you have a light?”

“No, sorry — well actually I have the cigarette lighter from my car.”

“Thanks man, I just got out of jail.”

“What were you doing in jail?” I was pretty sure from the 20 fresh stitches on his hung-over face that he had not been there long.

He explained, “I fell asleep in the park and I woke up to somebody kicking me in the face.”

“Then how did you end up in jail?”

“I don’t know. They said I was drunk.” I guess that was all he needed to say.

I gave him his light and a couple bucks in change — so he could at least catch the bus. I figured if I could jeopardize my soul with a $3 mocha the least I could do was counter balance it with a little charity. If there is a heaven, I hope there’s a special place for me too.