I had reached that unfortunate part of my young adult life where I hated my job. When you finally decide that you hate your job, it's all downhill. Everyday becomes eight hours of torture, leaving you a cranky societal cog. I had to go to the Post Office after work to deliver an eBay package. I also needed a box. The largest boxes out did not seem to fit my goods, so I stood in line to ask for a bigger box. I didn't notice the woman waving at me behind the window...and honestly, how could I have? Some Beverly Hills girl was hogging up the counter in front. The waving grew more and more exasperated until I noticed. A simple "I'm open" could have sufficed, but she chose to flap her hand at me. I went over and I asked, "Are these the biggest boxes available?" I held up one of the Flat Rate boxes. "What boxes?" she said. Typical. "The Flat Rate boxes. Is this the largest?" "The largest what?" "Flat Rate box." "Well, how big do you want it?" "Well, bigger than this." "We don't have anything bigger." "There are bigger ones online, where can I get those?" "I don't know." "Great." I walked away. I considered the box. I did not want to deal with this package any longer. I assembled the box and forced the item inside. It fit. I pulled off the adhesive backings. I was about to toss them when it struck me. No, I was going to leave them right there, on the counter. If she wasn't going to help, I wasn't going to help either. You see, the United States Post Office is one of the innermost circles of Hell. The innermost is the DMV, and right outside the Post Office is Michael's and right outside of that is a Target shopping center. When you enter the Post Office, you feel evil things. Like the desire to exact petty revenge. So I littered. I affixed the mailing label to the box and gleefully pulled out strips of tape, sticking them to the counter. I dropped the box into the bin and just...walked away! I didn't pick up after myself! I left the premises! Now that bitch will have to clean up my mess! I was so pleased with myself it was stupid.
No really, it was stupid.
Writing March 12th 2009
"Oh my god! There you are!"
He had traveled some distance along the water. I grabbed his arm.
"I've been looking all over for you!"
"I thought you were over it."
"No, I hadn't let you go yet. Not at all. I was fucking worried about you man."
He looked genuinely apologetic.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry," he said. "It's just that...."
The water carried his words away. The beach was white and apart from the shore, it seemed to carry on forever in all directions. The sky was gray, not blue, and the clouds blindingly reflected the sun back into my eyes. The sand was very fine, like sugar, and here and there the beach was dotted with dark driftwood.
"It's just that what?"
"I figured it might be best for me to, you know, go."
"To where exactly?"
"I'm not sure."
"I think this place goes on forever."
"In some ways it does."
There was a confession stuck in my throat like a half-finished sneeze. "Do you want to go for a walk?"
"Sure."
We walked and the sand crunched under our shoes. I stopped and took my shoes off. I tied the laces together and swung them at my side. We walked and we were quiet for a long time.
Then I said, "I loved you so much at one time. But you've been breaking my heart ever since the beginning. I remember sitting naked on the stomach of that guy I dated in high school. We'd just fucked and I was mad at you. I started singing, 'Help me Rhonda yeah, get her out of my heart' and I was thinking about you. Every time I fuck someone now, I still think about you. And in my mind, even though I'm squirming and wailing, I'm still singing, 'Help me Rhonda, yeah, get her out of my heart.'"
"We were very young back then."
"I know. It's so hard. And the only way I can deal with it is coming here and talking to you...and I'm basically just talking to myself. This is crazy."
He shrugged. I could tell he did not want to talk about it. So I changed the subject.
"I'm trying to win tickets to Hawaii from the radio station. If I win, do you want to come with me?"
"I'd love to."
I was excited. "Really? I think I really might win too, because I listen to the radio all day at work, and in the car, and at home."
"How do you win?"
"Well, every day there's a song, and when you hear the song you have to call in. And if you're caller number five, then you win!"
"What's the song for today?"
I had to think about it. "It's 'Help Me, Rhonda.'"
He started singing, "Help me Rhonda, yeah, get her out of my heart."
Somewhere very far away a car drove by. As it drove by, I recognized the song blasting from its static-y stereo.
"Oh shit! There's the song! I gotta go!" I ran off, shoes in hand, kicking up sand all over.
I didn't hear him say, "Good luck."
Writing March 11 2009
On Sunday mornings I wake up hungover, or if I'm lucky, still drunk. When I wake up buzzing that's when I make the best half-cocked decisions. After checking the weather, I'll have a beer, gather up my gear, and head out on my bicycle to some breakfast destination.
So I locate the farthest IHOP (Ten miles in Marina Del Ray) and go. Upon arrival, I've worked up a stoner's appetite, if I'm lucky, I'll discreetly smoke a bowl (Everybody else is dressed in their Sunday best). As soon as I'm seated I don't hesitate to order everything on the breakfast menu. I consume every single crumb with reckless abandon, mulling over my latest issue of Wired.
On this particular Sunday, I've decided to take the extra couple of miles west to the beach, where I now sit by my bicycle writing this to you. I can stay as little or as long as I want to.
I haven't said a word in about an hour. I listen to the waves and the children screaming gleefully. I vaguely dread the ride back, but know the ride home is always easier than it seems. I revel in the physical sublimation of my body, convinced that if everyone rode a bicycle, no one would hate her body ever again (How can you find fault in the organic machine that just propelled you ten miles?).
The phone rings, it's some guy, but I don't answer it.
"Oh sorry I didn't get your call, I was riding my bicycle."
Writing March 8 2009
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