All the anger here, all the pain inside...

Something is very wrong.

My foot is glued to the accelerator, the break disintegrated into nightmare long ago.

I just wanted to cruise along, I just wanted to be happy and relaxed, but now I got sucked into this thing, and I'm just

Rushing rushing rushing rushing
trees, fences, houses, streetlights
rushingrushingrushingrushing
right on past me

as I am rushingrushingrushingrushingforward to this... this thing

This big black, howling, hungry thing.

And right before it, is this moment.

I can feel it coming.

My eyes are watering, begging me, pulling with every thread of desperation I have ever felt, pulling themselves closed, beseeching me to just let them go, just let them shut, let them rest, just let them fall right down and rest there, tired, exhausted, drained, empty, begging, completely desperate. Just let me close.
Just.
Let.
Me.
Close.

Please.

I can see it coming.

My hands are aching, splitting at the bone, pulling themselves away from the wheel, pleading for someone else to take control, to take the lead. Don't leave me hear at the helm of my own life, I can't trust myself, why should you? Don't make me fight through this, I can't, it will wrench me apart either way, so why bother? Muscles retracting themselves, pulling, pulling, pulling away from control, crying surrender, screaming at me to just let go.

Just.
Let.
Go.

I can feel it coming.

This moment, this decisive moment that I am rocketing towards.
This choice.

This choice between closing my eyes for that second, pulling my hands off the wheel and just saying 'OK, consume me, whatever, I can't do this anymore' or wrenching my foot off the pedal. Ripping my soul off of that pedal, shredding the skin, tendons and muscle and bone all exposed, all of me exposed, rip it of to slam raw flesh right back down again, find some trace of determination, some last drop of strength from somewhere, but where? Wherever it is, it's deep down, and drilling into the bedrock of yoruself, not pretty.

So what do I do?

As much as I would love to stay stuck in this moment, as much as I despise every second, I do not have that option. Pausing time, is not an option.

Give up and be shredded, or break out the dynamite and find something, and push into and through this big, black thing.

And even as I rush with all involuntary haste toward it, I cannot choose.

Even as I can see the light gleam in its eyes and feel its breath on my face...

I do not have an answer...

love in a desert

A random idea I had as I was answering the phones at work tonight, may come out a little weirdly cos I'm reaaaaallllly tired, but I wanna get it down before I forget...

It kinda falls in the short story category, but its long for a blog entry, so if you don't have the stamina either come back later, or don't worry about it.

If you could read it and comment me about it, that would be awesome, but I'm not too fussed.

Have a good day :)

Was that all for you tonight?

'It started as a dare.

It was an ambivalent Saturday afternoon and we met up before work, to grab a bite to eat that was not pizza, or pasta.

We would drink anything that was not coffee, coke or beer.

We would go anywhere but work.

We were determined not to think or talk about it.

So, of course, the first thing we did as we sat down with our glasses of Chinese tea, was say

"Wow, isn't it nice to not be at work?"

There were 7 waitresses at our little cafe, only six of whom worked nights.

One was taken down with glandular fever, another a broken leg, one taking school leave for exams and the other gallivanting across Greece for 5 weeks.

So it was just the two of us, working joint closes, 5 til 10:30 or 11:00 every single night, and we had been for the last 11 days. Until Josie got her cast off (months away), Claire got over the glandular fever (goodness only knows how far away), Stella finished exams and final assignments (another week away yet) or Dannie got back from Greece (four weeks) we were stuck doing this.

On one hand, we'd gotten into a great rhythm.

On the other hand, we were going nuts.

"Seriously, if I have to say 'sorry, for chicken pizzas we have either the chicken supreme or the chicken and pineapple' one more time, I'll smash a glass on purpose."

"Well if I have to say 'sorry we can't do credit card for delivery's' one more time, I'm going to slap someone"

"Well if I have to say 'Have a good night' one more time, I am seriously going to go on a murderous rampage."

"If I have one more fat greasy sleazy old man wink at me and say 'thanks gorgeous' I'm going to set the store on fire."

"Cheers to that"

It was all a joke, in the beginning we were just kidding.

Then we got to work, cleared the tables from lunch and all that setup jazz.

And it started.

One of the more extremely moronic delivery boys ran past the sink with arms full of Party size pizzas and knocked 4 glasses off, sending them hurtling down to an untimely death, only to say 'oops' and leave.

A fantastic start.

Then my headache kicked in, right as a table of 9 walked in off the street, complete with two screaming toddlers.

Gee, thanks, you shouldn't have.

Then said toddlers spilt three full glasses of coke all over the table cloth, the garlic bread, themselves, their highchairs, and the floor.

And we ever so honestly calmly say

'Oh thats just great OK, I hate you it's fine'

And clear up.

As I'm walking away with the dripping table cloth, I hear a smash.

Gee, thanks. You shouldn't have.

As I return from fixing it up yet again, I see the pile of take away orders, banked up already.

Oh shit yippee.

And so, at only half past 5, we entered a whirlwind of complaints, mistakes, grumpy customers, broken fridges, empty bottles, declined credit cards, screaming children, melting gelati, devastating heat, and always, always the noise.

Whirring, crying, beeping, humming, throbbing, chinking, talking, bitching, scraping, piercing

noise.

Normally, the level of busy-ness is fluctuating, with lower points within the peak, it comes in waves. Tonight was turning out to be be one big endless wave. One table of 3 would leave, the second they did so, someone arrived wanting a table of four, run out and clear it and round the cycle goes, never stopping, never getting easier.

Until at 9:45, after four and a quarter hours of ceaseless rush, one particular cocky, sleazy, dust for brains guy pushed me over the edge.

"Would you like that American hot or mild?"

"Oh definitely hot. Hot, blonde, around nineteen, drunk and easy."

Now, I've had people make jokes before, in a similar vein, but never so blatantly disgusting.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard! Hot, blonde, around nine-"

"Yes, I heard that. I may not be drunk, blonde or hot, but I'm not deaf or dumb"

"Oh, so you're not denying that you're easy then!"

"How dare you! You have no right to speak to me that way!"

"Hey, it's my right to speak the truth!"

"I am not easy! And how would you have any idea, you don't even know me!"

"I can't help it if your reputation precedes you!"

"How dare you! I don't have to tolerate this kind of behaviour, I'll go and get my boss in a minute"

"You know what sweet cheeks, forget about the pizza, I don't wanna buy from a pissy little slut anyway."

And he stumbled out, muttering along on his way.

I was shocked, disgusted and really pissed off.

Trying my best to shake it off, I moved onto the customer who was waiting behind him.

A few minutes later, I had to answer the phone.

Blah blah blah, pick up order, name

"Could I just grab a contact number please?"

"Oh, you want my number do ya!"

" get screwed It's so we can contact you if we need to clarify anything or inform you of any changes"

"Yeah sure, that's what they all say."

"Sir, I need your contact number for the purposes of the order"

"Methinks she doth protest too much"

"Seriously, all jokes aside Sir"

"I like that, respect. A woman who knows her place"

"Excuse me, but do you want to order pizza or do you just want to insult me"

"I'm not sure, but I reckon both sounds like fun"

"I don't need to tolerate this, we have quite enough business without putting up with swine like you"

"Ooooh, fiesty, I like that in a woman! Fiesty, booby and..."

at that point I hung up. Don't know why I waited so long really.

Instantly, the phone rings again.

"Good evening, how can I help you?"

"Ah, where can I begin?"

For some reason, I didn't recognise pig-brains voice and responded, instead of hanging up.

"I'm sorry?"

"Why'd you hang up on me fiesty, we were just getting started!"

Then I recognised him.

Poking my head out the back, I asked a delivery boy to answer the phone and swapped back onto the till, hoping I at least wouldn't be insulted or hit on.

No such luck.

"I'll have a Party sized tropical and a Party sized hot American. Huh-huh, get it! Huh-huh, a tropical party, thats classic."

An extremely forced smile and confirmation later, I made the mistake of letting my waitress smile slip off.

"Oh whats the matter sexy, sad you can't come?"

I am so past bothering to give a shit, so I just look at him blankly for a second and go back to order scribbling.

"Oh, poor hottie wants to come to the party. Tell you what, I'll do you a favour. I'll give you a nice big tip, but only if you'll do me 'a favour'."

My blank look turns to a glare, and the ghost of a twitch.

"I mean a blow-job, in case you couldn't trouble your pretty head to figure it out."

That does it.

"You know what?"

"What is it, gorgeous?"

"Get fucked."

"If you insist" as he nudged his slimy little wing-man

"No seriously, fuck off."

"Thats a little rude don't you think."

"No, not really, I think it's justified. I don't have to put up with this shit you know! I'm not your eye candy, I am a waitress, and a human being with a brain much bigger than yours and standards much higher than you, so fuck off."

"Awww, is someone a little crabby? Someone going through their little time of the month?

"That's enough. No, seriously, FUCK OFF. You can take your tip, your blow-job, your party sized american and your giant empty head and SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS! Get the fuck away from me, you slimy, sexist, ugly, horny little FUCK-TARD!!!'

And then, as my breathing sped up, shock racing through my system, he did the unthinkable.

He reached across the counter with his repulsive little hand and patted me on the face.

"There, there sexy, we can't always be as wonderful as me, no need to be bitter."

"Don't you DARE touch me!!!"

He lent up over the bench top right up close, and I could smell the rum and weed all over him as whispered "Don't pretend you don't want me to..."

So many times, I've read the phrase 'my fist seemed to fly on its own', and I still don't understand it. The punch I threw was the first I had ever delivered straight to a persons face, and I damn well meant it.

As I unleashed a week and a half worth of tension, frustration and blind anger, I felt his nose meet my stainless silver ring, and did I imagine that cracking sound? Did I imagine that absolutely everything went quiet right at that instant?

Apparently not, because when I pulled back, breathing heavy, I could almost hear the blood start to trickle down his disgusting little face, mingling with fear, as he swore like a sailor and bolted, tail between his legs.

I stood there, paralysed by shock and adrenaline, but still kind of proud of myself in a way, and still very angry.

All eyes were on me. Every customer, delivery boy, waitress, chef. Every man, woman and child.

My boss.

"You know what? FUCK YOU ALL! You can take your orders, your money, your criticism and your bitching and SHOVE IT!"

Then without knowing what I was doing, I fled the scene of my crime and hid in the storeroom.

Shockingly, my boss gave me the next night off...'

to watch each other sleep

something I wrote on the 16th.

I realised something tonight.

I'm wasting my life.

I have the answer but I do not do what I should.

The flesh is able, but the mind is a mess, and it is fearful.

It's like suddenly thirty. Am I gonna wake up in fourteen years in an apartment I don't recognise? To a life I don't remember. To a life that seemed to chug along fine on auto pilot, but so unbearably empty.

'I don't remember my life'

Is this all it will be?

A big ball of hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades drifting away in the familiar, blending into grey until I am ninety and left wondering how the hell I passed the time.

I am nothing but a big pile of commitments unfulfilled, letters unwritten or unsent, promises unkept, faces indistinguishable, moments forgotten, sentences unfinished, ideas unpainted, gifts ungiven, words unsaid, stands untaken, points unmade.

I am boiling in the heat of choices unmade.

Just like these ancient checked things that blister tired feet,

I am more hole than shoe.

Beneath the neon lights we'll go wandering

"But we lucky few, we are permitted to pass go and collect our $200 of vouchers for slurpee heaven, where they sell only head-spin seasoned with MSG, heart-break sprinkled with six year old icing sugar and nightmares on a bed of toe jam, marinated in repression and denial, every night for the rest of our lives; like sand through the hourglass.

Permitted, by an unlikely Hollywood villain/victim to struggle on in our little trio, helping each other keep from throwing up the past.

Or so we thought.

One for all and (f)all to the floor.

I felt a funny pain in my knee as I fell, a twinging symptom of years of netball and falling down the stairs.

And a decidedly unfunny pain in my stomach and my head, as the fuzz of impact begins to engulf me.

Just before I let it, I realise three things.
One/Yi/Uno/Eins: I am on the floor, but twisted all funny, very unlike a bobcat pretzel.

Two/Ar/Dos/Zwei: I am one of many

Three/San/Tres/Drei: You are the most twisted, your beautiful face not sitting quite right. Turned toward me, it seems wrong, unsupported, with nothing behind it.

All in the same instant I wordlessly pray I am wrong and know that I am not, as I slip into God only knows where.

get yourself dressed instead of running around and pulling on your threads...

I want to write, so here goes. Goodness only knows what will come out...

" We are walking through a delapidated, disliked corridor. We thought the worst thing it could lead to was double english in computer labs that don't work fast enough to support slacking off.

We are wrong.

What was a flurry of break-neck speed gossip and inconsequential whinging becomes screams of pure unadulterated terror. A sound we had never heard before, now cannot stop hearing from inside our forever altered souls.

Bang! And screams.

We fall to the floor by a block of lockers, huddled together.
Silent dread drifts over us and settles like plaster dust, sets like burnt chocolate only to be disturbed and broken by a sound we never expected to hear for real.

Hollywood taught us that sound, like a school teaches you to go inside or outside in response to the dissonant wail of a siren, rather than how to do cartwheels or roast sunflower seeds, or other such useful things.

Run, they taught us. Run and bleed at that noise. Or just skip straight to bleed, do not pass go, do not collect $200, but that doesn't work as well for action movies, only crime shows."