Bent Words

Bent Words

June 13, 2011

There's something to be said about stalking the entirety of a queen-sized bed at night.

To stretch out, sans boundaries, lengthen my limbs, repose diagonally, twist, turn and, finally, awaken from a most excellent night's sleep.

It's kinda like finding a ten-spot left behind in your winter coat. Or leisurely enjoying a perfectly cooked steak. Or sabatoging your co-worker's desk by hiding their computer monitor in the passenger seat of their car...

It. Feels. Great.

And then to let all the light of a 6am sun flood my living room; worry not that I might make too much noise in my quest to clean up empty beer and soda cans; pee freely with the bathroom door wide open to the world (well, at least a world filled with two cats seeing as not just anyone has access to my digs); wander about the empty place as though I were queen.

And, really, I am queen...

(Rather goes without saying).

But I do miss my King.

I miss the bright blue of his eyes when he first awakens, blinking at me with benevolence as though those few hours of sleep were cruel to have taken me away from his sight.

I miss the eagerness he brings to my day. His intensity makes me want to move forward, inspires me to work hard and dares me to keep up.

I miss the excellence of his touch, as if this embrace might be our last and deserves the utmost attention.

I miss his swagger as he walks by in the morning -- chin up, eyes watching, heart knowing. He's the only one at work, besides myself, worth his weight in gold. He's also the only one, besides Marc, who doesn't readily piss me off every chance he gets by his mere existence.

And while I like sprawling out on my bed like a lion that owns the desert, there's something to be said about snuggling up close to someone you love.

No matter how minute the space.


Grocery carts.

As a general rule, I hate pushing them about as though I were domestic. But, when properly abused, they're a hoot.

You put your friends in them after relinquishing them from their rightful geographic locations, cough indelicately on the handle when you're sick, stagger them sideways in between the beans and the cream of chicken so no one can pass without sighing heavily (why shouldn't one man's pain be your absolute pleasure?), accidentally graze incorrigable children strayed from their guardians, bash them into the nearest structurally sound display in hopes of reacquainting them with proper alignment or, if you're no longer 15, you take every possible opportunity available to ride on them down empty aisles.

Well, as long as you have enough weighty shazz occupying said cart, you most certainly do.

But as is often true of the particular paths we take, not every aisle is certain to be free and clear of life's more obdurate obstacles.

Neither was aisle 7 of my local Sentry at approximately 5:20pm.

Just as I pushed off (right foot on cart frame, left foot dangling behind), after realizing that Purina Indoor Formula Cat Chow was the next aisle down, I received a text on my cell phone which was perched on the child seat/small food section of the vehicle. I looked down just in time to be perfectly distracted by its contents when a woman of no particularily useful age disinterestedly rounded the upcoming corner.

After a near collision, she stopped abruptly and gasped with genuine surprise.

"Well, really!" she exerted, as though I were 12.

"Oh I'm sorry!" I said through a thoroughly pleased grin.

For a moment, and for a moment only, I hunkered down and laid straight my course. But it wasn't long before I was riding my cart out the door and down the slight decline that is the hill leading to Sentry Food's parking lot and, ultimately, to my car.

While there really isn't any severely poignant moral to this story (other than why not to patronize the Pick 'n' Save Snob-a-torium which lacks any useful inclines in their parking lot pavement), I do rather think it worth noting that life is generally what you make it.

And I make mine a roller derby.

Every chance I get.

Written at 9:25 p.m.