My just-for-fun stuff
A disturbing story about a bandana-wearing Yorkie, a field of magic mushrooms, and a double yolker.
As the night got dark on his 18th birthday, Gatsby the Yorkie made his way into a part of town he was always told to avoid as a young pup. He set foot to make his way through the dark, muggy terrain of the Southside region of Juarez, Mexico, on the opposite side of town from where he grew up. He prepared to hike miles upon miles before reaching the Southside of the city. When he arrived, he heard a few piercing gunshots and immediately began his four-legged sprint across the concrete when suddenly, he tripped right into a mouthful of mushrooms. Gatsby had been grateful to come across such a delicacy of a snack to satiate his hunger. Quickly though, he realized that these mushrooms had done much more. As he strolled along the treacherous drug lord grounds, colors began to appear and the darkness began to move. He panicked and began crying for help. Muddled and confused, he jumped into a nearby pond in hopes that the water would wake him from this nightmare. Suddenly, a swarm of ducks gathered, each covered with red feathers and leatherwear. At this point, Gatsby was tripping balls. He didn’t fight it. He closed his eyes and hoped for a refreshing awakening. The next morning, Gatsby picked himself up from the pond, began his walk home, and attempted to put together the pieces of the puzzle from the night before. He rushed into his home with the sudden urge of needing to defecate. “Probably from the unfamiliar mushrooms I consumed,” he thought. He ran to the toilet and did the deed. He then got up and turned around and what he saw -- he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Twins?!!!” he shouts as he stares into the toilet bowl with what appears to be a two-in-one egg. Simultaneously, a reflection of a Yorkie in a red bandana stares back. Gatsby realized that he had been unknowingly initiated into the blood gang of the Southside Ducks.
The Haircut.
Wet, tangled, distraught.
I guess it was enough of me,
she was done with me.
I didn’t mean to torment her this way.
I tried to be tranquil.
Over time though, as I grew,
I became entwined in what I thought we were.
I guess I overestimated our stability—
I take care of her, she takes care of me.
Without me, there would be a lack of confidence,
a lack of warmth.
She didn’t appreciate the effort I put forth.
She decided one day that those things weren’t important to her anymore.
So she took me to a monstrous place
where I would soon be replaced.
“Out with the old, in with the new,” she said.
An evil woman helped her, plunging me into a watery grave
before giving me air for the last time.
Before I had the chance to sway in the wind once more,
I found myself motionless on the cold, concrete ground.
Of course, I cannot scream, I cannot make a sound.
I am only a strand of keratin,
a simple follicle if you may.
I still wish the best for her as her new companions grow alongside her.
I hope for their sake, they will obey.
Rethinking the Spoken Word.
When you speak before you feel, you sense your heart clench tighter than a fist full of anger at the moment when your patience is at its thinnest.
When you view yourself as an awkward being with an inability to process emotions as they come, you turn to embarrassment and resentment toward yourself with the running thought that maybe it would have been different if you’d given yourself the chance to gather your thoughts.
When your powerless attempt at using your voice goes south when your vocal cords wither in a slight moment of time.
When you try to take every ounce of thought left inside your frazzled brain and turn it into something you feel proud of, something beautiful that exists only on paper and infinitely in time.
These are the moments that make you rethink the spoken word.
These are the moments you write.
The Sun That Never Sets
If I ever thought about the way the sun makes me feel, I would say that I feel warm, comfortable, homely.
How much I love to feel warm, comfortable, and homely is similar to the amount that I pray that the feeling never ends.
Regrettably, the feeling oftentimes vanishes by day’s-end.
Oh, but on a day when the sun never sets?
As luck would have it, it never truly does. Instead, it presents itself in a cup. A warm, comfortable, homely cup. With a small handle, a hand-painted floral image, and a bag of sweet-smelling herbs and botanicals slumped over on the inside.
So when the light turns to dark at the edge of the evening--just when I think I must wait for the following day--that’s when I grab that beautiful, petite cup and the little sweet, soon-to-be-slumped-over bag.
And once more, I feel warm, comfortable, homely.
Yogi. The sun that never sets.
Apples.
I always hated the skin of apples.
Yes, I know. The vitamins, the nutrients.
But I didn’t care. I hated the skin of apples.
I hated the taste. I hated the texture. I only wanted the juicy, sweet insides.
But I had to get through the outside to get to the inside of the apple. My favorite part.
I couldn’t use knives yet. Or scissors. Or any sharp objects. Because I was little. Harmless. Helpless. Hopeless when it came to ridding the skin of my apples.
And one day, you noticed I stopped eating the apples altogether.
You warned me of the vitamins. The nutrients. Or the lack thereof.
But I didn’t care. I hated the skin of apples. So I stopped eating them altogether.
See, apples didn’t affect me as much as they affected you. I didn’t get that.
I lived my life as if there were no longer any apples.
But you were worried. You were worried because I stopped eating my apples.
You were worried about the vitamins. The nutrients. The lack thereof.
I didn’t think twice.
I came home from school one day and walked right past the apples and your face dropped when I reached for the cookies.
Boy did I love those cookies. They were double chocolate chip cookies. Super sweet.
You let me have the cookies. You wanted me to have the cookies. Because god did I love those cookies so much.
And you loved me so much.
The next day when I came home from school, there they were. The apples.
I didn’t even take in a hint of those sweet, sweet double chocolate chip cookies that I loved so much.
Because there they were.
The apples.
Skinless, naked apples on the kitchen counter.
And then a smile.
Apples never really affected me like they affected you.
But that day when I came home.
That affected me.
Suddenly, apples were my favorite fruit again. And you had shown me my favorite kind of love.