Semi-Daily Scribbles

Melancholy wrapped in euphoria disguised as attention deficit disorder. Add a side of bacon and Bill was the Full Meal Deal. He'd done a lot of bouncing around in his day, but now he was so very weary of beginnings. Too much newness wears away at a body. There has to be some sense of permanence, some little toehold that stabilizes a wandering spirit. Bill needed a rock solid reason to take a whack at another day. Something in which his shriveled brain could find nourishment. All of his endeavors to date were like soap bubbles; easily punctured with the tines of a plastic fork, destined to disappear into Total Nothingness. Bad enough Bill had to scrape the best parts of his personality up off the bathroom floor every morning. The time was ripe for Bill to set aside his restlessness and find a nice, comfortable yoke to keep him steady on the tightrope.

Zeke made himself comfortable on the back porch, with his pipe and strong black tea. He settled in after a long day of words and tones and facial tics that revealed everyone was a liar. The packers wanted the fruit of his labor at a cost next to nothing, and used words like channels, shares, margins to tell him so. Zeke got the runaround and very little eye contact. The strained exchanges made him feel out of place. Lonely. But Zeke had his hounds to keep him company, and dark, rich earth to work. The orchards were a riot of shining prizes as he looked out over rows of gold, green, and red. Such a contradictory season of abundance and decline. Riches and want. He'd have to come up with a better plan. Zeke would have a good harvest, but his circle shrunk to the size of one of his ripe, delicious apples.

Anna-Marie couldn't make her face fit in the circle. Just as well. She said it all before anyway and nobody paid any mind to her impeccably formed opinions. Anna-Marie imagined all her good ideas were still stuck in the hall's rafters. At least the résumé was scrubbed and pinned prominently in the center of her chest, so she took advantage of the warm evening to parade her assets around town. Anna-Marie needed her 30 minutes of cardio, and was happy the doorman turned her away at the gate. It would've been just another miserable meeting where her voice could never rise high enough above all the grunts and grandstanding. She'd just been given the gift of a Saturday night free of humiliation. Wearing steel toe boots and a pensive expression, Anna-Marie strolled Main Street thankful not to be told to remove either one.

Lu told me the other day she has enough ghosts vying for her time to keep us both company. She wants to hook me up with one. Thinks we make a good match. I suppose I could use the distraction. Meeting someone new might help me forget about my hobby. That'd be a welcome relief. I'm running out of chalk and sidewalk. The old passion is more like paranoia now.

"Who's following behind me with a hose and scrub brush?"

Lu's friends are an angry, confused bunch, though. That sort of energy is no good for my heart murmur. Bad for my skin, too. I really do need to be around sparkly personalities. The eyebrow-furrowing, pouty-lipped brooders Lu attracts get old real quick. They make me want to trade in my chalk for spray cans.

To rescue a chair or picture frame from the refuse bin is one of Darla Varney's greatest delights. People ask her all the time questions like, "Hey Darla, where ya goin' with that sawhorse?" "Whatta ya goin' to do with that hubcap?" "Is that my Shop-Vac?" Darla wishes she had a few creative answers to toss back, but the truth is she feels good when she saves things others lose interest in. Darla turns some of her finds into conversation pieces she sells at her craft booth on the weekends. She's especially good at making magazine racks out of driftwood, even though she knows folks look at stuff on their phones more than they flip through glossy paper pages. It's why she calls them "conversation pieces" and not "magazine racks." But Darla doesn't have definitive plans for her newly acquired pair of ripped and zipperless jeans, or the Vera Bradley mailbag with its flap missing. She just likes having these odds and ends around the house for when inspiration visits. Darla is grateful for the fact people treat their belongings with so little care.

Jeri leaves the same note, more or less, peeking out from under the base of the lamp on the nightstand. More often than not, there is a lamp and a nightstand. The rest of the details are up for grabs. Oh, and she's always a woman, but Jeri figures that could change one of these mornings. It's not like she has a handbook on how this whole thing's supposed to work. Jeri goes with the flow. There's really nothing else that can be done. The notes she leaves behind go something like:

Hello,

In the bottom drawer of this nightstand, under the polka dot gift wrap, is the daily log I've kept during my stay. I know that sounds odd, but I've been a visitor in your house these last five days. From past experience, I'm a new person every five days. I don't know what it is about five days, but then I don't know why I hop around like I do. It's exhausting, really, and I pray at some point all is revealed. I have given thought to the reveal possibly being worse than all this body swapping, but I cling to the hope that I'll find my answers. This is why I've left a record. It may make more sense to me if I ever come back. So far, I keep ending up with different families. I hope I haven't done anything out of the ordinary to frighten you. It's difficult being the person you believed me to be. I did enjoy my time with all of you, and learned a lot in the process.

Warmest Regards,

Jeri Linelle Buckland

Bibi accepted Inez's invitation to come around to her house for a leisurely Sunday brunch. Asked to bring jam and a potted mum, Bibi thought it a much better option than waiting in the rain to be seated at the chi-chi bistro she'd been trying to get into for the past month. Inez made a fluffy tortilla Bibi was happy to eat any day of the week, so she couldn't possibly turn down the offer. There would be pitchers of Inez's spicy bloody marys, too. Who needed the accompanying scones and tea, anyway? Bibi looked forward to a lazy afternoon full of potent pitchers, potted plants, and plenty of gossip with her old boarding school chum.