Semi-Daily Scribbles

Bertha heard it all. Cow. Sow. Fattest Girl In The World. Torment and taunts were the daily diet. Spoon-fed by fear, Bertha's penpals were the last gals to cast aspersions on one of their own. Maybe it was because she was confident by nature. Bertha took life in stride and didn't allow negativity to poison her mind. She believed kindness was the only brand that mattered, and wore her heart right where everyone could see it. Patience. Poise. Pride. These were more than words to Bertha, they were ideals which kept her feet firmly on the ground as she set out on a path of her own design. Bertha would let no one keep her spirit in a cage. It was time for her to move along, and leave the naysayers to wallow in their sorry understanding of the messes they made.

When the spots and dark thoughts send Alison free-falling to the bottom of the wishing well, Alison calls in sick and immerses herself in quiet pursuits; safe things. Well-supplied with books and cake, Alison is set with the only nourishment that gives her strength to climb out of the mire.

Everyone was in a hurry. The rhythm of herds locked in a rush to get to work, and back home again, made Alison's skin break out in raised, pink spots. Her irritated skin didn't respond well to makeup, and any attempt to hide the blemishes made Alison's face look overcooked and crumbly. She hated to leave the house when a flare-up appeared, but she couldn't hide in her pajamas all day in peace and quiet, either. Lynn, or Bucky, or Dr. Mitchell would more than likely bang on her front door until she opened up. They scurried about doing the things they did, like working the bakery counter at Kroger, or listening to people talk about their shitty childhoods. Alison reckoned both kinds of work were essential in maintaining the daily pace that made her feel left out and off balance. She'd just have to find a way through it all, one day at a time. Always on the lookout for some tiny break in the action that jangled her nerves and knotted her stomach, Alison was awestruck to find a lavishly iced surprise on her doorstep one particularly bumpy morning. She wasn't sure who left the cake, but she was grateful that neither Lynn, nor Bucky, nor Dr. M. made her open up before she was ready.

…and a lot of sawing going on. Now some pounding. I think dartboards with sports logos. Sell them at swap meets. Street fairs. And Beulah's barrel things for when after you smoked your cigarette. There's a wood sign on the barrel, but it's not really wood. It's just some design she paints on particle board and makes it look like the sign is a big hunk of bark off a redwood or something, and the sign says your butt goes here. Beulah is yelling at Conrad now because he cut all the boards crooked…

Gary's play-by-play of the external world raced on. Reg sent Gary upstairs to write in his journal for an hour. Gary hated this punishment worse than a paddle to the rear end. A paddle, naturally, made by Beulah. They were big sellers at church bazaars. Gary had to give five reasons why an expletive-filled rant at the dinner table about seeing Dr. G. in the morning was very bad behavior. He could only think of two reasons. One of them had to do with writing for an hour. The neighbors made a terrible racket below Gary's window. Their fighting words cut and pierced. Gary felt uneasy and couldn't concentrate on his assignment. Busy chatter grew louder in Gary's head.

Barbara stood off to the side and watched her colleagues queue up for platefuls of cookout fare served at unsafe temperatures. She'd grabbed a quick bite on the way to her company's annual Employee Appreciation picnic. The stench and tumidity of cheap wieners floating in dirty water always made Barbara queasy, but people sure did seem to like the stuff. She just flat out hated these events; picnics, holiday potlucks, and off-site team building activities like the one last year at the bowling alley which traumatized her for a good two weeks afterward. As a rule, Barbara avoided smelly, loud, environments where people congregated. It was never worth all the sweaty trembling and worrying about what everyone thought of her sweaty trembling. Shakes and perspiration. She equated these two things with work functions, and regretted the decision to stay long enough to listen to insipid speeches from the management team. Barbara planned to duck out before Hank or Mildred forced her to play cornhole. It took all her concentration to visualize the nice, comfy sofa waiting for her back at the apartment. Barbara continued to stand off to the side, counted each deep breath, and heard every third word of some executive's puffed up, quarter-end attaboy spiel.

"My mind has been infected with the fallacy that I can describe, in perfect detail, all which exists in the interior world. This cannot be done. I have failed before the first word drips from my pen. Thus, my experimentation with the limitations of the human brain continues." – Gary Q. on why he left toilet paper off the shopping list