Rainy Day Jury Duty

All of us reporting for jury duty line up on the accessibility ramp to the courthouse, while the spattering rain drips from the aluminum construction shed overhead. 

As we get to the security station, the clearly harried security guards repeat their spiels with increasing exasperation.

“Put everything in your pockets in your bags, that means wallets, phones, keys, and if you don’t have a bag, use one of these plastic buckets,” one says.

“Please do NOT put wet umbrellas in the buckets,” his coworker adds wearily.

Trauma

I lay on my bed in the dark, with my phone the only light, and watched a political rally, which is not a sentence I ever would have thought I’d write.

The current vice-president announced her nominee for vice-president in the upcoming election. And I found myself crying.

Sitting, crying at a political stump speech, just because the candidates were saying things like “we need to be better,” and “let’s take care of each other,” and I guess the last few years have been kind of traumatic.

Freedom of/from Opinion

Burberry skirt, Gucci loafers, standing in the subway - I find myself thinking about fashion as language. She wears these clothes to make a statement, to speak, as it were, through the syntax of fashion, to say something to people about herself and how she wants us to perceive us. 

So what is she saying, with her complementary (but not matching!) brands, the money she paid to procure them, the casual way in which she wears them, and what opinion do I have about these things and the statements she’s making?

I have no opinion about that.

Lucky

I finally leave the house to go to the grocery store. The storm and various projects have kept me inside all day, but I’m done with the projects and the sun’s come out, so I guess it’s time to head outside!

Dark clouds show their backs to the neighborhood as the storm rolls east, illuminated by the sun going down. Two rainbows, perfectly formed, arc across the sky, so vivid that I can see right down to the dark purple.

Happy to Help

“Can you help me brainstorm this?” Katie asks. “I need help unpacking some boxes and it’s supposed to storm today.”

“Sure!” I say. There’s a quick moment as she’s walking away where I realize I’m genuinely excited to just go cut open boxes and take things out of them, and I wonder at myself.

She’s Fine

“Okay, so before I tell you this, I want you to know, I’m fine, I’m completely okay, okay?” Katie is still wet from the rain and the storm that soaked her still grumbles and tosses the trees around outside.

“Got it.”

“I got hit by a car, but I’m FINE,” she says as my eyes widen and I start to scan her head to toe looking for any injuries, even a scrape.

Getting Ahead Of Myself

I’m excited to try this new recipe, so I dump the fake ground beef into the frying pan to start browning it.

In doing so, however, I realize I haven’t bothered to prepare any of my other ingredients, and now the clock is ticking. I’ve got about 5 minutes to slice up the tofu, get all my spices measured (and where the hell are my measuring spoons?), grate the ginger, slice the green onions, get the eggs beaten - I mean, it’s utter chaos here.

When Katie gets home, the meal is cooked, and delicious, but the kitchen could use a good hosing down.