Archive for September, 2004

September 8, 2004: 9:40 pm: writing

When the day ended, Madeleine couldn’t wait to get out the door. Before her cubemate Steve had even packed his tupperware back in his bag she was down the steps and out the door.

She walked along the sidewalk looking at the people meanly. She didn’t hate hte people, she just hated the day she had. Unreasonable demands had been followed with unreasonable expectations and equally unreasonable criticisms. All in all a typical day.

She felt a slight pinch of guilt as her carefully constructed mean face landed on the homeless. She tried to strike a balance between the mean face and one too inviting as she glanced the the 49er. He just ignored her and she felt inexplicably slighted.

Her stride became strident as he marched past the closed lunch counters and edged her way through the thickening crowd as she approached the subway station.

She passed several people from work but none that she knew well enough to acknowledge and some she felt just as happy ignoring. She tried to throw a cold icy wind behind her as she passed one particularly pushy manager who had sent several thinly polite messages regarding a video he wanted posted that featured him. She hoped he felt a chill and would catch cold and not come in the next day.

Finally she was within 10 feet of the subway entrance. She decided to split in two to better deal with her evening. The Madeline with the blonde ponytail, jean jacket and tan slacks continued toward the station reaching in her bag for a book to read on the train.

Another Madeline with exquisitely styled hair, a saucy black dressy tank and a red and black silk skirt headed across the street looking for a bar, a drink, and perhaps more.

Jean jacket Madeleine debated between taking the train in the opposite direction to get a jump on the people outbound. But her train was coming next and she decided to risk it. To her surprise it looked fairly empty. An asian lady cut her off getting on the train and a white guy in a suit cut off the asian lady. The double cut off left her the only one standing in her section of the car. She split in two again, loeaving the jean jacket Madleine standing politely reading while another Madeleine with a tatoo on her kneck, a black t-shirt and black jeans stomped off ot the other end of the car to look for a seat. She found th suit guy who had cut off jean jacket Madeleine hogging a double seat all to himself. Without asking she shoved in him beside him, smiled, and pulled out a magazine from her green canvas backpack with an anarchy symbol neatly inscribed on the front pocket.

Meanwhile at Jeff’s Grill, silk skirt Madeleine was perched on a bar stool drinking a cosmo and watching the television with disinterest as she though back across her day. A man in a beige suit ordered a beer and struck up a conversation with her. IN 5 seconds she knew he’d be passable in bed, uninterested in her, and a jerk to his wife. She milked all of that from the way he ordered and the way he introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Mark.”

She told him while she wasn’t against a passable night in bed she wasn’t in the mood for putting up with a cheating jerk who would be defensive about an attitude she never had or would hold.

“Hi.”

He replied that he didn’t really care what she thought of him as long as they both had a good time.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Sh re-emphasized that while physically it might be enjoyable the aftermath wouldn’t be worth the trouble, so thanks but no thanks.

“Got one.”

He let her know the offer still stood.

“All right.”

She politely declined by turning her head away from him and getting in lost in thought and the brownian motion of her alcohol.

On the train, jean jacket Madeleine got off the train and turned left towards home while hippie Madeleine turned right towards the coffee shop. Punk Madleine had got off with the white guy after chatting him up about his job as a lawyer. She was headed back to his apartment to have some drinks and listen to his Dead Kennedys records. It turned out he was an activist lawyer for environmental causes and had been a huge punk in the early 1990s.

Hippie Madleine passed punk Madeleine and merged back into her, instantly regretting not making it to the coffee shop. Thi sled punk Madeleine to ask lawyer guy if he wanted to get coffee. He wasn’t all that interested but saw Madleine’s sudden interest and so agreed. As they turned around, a Madeleine with curly blonde hair and a baseball cap on, decided to go work out before going home. Punk-hippie Madeleine decided she was tired and the coffee would help her stay awake.

Downtown, silk skirt Madleine had met a very cool girl who had a good sense of humour and seemed worth her time. A church-going Madeleine split off to head to an evening bible study near home, while silk skirt Madeleine headed to funny girl’s house.

Jean jacket Madeleine had a frozen pot roast for dinner and sat down to finish reading her book. Church-going Madeleine noticed workout Madeleine coming out of the gym and joined up with her to head home. Silk skirt Madeleine ran into punk-hippie Madeleine at the corner convenience store near her house buying aspirin. They laughed and walked home together.

Jean-jacket Madeleine had fallen asleep in her chair. As silk skirt Madleine stumbled in, she woke up, collected herself and moved off towards bed. She still dreaded th enext day but hoped a good night’s sleep would help her deal.

: 9:10 pm: Jango

Recently after years of discussion we adopted a dog. Thank god. It’s over. The guilt trips. The strange behaviour with the stuffed animal. The mournful looks. We have a dog. She’s great. Best dog in the world.But my wife is still acting as if we don’t have a dog in one very odd way. Just like before we adopted Jango, my wife sits at her laptop cruising dog adoption sites, craigslist, and yes, even dogster.

I’m worried.

She assures me she doesn’t want another dog, she’s just looking. Today she put forth the excuse that she’s looking for Jango’s brothers and sisters.

Hmmm.

Perhaps she never wanted a dog at all (not that she doesn’t love Jango. She does. Maybe what she wanted was the search. The looking. The quest. Or maybe she’s tired of talking to me. I know I am.