The Reunion That Never Was

Once again I ignored his request for a reunion with three of my former high school classmates. I hated high school. For them, it was glory and great memories. For me, not so much.
We are Facebook friends. In fact, FB has pretty much made reunions passe. He actually organized previous full reunions for the whole class, none of which I attended.
See, these people basically ignored me in high school. Maybe I wasn't worth knowing. But I have no desire to return to the dynamics of that relationship, IE. they cementing how popular they were and relating all their success afterward, while subtlety denigrating my achievements. I don't doubt for a moment that would happen.
He did come to my brother's funeral almost four years ago and sought me out. I didn't recognize him. We had a nice talk in which he mentioned a kidney problem.
Well, recently he posted on FB that his situation had gotten much worse and is life threatening. A part of me feels guilty for refusing his invitations to get together over the years. But the truth is we were never close friends. Sometimes you have to protect yourself and not bring back bad memories and that is why I stayed away. None of us were supposed to get old, right?

Extra Cookie

I was recently faced with an ethical dilemma. The kid taking my order at a fast food restaurant accidentally gave me four cookies instead of three. I did not discover this until I sat down and began eating. I debated whether to return the extra one, but before you judge me, these were oatmeal raisin cookies and that changes the narrative.
I love oatmeal raisin. I had a medium French vanilla ice coffee and a good book. I was feeling pretty good about things. But I do have a conscience and my temporary solution was to only eat three and take the other home and ponder my responsibility here. I am certainly not desperate for food. I considered finding a homeless person and giving it to him. But I am a busy writer with much on his plate and no time to go looking for an unfortunate.
So I ate the cookie next day with my lunch and now I sense something really bad is going to happen to me. Karma and all that. Still, that was a damn good cookie. I mean, it's not like I'm running for office.

Lost Ring

I can't find my high school ring. I never got a college ring because I joined the Reserves during Vietnam and missed a semester. More troubling is I also can't find my late dad's diamond ring. Maybe I gave it to a relative. I keep finding containers and boxes holding nothing of value as I continue my cleanup. Right now I must explore a large plastic container holding lots of photos from newspapers and magazines which I cut out.
I haven't looked at them for years and don't recall why I collected them. Logic says I should just toss the whole mess out, but what if there's a one of a kind shot that is nothing less than dazzling? There has to be something of value there.
I have other containers holding similar items. Should I spend hours going through them when I could be writing novels and plays?
I hate the fact that I've accumulated all this stuff. What void am I trying to fill? If I suddenly croak, people will assume I'm a hoarder. I may be missing things I've forgotten about. Today I packed up all my Tupperware and dropped it off at Goodwill for a tax deduction. This was the sixth load of stuff I donated. I wish I could donate the part of my brain I'm not using. I bet I could focus better without millions of unemployable neurons blocking important thoughts.

The Art of Reaching

I reach less and less now. Go out less, make fewer plans, see fewer people. I'm shrinking each day.
Old age? Who knows? Conversations blur into a maze of sounds. I've seen all the flowers, stood atop the highest buildings, swallowed the most delicious food. Getting on a plane seems exhausting.
I may have peaked as a writer. I sense I've trampled through all my ideas and now I'm repeating myself. Inspiration lies at the bottom of my hamper. I have lost the art of reaching, risking, seeking.
I am folding in on myself, indifferent to that which used to surprise and delight.
I have too much accumulated stuff. I crave empty space and its lack of expectation. I just want to sit in my recliner and stare at the ceiling fan.
My life is diminishing and I don't care. Don't answer the phone, delete emails, never text or respond to the doorbell. I switched back to a straight razor because my Remington was making too much noise.
I foresee a point when I will only brush half my teeth and bath certain body parts.
Maybe I will stick my head out the door and some random person will tell me a joke that will make me smile. As long as they don't expect one back. We shouldn't have to reach for laughter.

Eerie Calm

An eerie calm in the canyon
Jackrabbits hopping in staccato bursts
Weak breeze carresses dusty terrain
Ruffled clouds blocking sun
One frightened bird tilting toward the horizon
Ridged bluffs, flat topped sentinals
Horses snort restlessly
Men lean forward listening
Mute cactus wait as whispers circle
He raises his right arm and signals
Troops follow, canteens slapping against leather
Little Big Horn opens wide

Tough Cartilage

I got a haircut today and the female barber told me I have tough ear cartilage. Like her mother. Maybe she was trying to set us up. I never spent much time considering my ears, except to note they were prominent and needed to be covered in the summer or they look like half cooked chop meat.
It must be my high testosterone level. I'm debating whether to employ certain Asian exercises to loosen up said cartilage. If a woman begins nibbling on my ears and experiences resistance from my top skin, she'll never get to my lobes, which are the key to releasing my passion.
My haircuts only last about two minutes because there's not much left to cut. It takes longer to trim my eyebrows. I love it when she runs the shaver over my barrenness. One day I will get up the courage to let them shampoo me. Strong Spanish women taking turns massaging my scalp. Yes.
Let me catch my breath.

New Mattress

I bought a new full size mattress I've named Amber. We are currently bonding and I sense chemistry, unlike my old air matress Gretchen, who squeaked, groaned, developed a lump and needed inflation every two weeks.
I loved dragging her to the dumpster.
The salesman watched me test Amber in all positions, which could have been creepy if we weren't professional about it. It is a pleasure to have a big, wide space to sleep on. The first two nights I've lain awake, possibly putting too much pressure on myself and Amber. I'm sure I'll settle into good sleep eventually. Amber and I have a mutual respect, which I will maintain by not passing wind in her presence.
Perhaps I have too many stories in my mind to sleep. This is a writer's burden I accept.
Interestingly, while at the store, I tried a recliner, which was so comfortable I didn't want to get up and resume my life. I could literally exist in Bob's Furniture by moving from bed to recliner all day.
Now I'm going to take a quick nap. Amber awaits.