All of my Energy

All of my blogging energy has been devoted to captioning pictures from our trip to Montreal and giving them random tags. Ergo; if you scroll through the pictures be sure to read the captions and look at the random tags. Consider it a rehasing of my earlier blogs about our trip, only more boring, with pictures.

Fiction (Cont.)

Jason and I sit in the living room and watch the Discovery Channel.
“Did you know that elephants have a specific call to warn one another about angry bees?” Jason said.

“Are they telling them to buzz off,” I said, which should have made him laugh.

He sighed and went back to watching little prairie dogs scuttle around in the cover of night.

Because of the table’s unusual size, I usually take my dinners at the window, watching cars pass by like the quicksilver backs of fish headed for the sea. Sometimes, if I notice I’ve been at the window too long, I look at my phone intently, literally furrowing my brow, even as far away as I am, as if I have just received a text from the President himself. Hell, maybe I have. It’s okay to dream. Sometimes, I get so caught up with faux texting, I send a real one, and I say something like, “How’s it going lady?” By then I feel safe closing my phone and gazing outside because if anyone was still watching, they’d realize how busy and important I am, and that I need a break every once in a while, just time to spend gazing out a window to keep from going bonkers.

“Three toed sloths, who travel very rarely, have been known to leave trees to eat out of human latrines,” Jason said, running a hand across the stubble on his cheeks.

“Do you think that a sloth mother ever has to tell her child to slow down when he’s eating?” I ask. And he smiles back at me, a cockeyed grin, full of so much boyish charm that it is all I can do keep myself from shattering a vase on it.

The phone rings and I answer it like my mother by saying, “Yes,” pausing for a while and then saying “Hello.” My mother doesn’t answer the phone that way anymore because she’s gone batty. Now she yells, “Who is it?” increasing her decibel level and consternation each time, until a nurse reminds her who I am.