Impressions

Posted December 4th, 2006 by JennyWren


I seem to have given the wrong impression in my last post. No, I promise you, I am not about to go to the nearest bridge and throw myself and everything I’ve ever written over the edge. It was just a disclaimer; I set it up in advance, so that I wouldn’t need to clutter up every post with an apology. It’s also there for critics, shoulder-riding demons, and close relatives. :) Besides, I don’t fancy the idea of chasing soggy pages down an eighteen-inch-deep river.

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I sometimes worry about giving people the wrong impression. For example, those close to me would obviously perceive me as a bit of a stoic. Now, while it’s true that I daily bear all sorts of insults on my person, barely mentioning the discomfort caused by such inconveniences as the soup’s being cold or the mail’s running late, still I would hate to leave someone feeling inferior, next to my admittedly intimidating ability to endure, and so I’ll often make a fuss over some minor thing that would normally not draw a peep from me, in order to keep up an approachable appearance. This is why one may occasionally hear me yelling in an exaggerated manner over a typically (for most people) serious injury like falling out of bed, or taking a gulp of coffee before it has had time to cool. It is a rare occurrence, you’d be lucky to catch it; normally you couldn’t be sure that I was home, the house is so quiet. The neighbours may claim otherwise, but there, you see, is proof that my theory is highly accurate and and most certainly necessary; the neighbours are a particularly disadvantaged and inferior lot; in truth, most of these displays are put on specifically for their benefit. Including, and especially, the incident involving the rake, the cat, and myself.

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Moving on…

It was interesting to be out shopping yesterday, something I normally wouldn’t dare during December. I survived it by observing other harried shoppers; Spastica’s dialogue exercise had me listening to their words:

"Didn’t he break the last one we bought him?"

"I don’t know why I’m here; I’m getting really frustrated."

A couple considering a toy:
"I don’t know. He’s ten…"
"Well, does he act ten?"

On the way home, a friend talking to her son on her cell phone gave me a classic line to remember:

"Yes, we’ll be there soon. We’re just now passing the underground house. You know, the one where Uncle Tooter had a wreck."

She had to clarify which wreck, to assure him that we were close to home, but once she hung up, I asked her about it, and got the story. It involved a tractor-trailer (I’m still not sure who was driving it), a pond, and so much damage the cops couldn’t tell what had really happened. Anyway, I’m sure I will forever remember the landmark.

Then we were slowed down, apparently behind her aunt’s pick-up truck, and chatting about her friends and relatives who lived in houses we were passing. I still find it amazing, that anyone born and raised around a small town seems to know or is related to everyone. And has a relative who at some point lived in your house.

The contrast between this small-town, rural area, and the large store we had just been to, in a city 45 minutes away, was hitting me in an interesting way. While shopping, I saw people who looked like they had stepped out of a magazine or television screen. They were wearing clothes and hairstyles that I’ve never really seen outside of a movie. They looked like celebrities or dolls, I’m not sure which, with new outfits and hair colors. I felt like Dorothy, straight out of Kansas. Either I don’t get out enough, or maybe life in the country is slower than I thought. That’s okay, it helps me with my time-avoidance strategy.

Anyway, it’s Monday now. Back to the grind, as they say. That means coffee, right?

I’ll take tea.