These days I see people in a sacred space who are tragically depressed, like they can hardly get themselves out of the house and make it to session. I see people who are in abusive relationships and sometimes with themselves. I see myself seeing people and I don’t know how to help. All the stuff they taught me not always on the ready. What ends up happening is I help create the sacred space in which I see them, and we meet there, and I invite them there again, and I’m not always making any money cuz I volunteer, too, so I may be tired and permanently jetlagged by my nightshift, and I’m sure they see me tired and tryin to pay close attention cuz I care, and hopefully, just hopefully, they will realize they are worth caring for and start to care for themselves a little more, too, but even if they don’t, well that’s okay, too.
I tracked the thought to the very center of my brain, where I detonated it at the precipice of a heartbroken synapse. Only then could I tussle with my hair, drink my coffee chocolate and head out the door, down the stairs and out the gate. I ran to the river, over the train tracks and into open space where the sun denounced the darkness. You will be mine, forever, how I remember you. So I chose not to create any more memories. There is no other way. I am like the sun now.
I want to go into stores and have experiences. The people in these stores they are trained to talk to you a certain way. Make you feel special. What if I want to be treated like anyone treats anyone? Then the cashiers can ignore me when I’m trying to check out, make me go and self-check out. If I put something I decided I didn’t want on the wrong shelf, someone might challenge me. Like I’m real again. I could see the workers unpacking the boxes and go and help them and feel good helping. Wow. I wanna go into stores and have experiences, real ones. I don’t wanna exchange money for a receipt and a smile, how degrading! How about we start haggling and trading? I give you this old Madonna CD for that pumpkin pie? I don’t want my experience to be limited to someone kissing my ass, then waiting like a fool for the chip reader to read my chip. Don’t pull out yet. You have to wait. Sorry for the wait. Sign this, sign that. Do you have a rewards card? What kind of perks are in store for us? The ads and the phones are becoming smarter. I’m the customer. I’m always right. I’m never wrong. Gloss me over. Sugar coat me with Splenda. Pump me full of preservatives. Send me out with my gingerbread house. Then I really will feel special. I’ll probably survive the new year, too.