The things I would do to hold your hand.

I was house-sitting for a couple of weeks while my aunt and uncle were on vacation in Italy, and the best part was that it included car-sitting too. (Is it sad that while they were in the Sistine Chapel, just having a house all to myself and a minivan to drive to my temp job seemed like a luxurious vacation to me??)

Anyway, I did miss seeing those kooky signs on my way to work, so this week when I finally rode up to the signpost again in anticipation, I didn't quite know what to make of its latest offering. It was a red heart and a pink heart holding hands (attached to scrawny arms that were the only limbs they had), and it said "LET'S COLLABORATE." ...That's all? I kept staring at it, saying it out loud, trying to find the cheesy pun, but... I couldn't find one. I think these sign-makers need a vacation themselves, because that was rather disappointing. Also, a bit incongruent: the picture looked like romance but the caption sounded like business. Unless "collaborate" is a euphemism...?

I mean, if I were tasked with composing a caption for that illustration, it would be, "I WOULD GROW A LIMB JUST TO HOLD YOUR HAND." Seriously, why am I riding past these silly signs to my silly job every day when I should obviously be designing my own line of creepy Valentine cards?

Earmuffs could use some serious rebranding though.

I started physical therapy yesterday, and when I walked into the office and saw the denim-clad receptionist against the backdrop of the lime green walls, I felt like I was in a daycare... until I heard the obnoxious pop song they were blaring. Then I didn't know where I was.

The physical therapist, who looked younger than me, introduced herself by her first name (which was something like Krystel) and kept calling me "girl." She led me into a room, saying, "My friend Jon will join us in a few minutes if you don't mind." I agreed without listening too attentively, but then I was like, Wait. Your friend? Who brings their friends to work?! What if I do mind? I figured Jon was an intern, maybe some kind of job shadow thing, someone in training? Jon turned out to just be the PT assistant. I'm not sure why the euphemism was deemed necessary. He was worse than Kristul, constantly trying to be all funny instead of giving serious responses to my questions.

I know I sound like a grumpy old man, but these people were actually really nice and probably knew what they were doing. Maybe they were just trying to be friendly to match how friendly they were about to get with my legs. I'm not the Fun Police and I'm not against a cheery atmosphere, but is there some reason professionalism is becoming outdated along with privacy and keeping commitments and earmuffs? These are all good things, fellow millennials.

To-do: Become robot

Thanksgiving might be my least favorite holiday. Too many people and too much food. I've never been very interested in food-eating, but I think my dislike of eating food isn't so much a problem with food in itself as it is an intimacy problem. I mean, it doesn't get much more intimate than food... that pervert travels its way down my whole body, gets its nutrients all up in my bloodstream... gross.

I go into fight-or-flight mode when someone stands too close to me -- eating is much too invasive. Usually when you have an invasive procedure, they medicate you before they get all up in you. But food has the nerve to just sit there expectantly, waiting to become one with you three times a day. Slow down, food. We just met at the grocery store a few days ago.

It can take me five years to feel comfortable with someone and by that time, food will be rotten. Unless it's not really food, like Twinkies. So the life lesson here is... the ones worth waiting for won't wait for me? See, food, this kind of unsolicited advice is not going to help me open up to you.

RIP Semblance of Basic Decency

There's nothing I can say that hasn't already been said a million times on the internet over the last few days, so how about a moment of silence while we sit in the corner and think about what we've done.

Don't even try to mess with me, frogs.

One day I was stopped at a light on my way to work when I noticed something trying to get my attention out of the corner of my eye. I looked over to see a sign on a post that said something like "Reach for your dreams!" I didn't think much of it because there are actually several places in this town that have encouraging signs like this: "Hug your kids." "Forgive." Etcetera. I figured this was just a new one of those I hadn't noticed before.

But at those other places in town, those signs are permanent. And their messages are sensible. And there are no pictures, only words. At this particular stoplight, some time later I noticed something winking at me again. I caught its eye to see that it belonged to a cartoon fox with hearts all over it. "Hey foxy," the sign flirted. Wow, thought I, Someone is going to the effort of coming out here and putting up new signs for me! (I felt like it was just for me because on a bike it's right there, exactly at eye level, challenging me to resist its charm.) Next it was "You're a Star!" depicted by an unreasonably enthusiastic anthropomorphic star shape. I started to look forward to the new signs, taped up there so neatly. It was always something so illogically optimistic that I wasn't at all encouraged by the message itself, but just by the fact that a mysterious philanthropist was doing this especially for me.

But then I noticed they change sometimes as often as twice a week! Forget the dedication required to keep coming out and switching the signs -- who's coming up with new cutesy sayings all the time? Is it one person, or a team? And how long do they think they can keep this up?! So now I'm just entertained by their ever-expanding creativity. Lately such gems have been:

THE SNUGGLE IS REAL

[Picture of smiling grapes] YOU WERE BORN FOR GRAPENESS

[Picture of hearts and frog] YOU'RE UNFROGGABLE

...uh, excuse me? Just because I don't want to frogg you doesn't mean I'm unfroggable. Did they mean unforgettable?! Unforgettable. Unforogable. Unfroggable. I don't know, that's quite a stretch. Unflappable, perhaps? That's even further off, yet I can't think of anything else. Unless they just meant... unfroggable (n): unable to be frogged. Hmm. Seems like a pretty useless superpower, but I guess I can't negotiate with a signpost.

Gotta love this town even if it reeks of B.O. and pot.

Oh caaaaaancer, I'm reaaaaady!

Every morning I wake up to the thump of my heart still beating like a stupid puppy wagging its tail excitedly for no damn reason. What are you so enthusiastic about? Why don't you just leave me alone?! But it's so persistent, I can't ignore it and if I don't feed it it's just going to get more annoying, so I eventually get up.

I think I'm high on suffering... like on the third day of fasting, when your stomach finally gives up on you and your hunger pangs are exchanged for zen. Like if everyone I loved suddenly perished, I would just laugh. Have I reached nirvana? I'm not even Buddhist. Can I be an honorary Buddhist?

I don't know how to carry this thing. It's like when I walk home from the store with a full bag of groceries including a watermelon against my better judgment. At first it's not so bad and I can hold it by the handles, but soon I have to switch to my other hand, which also quickly fails. Then I hold the bag on my right hip, on my left hip, hug it to my chest, constantly shifting, and when both of my arms get too tired, I balance it on my head. This has its own problems. I consider calling for help, not because it's an option, but just to distract my mind while my body struggles on. I reconsider how much I really need that melon. I start making a plan B for when my arms give out completely and visualize myself rolling the bag down the street in full view of the neighbors getting out of their cars. The nice thing about carrying a heavy bag is that it's a single task, and it's finished as soon as I get home. I don't have to juggle it while going to work, being social, thinking, eating, sleeping. I don't have to be in a constant state of exhaustion.

I super don't want to be alive, yet I'm not at all suicidal. I'm too curious to see what other crazy shit will happen next. So far in my hundred years on this earth (or so it feels), I've been amazed at the variety of suffering available to the human. Just when I think it can't get worse, it gets worse -- not in depth or severity like I expect, but in another form entirely -- a sinister shape, a more putrid flavor, a color more dismal. I wonder if I'm going to get to collect the whole set, because while I have an impressive assortment, there are still many horrible things I haven't experienced yet. This is not even close to the most excruciating pain I've ever felt. I've had the sharp stabby pain and the dark bottomless pain and the vague grey-with-an-E-because-it-seems-bleaker pain. This is more like Chinese water torture in a conscious coma. I have a roof over my head and food to eat and plenty of other things to be thankful for. But it doesn't cancel out anything. It goes the other way, too, though. The suffering doesn't negate the good things. It just makes them brighter, sweeter, more acutely real.

I just want to have problems again instead of my entire life being a crisis.

Open Letter to Whomever Stole My Bike Light

Dearest Thief,

I suppose it was my fault, really; I should have removed the light. It's very easy to remove, which is partly why I chose that one even though it was more expensive. But you know, in the pouring rain, juggling my basket and lock and keys, I guess I was just in a hurry to get inside and forgot. Merely two hours later, you had stolen it from the church parking lot.

I wasn't even very interested in the church event, but I forced myself to be social because I'm trying to make good choices. It was about as I expected: not great. Definitely not worth $30 to replace the light you stole.

It was humiliating enough for my thirty-something self to have to commute by bike in a storm wearing a tattered plastic rain cape that I haven't had the resources to replace yet. Thanks to you, I got to call my mommy to come pick me up instead.

I went to my bike shop to get a replacement light (which is now costing me $60 since the one you stole was brand new), but they won't have it in until next week. I have chronic health problems that make even going to the grocery store difficult for me, especially since I have to do it on my bike in the rain. I don't have energy to go until after it's dark. But you made night riding unsafe for me, so I just don't go. Which means I don't have much to eat all week. Which means I'm too hungry to sleep. Which means I can't function and don't make it to work on time. Which is more money lost. You didn't just take my light that night.

All this to say that I'm the one who feels sorry for you. Because as much as my life sucks, I'm still doing pretty great compared to you.

Love and Poo,

Abra

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While I'm at it... Open Addendum to My Coworker Who Complained About How Annoying It Is to Run Errands in the Rain Because It's Difficult to Maneuver an Umbrella While Getting In and Out of the Car:

Maybe don't whine about that to me.