Brain Shartz.

Today I sit inside my glass cage.  My work with a window front.  I can see the shabby parking lot, speckled with gum wrappers, and cigarette butts.  The occasional soda lid sits beside a sedan, crushed by someone backing up (or pulling forward).  It has a sad, flat red straw stabbed through it.  I see cars pulling in and out, reverse lights and brake lights flickering on their tail ends.  

It’s a spring day, and about forty four degrees.  The sun seems bright, crisp, and sad.  It’s the kind of light that shines through hospital windows when someone is sick.  The light that shines off black patent leather shoes on a glum occasion.  These light rays are fighting for spring.  They persist against half melted snow piles.  Snow piles crusted with that brown black residue that spring snow piles often have.  They look crunchy, and if I were outside I would step on one.  I would jump on one.  Maybe.  The snow filth might penetrate through my canvas shoes and soak my socks though, and I hate wet socks.

I can’t decide if I want to be a fighting ray of light, or a crunchy dirty snow pile.

Last night I had one of those weird dreams, where everything is grandiose, and at the same time feels so real.

We started out apart, as we usually do, but throughout the dream we drifted in and out of each other’s presence.

You were stationed much more northern than I was, and I transferred to go and see you.  I think we were working on some construction.

Then we were back at the pizza place where we built so many memories.  I shyly asked if you wanted to be my dough partner, like in the old days.  We were both covered in flour, racing to be the best in our red polo shirts.

After that, we were performing in a play.  It was a musical, and we were doing a song a dance as a duet, but neither of us new the lines, so we took turns making it up.  The audience didn’t much appreciate it, but we loved the excuse to be so close to each other.

At the end of the play I was to race up a sky scraper.  I used grappling hooks, and climbed to the top.  It was interesting because you could see the inside of the building.  I was actually climbing up through an exposed elevator shaft on the outside.  

Then something went terribly wrong.  I fell.  I grabbed onto a ledge and was hanging there, slipping away.  I screamed, and screamed, and screamed for you.  I emptied my lungs of all feelings.  I could see you, and you said that sometimes you have to break the rules, to make things right.  With that, you ripped off your civilian clothes to reveal a superhero’s outfit underneath.  You sprang to my rescue, although you didn’t get it right the first time.  It’s blurry, but I know you hurt yourself trying to save me.  

You finally got to me.

You grabbed my hand.

You pulled me up.

You held me close.

“Let’s never be apart again.”  You said.

I entwined my arms around you and let it out.  I wept freely, releasing all the years we had missed.  Remembering all of our dreamland adventures, and the love we have always almost had.

You saved me.

Then I woke up.

Some days I fantasize about locking people in their tanning beds, and setting the time over and over again.

Or the sauna, with the glass door.  I could just look inside as they sat there in 150 degree heat.  They would be trapped until I let them out - if I so decided.

I am tired of taking appointments, answering phones, listening to people bitch about their problems, and jokingly tell me I double as their therapist.

Maybe, I should start giving them terrible advice.

Your husband didn’t mow the lawn today?  Sounds like an asshole.  You should leave him.

Your sister-in-law is pregnant, AGAIN?!  You should push her down the stairs.  Just wait until she is about to take a step, and kick your foot out.  It would just be an accident after all.

Ungrateful children, they never do what they’re told?  I say, lock those little fuckers in the closet, and give them something to really be upset about.

All of these are things that pop in and out of my head that.  I would never act on them, but you have to imagine that these are the thoughts that people may have before a rampage.  I mean, all of these poisonous thoughts clouding up your brain.