Friday, July 23, 2010

Solitaire

"No, don't eat anything," I say. "You don't need to. Anything. You are just refilling your water and that is it." I plunge myself towards the kitchen, swimming. "And getting ice. Be glad you don't live in a fucking swamp." Fill up my glass and open the freezer, quickly grabbing the top ice cube tray and spilling slushy, half frozen water all over myself. I sigh and look down.

"FUCK. That feels glorious. Leave the water on the floor. You don't give a fuck, no you don't. You know who gives a fuck? Doesn't matter. Not you. Get ice cubs," I crack a second, frozen tray, "and get the fuck out of here." I open the freezer again to put them back and my hand tickles a heavy sealed bag. "Unless you am eatin' them fucking ice cream diblets," I snatch the bag and slam the freezer door. "Them're acceptable. Spiritually and physically. In fact, might as well finish 'em. Ain't wrong with that. Your stomache's all grumblypantsy and you're a stupid bitch either way. Ice cream heals everything but heartache."

The bag won't open. "Fuckin sticky frozen horseshit," I say, and angrily gut it open with a carving knife and pop three of those little things in my mouth. "Okay. Don't do that shit again. And then tomorrow, you will ride your new bike. Clandestine bikes are no good, they must be ridden, you farthead. Even if it's hot. Yes, even if it's hot, because velocity craps wind. Seriously. If you don't there will be shmonsequences. Speaking of hot: do not dutch oven yourself tomorrow morning. That's for the winter." There aren't a lot of the ice cream dibs left in the bag. They're gone quickly. I stare at inside the empty bag and consider licking the chocolate lingering on the palm of my hand, and look around to make sure there are no hidden cameras in my kitchen. I stare at my hand and jam it under the sink faucet, convinced that someone in the world can see me. "Okay. Go back to the lazy boy. Don't forget your water. You will pass the Mystic Cave Zone on the first try, why? Because you are not a sally. You are...well, you're not sally."

I walk down my dark hallway, pausing at the closed door to the empty second bedroom. I have to work in seven hours. But first I have to beat Sonic 2, and before that I have important doorknobs to ponder.

I stare at the doorknob. "You are not a sally. You are stronger than Dr. Robotnik, you will free woodland creatures and collect the chaos emeralds, and you are not as lonely as you think you are."

I look away from the door and start walking back over to my lazyboy. "Also, while you're at it? Talk to yourself more. It's extremely sexy and all the rage in France."

...

18 comments:

Logical Libby said...

I talk to myself all the time. And I am always embarrassed when someone catches me. I think I would do it less though if I ate more. Then my mouth would always be full.

DiaryofWhy said...

Minus a lazy boy and Sonic 2 and plus some bad Netflixed instant play tv episodes from the 90s, and I might as well have written this.

nursemyra said...

Want to houseswap for a couple of weeks? Sydney is like an icebox this month. I'll leave my French tips in the letterbox. No one is more French than me.

Rassles said...

Libby, it won't stop you. You'll just mumble more.

Rachel: Monarch of the Glen? Oh, please tell me you're obsessed with Monarch of the Glen on instant Netflix because believe me, I AM OBSESSED WITH MONARCH OF THE GLEN ON INSTANT NETFLIX. It turns me into a sad, lusty, feminine mess.

Nurse: That should be your new Gimcrack tagline: no one is more French than me. Because you do seem very French.

DiaryofWhy said...

Hmm, am I watching Monarch of the Glen on Netflix...well let's just say I AM NOW. Thanks for the tip; I plan to watch it tonight as I cry myself to sleep. Ha! 'Cause no one knows if I am kidding or not!

JMH said...

I love a slice of life post. It reminds me of French movies with subtitles. The camera would linger on the doorknob and slowly zoom in, but the words would continue. What a strange and blessed life.

grumpy said...

I feel jittery after reading that!

daisyfae said...

diblets. they could settle down all of this bullshit with North Korea. just give Kim Jong-Il some damn ice cream nuggets and he'd sit right down and STOP talking to himself.

Chamuca said...

I hadn't even heard of Monarch of the Glen. How is this possible?

Netflix thinks I'll like it based on my approval of Anne of Green Gables, The Tudors and Pride and Prejudice.

renalfailure said...

When on a video game binge it's important to keep yourself hydrated. Then when you realize it's four hours later you don't have that nasty dry taste in your mouth.

Does it count as being alone if you're playing against people online?

And if I'm going to self-dutch oven myself, it's going to be loud so I can test the sound absorption of my comforter.

formerly fun said...

I love, just love, hearing other people's insane inner dialogue. Makes me feel less crazy, or at least in good company.

Del-V said...

Ice ceam does heal heartache. It does not heal depression. You need to see a professional about that.

Jessica said...

i talk to myself a lot. i do freestyle comedy.

let's hang out soon.

Sid said...

ice cream diblets??? ice cream in a bag??? I'm intrigued. We don't have that shit in SA. Just ice-cream in a tub.

Rassles said...

Rachel, I'm warning you: it's soooo rated G.

JMH: The door would open by itself into a darkened room and the camera would loom over to a dusty nightstand, revealing a photograph of a woman with a melancholy smile, holding a basket of strawberry kittens and regret. The zoom nearly touches the photo, but the image instantly blurs and clears, revealing a sweaty, unblinking girl perched on her lazy boy with her mouth open, gripping a Sega controller like a battleaxe. She is not wearing pants.

Grumpy: Me too.

Daisy: God, they are delicious, are't they?

Chamuca: Definitely more Anne of Green Gables than either of the others.

RF: Do you have a headset and shout things like, "Reeenaaaaaaaal FAIIILLUUUURRRRE!" and then get your team killed, and they're all, "goddammit, Renal you are just stupid as hell" and you're all, "at least I have chicken."

FF: Typing out my inner dialogue makes me feel crazy.

Del-V: And by "see a professional" I know you mean "drink heavily."

JT: Agreed. We need to come up with an official Movie Night night.

Sid: These are Dibs. They are crackdairy in a bag.

renalfailure said...

Tag Larkin is his own guild. But he admires Leeroy Jenkins' moxy.

And Tag Larkin will get in your Mystic Cave Zone, no doubt. Loneliness cured.

Chris said...

The wife catches me talking to myself about once a week. She's usually kind enough to ignore it, except when I'm being exceptionally myself. I can't help it. I'm the most interesting person I know.

Blues said...

I second FFs comment. I need to know I don't outcrazy everyone.