Me in the shop

Am I paranoid to think the fan heater is going to explode any minute?

Saw Woody yesterday, again, at the gym. He was being chatted up by a couple of guys and he looked evidently uncomfortable. I gave him a wink as I passed by and he frowned ever so slighty as our eyes met.

The shop is quiet today, despite the festivities. Since 10 am, there has only been me, the fat cat, the fan heater, and this computer to keep me company.

I am logged on to all my usual guilty pleasures but there hasn't been much action all day.

The phone rang once today, a business call. A woman called to ask about our delivery services.

"Hello, do you do deliveries?"

"Yes, any order over $500, we deliver. $600 for outlying islands."

"Oh..."

"You want to place an order, ma'm?"

"Oh.... what do you mean... outlying islands...."

"... Lantau, Cheung Chau, Peng Chau... anywhere outside of HK island, Kowloon and the New Territories, ma'm."


"Oh... so... listen... how much do I get for $600?"

"...beg your pardon?"

"How much do I get? I mean, like, weight wise?"

"Depends on what you are ordering, ma'm."

"What have you got?"

"... well... we've got lots of different stuff.... Have you checked out our website? All our products are listed there. Or do you want me to fax you the price list? If you don't have access to the internet that is."

"The internet?"

"Yes, we have a website and all the information about our services and products are on the website."

"Hang on a sec..."

She put her hand over the phone and yelled something out to another person.

They had a bit of an exchange but I couldn't get what they were on about. She put a tight grip on that receiver, that's for sure.

"Okay..."

"Yes ma'm. You want to place an order? We can deliver tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh... even for outlying islands?"

"Yes that's right."

And then she hung up.

Girl on a swing

My name is Marissa Lourdes McKay. I am eleven years old. I live in Fresno, California, with my mom (housewife), my dad (facilities manager at the university), my brother (loser) and our cat (he’s a bit old). Their names are Gloria, Steve, Anthony and Jammie, respectively. My dad Steve, he had another family before he married my mom and had me and my brother. His ex-wife is called Verena. I have only ever seen pictures of her, shown to me by my step sister, Vanessa. My dad said Vanessa is my step sister, but Verena is not my step mom. Verena re-married after she left my dad and apparently her husband is Vanessa’s step dad. My dad said Vanessa's step dad has no relation to me, either. It is all a bit confusing.

Vanessa lives with her mom and step dad in Edmonton, Canada. I’ve never been there but Vanessa told me it gets very cold in the winter. She comes to spend two or three weeks with us every summer, and we usually go on a trip somewhere together. I like Vanessa because she is like an older sister to me. Even though I only see her once a year, we catch each other online during the week and she sends me cool stuff through the mail like colourful earrings and stripey socks (I love stripey socks). She has lots of useless crap I like but can’t have, like shimmery eye shadow and fake nails (I have eye shadow too but only in pastel blue – my mom won’t let me have any shimmery stuff). Vanessa is sixteen years old, has blond hair, and is a bit fat. I’m not saying that to be mean, I only say it because that is something she herself mentions a lot, and objectively, she is a bit fat. Like, she’d say “Look at me I am so huge!” or “God I can’t eat any more I can’t afford to gain any more weight” or “Marissa I look like a gigantic hog whale standing next to you!” and so on. Regardless of what she says and what her measurements are, I think she is very pretty; she has pale blue eyes and nice big boobs but she is a teenager, and I guess that’s what teenagers do - focus on their imperfections. Maybe I will be like that too, in a couple of years' time.

I guess she takes it after dad. Dad is bit of a whale, and sometimes my mom teases him about it. But of course she is the one who puts the fried chicken and meat loaves and fried potatoes on the dinner table. She likes to feed us. My mom is tiny compared to my dad, and compared to most women her age in Fresno. But here in the Philippines, she looks quite large, even though she is a Filipina. Women here are quite skinny, I’ve noticed, even the middle aged ones.

So we are in a the Philippines, right now. This is the first long trip for us as a family. We arrived three days ago at this place called Cebu, where my mom's relatives live, and we are staying three more. After that we are going to a place called Borocay, and then to Manila, then to Singapore, and then back to California. Vanessa will not be flying to California. She will be meeting her mom and step dad in Singapore, and they will spend a few days there, before they head back to their home in Canada.

Right now, my parents and Anthony and Vanessa are vegging by the pool, or having lunch (hamburgers and mango smoothies, would be my guess) and I am here on the swing. I am not a great fan of swimming pools or beaches. It gets very hot if you don't swim. I can swim, but I don’t like to do it much, if I can avoid it. I can’t do it for pleasure, like I can with skipipng or swinging. I don’t like the feeling of not being able to breathe under water. Yesterday we all went out on a boat and we went snorkling. It was lovely seeing all the fish and the coral and all that but I did not like the taste of the plastic in my mouth nor the taste of the sea water. If I were a fish, and could breathe under water, like, if I had gills, I think I might like it more.

We are staying at this very nice hotel which has three swimming pools and its own private beach, and lots of stuff for kids to do. I am not really a kid, although my mom and dad still thinks I am. They tried to sign me up for the hotel’s “kids club” activities the first day and it was just so embarrassing as I am clearly not a kid. So I said to them, really, I’ll be okay, I am happy sunbathing and reading and playing videogames and playing on the swing. They weren’t convinced, especially dad. He thinks us “kids” need to have activities all the time or we will start drinking alcohol or take drugs or even worse, discover masturbation. I know this because I overheard him saying this to mom (she just laughed). I told him, dad, really, I just want to go play on the swing. He didn’t believe me just like he hardly ever does. I was glad when Vanessa said to him, in her usual assertive manner, that he should just let me be. He listens to Vanessa, but not to me. But that is okay. Because I like Vanessa.

This set of swings is a bit crappy as the seats are only about eighteen inches above the ground and my legs are too long for that. I guess they are designed for younger kids, although not many younger kids come round to play on them. Also, the seats are made of canvas so I can’t stand up on them. I don’t wear a watch so I don’t know what time it is now, exactly, but I guess it would be around midday, judging from the heat of the sun right over my head. Here is a graphic representation of what I am doing:




I have my earphones on, although the battery in my i-Pod is dead. On the first day it was still good so I was listening to the new Maroon 5 for the whole day but on the second day it was flat and I didn’t bring a charger with me. But it’s okay. The songs are already in my head and I play them in my head even though they are not really playing.

I can do this kind of thing, with my head, quite well. Right now, I am writing this in my head as I play the songs in my head (I drew that picture of me on the swing in my head, too). I don’t know if this is some kind of unusual skill that only some people have, I never really shared this with anyone. But I am glad to have it. Now I know what people are going to say, if they read this. They would ask, so can you do real complicated sums in your head, too? Answer is, I can’t, thankfully. I don’t want to be able do big sums without using a calculator or pen and paper.

Vanessa just walked over to check that I am okay. I told her I’m fine. She asked me if I wanted some food and I shook my head. Then she smiled at me, mouthed something, and pointed at her watch. I smiled back, and she walked back to the pool.

I have been here on the swing since after breakfast, so that would make it about three hours. Yesterday I was here pretty much all of the day, apart from breakfast, lunch and dinner. The day before that, I was here the whole afternoon. I like being on the swing. Last night, after dinner, I played video games for a little while and then I came out here to the swings again. It was nice and cool and dark and the air smelled lovely. It felt different from swinging in the daytime because you felt as if you were going faster and higher even though you were not. I might even have let out a little yelp or something out of excitment, at first. Then there was an old couple strolling by and they both stopped to look at me. It was hard to focus on them because I was swinging pretty hard and it was dark, but they looked at me for a good while. They even sat down on the bench right by the swings to look at me. I think they probably stayed around half an hour or so. I don’t know if they were talking to one another but they were holding hands the whole time. They smiled and waved me good bye when they got up to leave.

This morning, three boys, probably around my age, stood around, looked at me, pointed and giggled. Then they got on the swings next to me and in front of me, and tried to get up high like me. I am not a huge fan of boys my age; they are predictable, and this is exactly the kind of thing they will do, if you know what I mean. They just had to be as good, if not better, at doing anything that any girl they come across happens to be doing. Unless it is something obviously girly like painting their toenails or braiding their hair.

I hoped they would manage to get the momentum going but none of them did, though they tried many times. Eventually they left and one of them said (for me to hear, I suppose, for he was very loud) “This is stupid anyway, girly stuff” and the other one said “Yeah, stupid game! For stupid girls!” and the third one said “C’mon, let’s go to the pool”. Then they all ran off.

One part of me was glad they left, another part of me wanted to get down, chase after them and say “Look, it’s not stupid at all! And it’s not that hard. If you like I can show you …” But I didn’t get down and I didn’t chase after them. I could almost hear what they would have said, had I done that. I would have put them on the spot, and they would have found it hard to be nice to me in return. If I were not a girl, if there was just one of them instead of three, then it might be different.

Quite a few people like to sit on the swings and pose and have their pictures taken. On the first day, I nearly kicked a man on his head, not on purpose of course, as he was trying to get the best angle to take a picture of his girlfriend looking lovely sitting still on the swing. I let out a small cry and my heart went racing for a few seconds, but he didn’t seem to have noticed, even though I could feel my big toe brushed just so against his gelled up hair. It would be funny, though, if I had kicked him on his head and knocked him unconscious, broke his camera, and then him and his girlfriend trying to sue my parents for compensation.

Shortly after that couple left it rained, and it was lovely to feel the rain as you go up and down and high as you could on the swing, especially if you keep your mouth opened. The grounds emptied, and I saw hotel staff busy putting away equipment, dashing about taking the cushions off the deck chairs by the pool. They were very efficient, and reminded me of ants. I got pretty soaked after the shower as it came down quite heavy (although it lasted only about four songs’ worth), and after that my mom rushed out and tried to throw me a towel to dry my hair.

"Come on down now and dry yourself!” She yelled. I said “It’s okay mom I’ll dry in a minute, the sun is coming out already!” But she was not happy with that and said, “Will you for once do as I tell you? You’ll catch a cold!” “No I won’t catch anything! I promise!” “How can you promise something like that? You can’t! Come on down!” “I can’t stop now! Just throw me the towel!” At this point she had her hands on her hips, towel on her shoulder, looking cross. I knew she wouldn’t give up so eventually I did, and as I was about to come down, Vanessa came to my rescue, again, and said to my mom she would stay with me for a while so mom could just leave the towel to her. Mom did as she was told, and left us in peace.

Only that Vanessa didn’t ask me to stop, nor throw me the towel. She just stood and looked at me, and we smiled at one another, for a few seconds. Then she left. I like Vanessa.

I think I will stop writing for a while, now. The sky has turned all grey and the winds are stronger. I think it is going to rain again, soon.

So, good-bye for now. I hope you will all try swinging for many hours at a time, like I do. I know you will like it.

I was a hypnotist

My son said, "can you tell me some stories from your childhood?"

I thought long and hard. "Sorry, I don't remember very much."

"Any story will do, just anything."

I thought some more, "sorry, what I remember are not very nice stories."

He went quiet for a while. "You can just make some stories up, yeah? About your childhood?"

This is not an easy task for me. But I tried, anyway. So here is one I made up:

When I was around your age, I shared a room with my younger brother. As you know, he is two years younger than me so it is not surprising that I found him, at the time, to be the most abnoxious little turd there can be (not unlike how you feel about your brother, you see?). I was already an avid reader by then and I loved to read out loud to myself. My brother was still very much a large baby and each time I started reading a book, he would come over and try to do something naughty, like snatch my book or make silly noises to annoy me.

Whenver this happened, I used to get really angry and would throw my book at him, or put my hands around his neck, or try to ignore him, if I happened to be in an exceptionally good mood (which is not very often). Whenever my mum heard us fighting, she would came into the room, quiet as a mouse, put her hands on her hips, and gave us this piercing look which seemed to burn holes through our shirts.

One day I came across a book in the school library about hypnotism. I couldn't understand all the words, but the pictures were big and clear enough for me to work out what one had to do, to hypnotise someone else (I have seen it on television also). I borrowed the book and read it on the school bus. The hypnotist in the pictures was a grown man, wore a dark suit and a moustache. He had a quizzical look (which I worked out was made possible by his ability to raise one eyebrow independently of the other), and there was not one picture of him smiling. He used a gold chain to perform his hypnotism on a woman. She had curly red hair and wore a blue blouse. In the book, he made her do all kinds of crazy things like pretend to be a mouse and hop on one leg with both hands high above her head.

When I got home, I read over the book again, then careflly tucked it under my mattress, as far back as my hands could reach. Then I looked in my mother's drawer and took out one of her many necklaces. She had some gold ones, but I couldn't find them. I took one that is silver with lots of little black beads on them. I made a mental note of where it came from and remembered that I must put it back in exactly the same place when I'm done. Then I took a black marker, and drew a moustach on my upper lip. I made the ends curl up, just like the man in the book. I practised raising one eyebrow in front of the mirror after that. To my surprise, this came quite naturally to me. I was pleased with my preparation so far and looking at myself in the mirror, with my moustache and my one raised eyebrow, I felt a mild surge of excitment going through my body. My father had a dark suit similar to the one worn by the hypnotist in the book, but I had no idea where he put them. So I went to my own closet and took out a dark grey duffle coat, and put that on.

My younger brother was having his snack in the kitchen, as usual, and I was all set up when he came into the room for his nap. I had my back to him, pretending to be reading a book aloud. Predictably, he came over and started making his usual annoying noise. I turned around, stared at him with my one raised eyebrow, and held out the necklace in front of his face.

"Look at this. Look. Follow the swing of the necklace in my hand."

He was caught by the unfamiliarity of this and stood speechless for a few seconds.

"Follow the swing with your eyes. You are getting sleepy."

The little turd proved to be harder work. "NO I'M NOT!! ME NOT SLEEPY!" came his screechy little voice. He tried to snatch the necklace from me, but I had seen that coming and moved my hand away faster than he could put his chubby little fingers around it. I noticed that his eyes, however, remained glued to the necklace. Another surge of adrenalin went through my body. With utter determination, I then said:

"You ARE getting sleepy. You ARE going to fall asleepy."

He started frowning, his hand still in mid-air, his eyes following the swing of the necklace.

I felt powerful, all of a sudden. This was not a familiar feeling for me, and it scared me a little.

"You are going to close your eyes. I am going to count to three, and you will be asleep when I am finished. When I count to three again, I will clap my hands and you will wake up."

It was amazing! I remembered I thanked God at that moment. He stood motionless, and his eyes began to close.

"One, two, three."

His arm flopped down to his side.

"Sit down now, on your bed."

He did.

"Lie down, and sleep."

He did.

"Stay there."

He did not move.

I was overjoyed! I was so excited I didn't realise I was soaking with sweat (the duffle coat was thick and it was the middle of June). I wanted to jump up and down and tell everyone. But I was also afraid my mum would kick my ass if she found out. Somehow I realised this was not all totally legit. So I took my coat off, lied down in my own bed, my heart pounding, and replayed what just happened in my head. I was proud of myself. I might have even grinned. After I had cooled down a bit, I got up and retrieved the book from under my mattress. I read through it again, pleased with myself that I had followed the instructions so well. I felt a tremendous sense of freedom, because I no longer had to live under the terror of my little brother! I would now be able to read in peace! I am a hypnotist!

I went over to look at him, now lying motionless on his bed. I put a finger under his nostrils, to check that he was still breathing. I studied his face for a little while. He looked so peaceful. Almost likeable. Almost cute. And out of nowhere I suddenly started missing him. I poked him gently with my hand, but he didn't wake. The room seemed awfully quiet. I looked around, and suddenly a fear grabbed hold of me. I felt that I had maybe done a very bad thing. I looked up to the ceiling hoping that God would tell me whether it really was a very bad thing, when in fact I already knew. So I put my coat back on, looked in the mirror to make sure my moustache was still in place, and checked my book again.

"One, two, three. Wake up now!" I clapped my hands.

He opened his eyes, sat up, and looked at me as if nothing had happened.

"NO! ME NOT SLEEPY!"

First really hot day of the season

First really hot day of the season. Cloudless sky, humid, a public holiday. Surprisingly few people in the swimming pool though. Despite the heat, the water was cool as it was still early in the morning.

After ten gentle laps I took a rest, stretched my arms out by my side, supporting my weight at the edge of the shallow end. A family of three plus maid arrived. Slightly pale chubby husband (he reminded me of Babe), wearing what looked like cycling shorts and goggles. Wife was even paler and had the figure of a woman who had just given birth three months ago, even though their child was toddling. She wore an olive coloured one piece swim suit. The maid was thin, young, brown. She carried the bags, the towels, the floaties, following her employers. She wore a long t-shirt over her swimsuit.

The husband proudly paraded by the pool side, doing warm up stretches, splashing water onto his hairless chest, patting it loudly. Wife fiddled with toddler, fiddled with stuff, instructing the maid. Maid nodded, speechless.

Toddler was placed inside a giant floatie with wings, and parents and maid all looked on joyfully. I smiled, the wife caught my eyes and smiled back.

More adoration and smiles and cooing sounds and clapping, then the husband paired up with the maid, and the wife carried on playing with the toddler.

Husband proceeded to teach the maid to swim. Husband instructed with authority, chest out, stomach in. Maid listened coyly, giggled, uncoordinated. Husband held maid by the ankles, showing her the breast stroke kick. Husband held maid by her arms, showing her the breast stroke moves.

Wife checked over her shoulders every so often, keeping distance. She moved further and further away.

Another 40 minutes later, it started to rain, they packed their things and left. I swam some more.

Ersatz

I lie there upon dirt and rocks and rubbish, looking at the sky. The discomfort of all that against my back feels strangely reassuring.

The sky is a half-hearted shade of blue, the sun hiding behind thin clouds. I mouth: "pathetic" at the sky and thought, why don't you try harder?

I must be frowning deep, because I can feel the drips of sweat altering their course, going down my nose instead of gather at my eyebrows. The beads tasted strangely sweet. All the saccharine they put in cheap chap sticks these days....

I take a deep breath and feel the heavy of sadness in my lungs. I exhale, and it moves towards my face, creeps up behind my eyes, forwarning me of impending tears.

I close my eyes and try to rest.

I try to rest. Just as my breathing started to ease, I feel a shadow over me.

I open my left eye, squinting. A man. Is standing over me. The sun is right behind his head and I can not make out what he looks like. I look away from the light, towards the ground, and see that he is wearing a white vest and fleece trousers. I am still squinting, with my one left eye. He is still motionless, we are both speechless, his arms hanging down his sides. I look at his shoes. He does not seem to be wearing any.

I try to shift my head a little so I can get a better angle to look at his face, but it is too uncomfortable to move my head over all that rubble beneath me. I will have to get up, if I want to see his face. It is not normal that someone stands over me, dressed like he does, in a place like this. I want to know what the hell is going on. But I am too tired to move. Under normal circumstances I would have been concerned, scared even. But today, I am neither. I can't give a flying FUCK! The thought of this makes my heart beat a little faster. Maybe I am not as dead as I think I am, afterall. I close my eye. FUCK IT.

"You are not dead, you just feel that way. Just now."

The voice comes from my left. I shifted my head slightly and open my left eye. The man is now lying next to me. He just spoke.

"What?" I mutter, somewhat pointlessly, at him. He is not answering.

How come I did not hear him move? I did not even hear him lie down next to me. Have I gone deaf? Have I gone to hell? His face is about two feet away from mine. I now have a clear-ish view of the right side of his face. A non-descript face. He looks clean; I detect no off-putting odour from his direction. He looks as if he hasn't shaved in months, but his hair is quite short. Still, no response from this stranger. Minutes seem to pass by. Then he raises his arms, slowly, and examines his fingers. His hands look clean, too. For a split second, I am moved by the sight of this. I feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to fuck him.

He gives out a restrained laugh, his teeth clean. "Unprotected sex with a stranger in the wilderness! Not sure that's a good way to go!" Then he drops his hands and places them on his stomach. He seems to be smiling now.

"What?" I mutter again, this time, mostly to myself. I have heard that before. I know that voice...

****************

Around this time last year, I still had Judy. Now, I only have myself and not much more.

It was her birthday. I bought her a brand new Audi TT (I had the four rings of the logo covered in Swarovski crystals), in deepest shiniest purple, of course. She wanted me to cook her dinner, and then head out to Yuen Long to see an arthouse film. I don't mind the cooking but I hate going to cinemas. I hate the darkness, the quietness, the stillness, the need to concentrate, sitting amongst strangers who smell. We were living in Stanley at the time, and Yuen Long seemed like miles away. She was eager to take her new car for a spin. It was her birthday. I obliged.

Some Finnish art film called Broken Windows? Break the Window? or was it Breaking Wind? I can't recall. We had a bottle of champagne with dinner. I tried to put my hand up her skirt a few times but neither that nor the booze seemed to affect her in any way.

The cinema was hidden behind a bus depot, next to a few sad stalls of Dai Pai Dongs, smelling foul of tripe and cheap fat. The cinema didn't smell,though. I was disappointed at this because I was wrong.

The film was about a man who hit some kind of existential wall and was going mental without realizing it himself. He was roaming around town having sex with strangers. Men, women, tramps, waiters, hookers, school children. It was boring the pants off me and I started texting Paul on the phone, when all that sex in dark alley ways was going on. Judy was too engrossed in the film to tell me off. Paul and I were exchanging jokes about poofs and tits and piss and the woman he was with. We were arranging where to meet afterwards. I loved Judy, but I could not stand being alone with her in public places for prolonged periods of time.

As the film was nearing its end, a man sitting behind us shouted out these words:

"Unprotected sex with a stranger in the wilderness! Not sure that's a good way to go!"

Several heads, including mine, but not Judy's, turned round to look at him. This man was sitting by himself, had plenty of hair, and his teeth gleamed in the dark.

A warm flow of mild rage rised in my chest, and I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up. But I was scared of him. I didn't want him to ambush me outside the cinema, or piss on Judy's new tyres, or worse still rip those crystals off the damn car. My eyes met his, though. And his eyes were smiling.

And here we are again, my eyes meeting his. Something is telling me to look at his face. I am looking at his face, for sure, but that something is telling me to look at his face some more.

I do not want to move closer to him, the situation being unusual as it is. Not because I fear he might suddenly transform into some demonic creature and rip my head off or spew acidic green slime over my eye balls. I may be miles off from any normal context for human social interaction, but years of having excelled in functioning in such context has left a deep imprint upon me. Something is telling me I should look at his face some more, but not move closer to him. I know I should, but I am not moving closer. I can't.

Involuntarily I squint again, and his face comes into a sharper focus. He has a strangely human face. Strange because it seems so unusual and so perfectly ordinary at the same time. Reminds me of the kind of face that supposedly beautiful people have. Perfect proportions, beautiful bone structure, bright eyes that smile naturally. What has he got to be so smug about. Why is he looking so perfect.

"What are you smiling about?" Those words came out gentler than I had expected.

"Nothing in particular. I am just smiling as I look at you." Those words came out less creepy than they should be. His head tilted slightly, his eyes looking into mine.

"What do you want. I don't have any money. I don't have nothing."

He laughs, as if he is really glad I said that. "I know".

"What do you have?" Those words came out of my mouth, I'm not sure what I mean by them.

"I don't have much, as you can see."

"I could eat something." I put my left hand on my stomach. I look at my watch. It has been 27 hours since I last ate. "I could do with a drink, too". 10 hours since I last drank. My lips are cracked. I lick them and tasted blood.

He shows me a loaf of bread, and a plastic bottle of water.

"Hey! Where'd you get that from?"

"Eat now, regain your strength."

The bread is a medium sized rustic loaf. It is still warm as he handed me a large chunk that he ripped off. I eat it, and it smells fresh and mildly acidic.

"Sourdough," I said "right?"

He laughs again. This time, I laugh with him. He takes a sip from the bottle, then hands it to me. I drink from it. I laugh some more.

When was the last time I feel like this? Genuinely laughing whilst eating and drinking in the company of another stranger? I vaguely remember the last party I went to, before my downfall. Perhaps I should say, one of the last parties. Just like all the others. I drank, I smoked, I ate, I mingled, I flirted, I did all the things I do at parties. I faked laughing, too. Strangers.

I let out a long sigh, and tears are welling up in my eyes. I feel so fucking sorry for myself. Right now, I do. For some strange reason I feel like fessing up to this guy. I feel like telling him how fucking sorry I am feeling for myself right now.

I turn to look at him, still chewing the bread.

He smiles at me.

"Let's go." He said.

"Okay." I replied

We get up. He smiles at me some more, and I smile back.

I'm happy, and I don't know why.

----------THE END--------------

Social interaction

I find it harder and harder to engage in normal social interaction, these days. I hope I am not alone. I find people increasingly weird, boring, stupid, and inapproriate. The kind of social unease that only used to taunt me at parties when I was in my twenties is slowly creeping back.

It is unfortunate, for me, that society expects older people (as long as they are not senile old) to have more social grace than youngsters. It frustrates me as I become increasingly aware of my incompetence in this regard, and I have been trying to figure out some way of coping with it.

I have tried to smile when I do not feel like smiling. It seemed to have worked for a while, but when I by chance catch a glimpse of my reflection doing my fake smile, it is always clear that I am a fake. And that is condesending. Looking bewildered and bored might be better?

When I was not faking my smile, when I am with people whom I find boring or stupid or strange, I can feel my face showing every emotion every thought. And I think to myself, oh com'on now, either hide it, or be more forgiving. Your contemptuous facial expression should be erased, NOW.

My latest strategy is to think happy thoughts when in such situations.

A ball of twine

A ball of twine, not much to look at.
Feel it in your hands, go on, pick it up.
Place it between your dry red palms.
Roll it back and forth, pretend, even,
that it is a massage ball.
Close your eyes, as it sends tingles down your spine.
To your scalp even? If you give it time.
Loosen it, if you could,
Untangle it, as if you should.
Leave it, should you have better things to do.
Throw it towards the sky, go on, hard as you dare.
Keep your eyes on it as it moves, amidst the cold wet air.
Keep your eyes on it as it falls, loosened or not?
Still a ball, or not at all?
Is it going to hit you on the head and bounce right off?
Or land at your feet, sad, limp and bored?
A ball of twine I now stare at, thinking,
how lovely it is, helping time pass me by.