Body in a Trunk

This post sounds like it could take a turn for the macabre but don't worry, I got it all out in my last entry.

As I was driving to work the other day, I pulled into a parking lot and discovered a parked car with an open trunk. From the opening, I could see two legs, from the knee down, hanging out and twitching. My first thought was, I don't know what's going on, but I love it. The second, I hope this person is okay. That looks extremely uncomfortable. I then callously returned to, Hurt or not, that is hilarious. My soul might be lost at this point... I am waiting for karma to hit me like a speeding freight train.

The good news is, for those concerned readers, that a perfectly healthy, pimple-faced eighteen year old boy dressed in a what I have come to learn is a "Baja Hoodie" or a "Mexican Sweater" popular with frat boys during the late '80s, emerged completely intact. In his hand were art supplies that must have fallen through a vortex connected directly from the trunk to Eastern Asia or a perhaps more likely scenario, Tijuana. It seemed from his demeanor that he was in perfect health with the exception of his injured fashion sense; on reflection, I have become convinced that it was broken before he got stuck in the back of a Buick.

And now it is time for the "Lessons Learned" segment of this blog. Number one: college boys are nothing if not goal oriented... even if it takes them to the nether regions of questionable places. Number two: Men in ponchos are not to be trusted. Number three: I know what kind of car to drive the next time I have to dispose of several bodies at once.

Pieces of the People We Love

“Grief is not linear,” that is what one of my friends told me this week when I got blind-sided by some unwelcome news. Sorrow certainly cannot be mapped out on a chart or fit into a curve. It may have some general trends but unforeseen events can spike one back into the red zone.

Human emotion tends to be like natural disasters: unpredictable. The fault line forms a connection between plates pushing together or scraping apart. It is that meandering flaw that takes its time before it finally delineates the break- the disaster. It is a place where fools build homes. They live in peace for a short time, forgetting the imminent danger until the (un)expected event occurs.

Some plates pushed together at a time when I felt safe and a forgotten surge of emotion pushed forward. It can’t be taken back; what is done is done but the energy has been expended and exhaustion is left.

I must admit, however, that feeling this way has made me feel safe again. I think I will open up my blog, the threat seems to have past.