show me compassion in a dark alley
find me the light that has gone from my life
show me wisdom in the setting sun
find me good that still exists in the world.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Vanished
I kidnapped an elephant from a traveling circus train crash. At least I think I did. I know I found myself in those hills.
It all started in October, the leaves were dying their vivid colors. I had no reason to leave my town, but I left anyway. There was no end destination in mind. I took my car and just drove away. Scenery flew by and my foot remained fixed to the gas pedal. I didn’t tell anyone I was going, nor did I take anything with me. I wanted to travel without burden.
My car broke down near the mountains. I left it there and kept going. Everything is worse at night because that’s when the paranoia kicks in. I walked until sunrise. I had no identity, no location; I was no one.
There was a town that one only dreams about, homey and free of chain stores. It was a destination among many. They knew I didn’t live there; that I was a stranger, yet someone took me in.
She was widowed. I liked her. Despite my repeated protests, she would insist on cooking me massive breakfasts every morning. She told me she missed cooking for someone. I already miss the stories of her childhood. Her home hadn't changed over the years; it was frozen in her memories. Wallpaper contaminated with mildew clung to the walls. Nearly everything but the heavy furniture had yellowed. I stayed for a week and left with a renewed faith in humankind. It was rejuvenating that some people were still pure of society’s ills.
I moved along on my way, knowing winter would be soon be biting at my heels. Things were better on foot. Nature mattered.
The trampled grass was the only proof of my existence.
That night I slept by the river and prayed for safety from nature’s beautiful destruction. Days continued to melt by and still nothing mattered to me. I was free from life’s responsibilities, all of them seemingly unnecessary. My family probably thought I was dead.
November snuck in and things continued to die. My shoes snapped dehydrated branches and startled unseen wildlife. I continued trekking across the unknown land.
I found another town and received unexpected stares. What had happened in the world while I was gone? Everything clicked when I caught my reflection in the counter top. I had become an unkempt vagabond. It was time for new clothing, some warmth.
I stayed in this town. I met the single serving friends that you open up too, knowing full well you will never see them again and that all you say won’t matter if you give it time.
There was a faded banner in the distance, one that bore the harshness of weather for many years. The sun-damaged banner boasted that the circus was coming to town. Memories of my childhood flooded back to me. I used to think of joining a circus, despite being clumsy and having no visible talent. Acrobats and other circus performers always amazed me. They always seemed so free. I wanted that sort of weightlessness and more importantly, I now longed for some sense of worth to my existence.
The banner was abandoned but my renewed sense of passion was not. It was at that moment I decided to join a circus. It was an odd and childish desire but I was already on a path to absurdity.
The biggest problem was finding my location and finding a circus to join.
Not wanting any possessions, I continued to walk.
The time that progressed became hazy. Eventually, like a mirage, I saw caravans on the horizon.
As if by fate, I had indeed found my circus. I felt happy, something that was a rare sensation for me. I met and spoke to the right people and soon was given a place. As it turns out, the animal keeper was looking for a replacement and somehow I got the job.
They told me they were going to head south, to avoid the weather. We moved out the following day and I began to learn what it took to care for an elephant and the appetite this enormous animal dictated. Not to mention the other four cages of animals. Exhaustion gained a new definition.
I didn’t like socializing with the others. They were all kind to me, but my time of solitude had left me a recluse. So I spent my days with the animals. I watched them watch me and we learned each other’s behavior.
It took me a bit to learn who to feed first. The former animal keeper didn’t alert me the tricks of his trade. The lion, that muscular beast, would be very vocal in his complaints. The first time I experienced this I was scared out of my mind. Basically all I did is chuck a huge piece meat in his cage, I didn't know what he did with it, it smelled to bad for me to stick around.
As for the elephant, Lily, I knew I would stay with her, her eyes showed me warmth that I could not find in another human. It was one of thanks and acceptance. She did not care who I was or where I came from. She was content with the fact that I was there to care for her. She told me so, in a manner of speaking. Elephants use every method they can to communicate with others. She liked to prod me with her trunk.
She was the only animal that tried to communicate with me, unless I was missing something. The ponies seemed content with each other.
The rain came and the dirt became mud. The groan of the caravans became a melodic part of the trip south. I felt as if I had traveled backwards, I had been away from home for an eternity it seemed and all the convenience was gone. This traveling was legitimate work.
When we arrived near the mountains, the rain turned to snow and the progression slowed even further. Things became slippery and we could only move during daylight, it was the least treacherous time.
Tragedy struck the following week. Some of the caravans lost control on the ice and crashed. In the chaos of broken items, I wanted to flee. The past months had been filled with disillusion, and this was far too much to take in. My charge, the elephant, was obviously distressed and freezing cold. In the confusion, I quickly unlocked her cage, gently tugging at her collar. We headed down the path and it was then I saw the blue and red light bars.
I kidnapped an elephant from a traveling circus train crash. At least I think I did. I know I found myself in those hills.
It all started in October, the leaves were dying their vivid colors. I had no reason to leave my town, but I left anyway. There was no end destination in mind. I took my car and just drove away. Scenery flew by and my foot remained fixed to the gas pedal. I didn’t tell anyone I was going, nor did I take anything with me. I wanted to travel without burden.
My car broke down near the mountains. I left it there and kept going. Everything is worse at night because that’s when the paranoia kicks in. I walked until sunrise. I had no identity, no location; I was no one.
There was a town that one only dreams about, homey and free of chain stores. It was a destination among many. They knew I didn’t live there; that I was a stranger, yet someone took me in.
She was widowed. I liked her. Despite my repeated protests, she would insist on cooking me massive breakfasts every morning. She told me she missed cooking for someone. I already miss the stories of her childhood. Her home hadn't changed over the years; it was frozen in her memories. Wallpaper contaminated with mildew clung to the walls. Nearly everything but the heavy furniture had yellowed. I stayed for a week and left with a renewed faith in humankind. It was rejuvenating that some people were still pure of society’s ills.
I moved along on my way, knowing winter would be soon be biting at my heels. Things were better on foot. Nature mattered.
The trampled grass was the only proof of my existence.
That night I slept by the river and prayed for safety from nature’s beautiful destruction. Days continued to melt by and still nothing mattered to me. I was free from life’s responsibilities, all of them seemingly unnecessary. My family probably thought I was dead.
November snuck in and things continued to die. My shoes snapped dehydrated branches and startled unseen wildlife. I continued trekking across the unknown land.
I found another town and received unexpected stares. What had happened in the world while I was gone? Everything clicked when I caught my reflection in the counter top. I had become an unkempt vagabond. It was time for new clothing, some warmth.
I stayed in this town. I met the single serving friends that you open up too, knowing full well you will never see them again and that all you say won’t matter if you give it time.
There was a faded banner in the distance, one that bore the harshness of weather for many years. The sun-damaged banner boasted that the circus was coming to town. Memories of my childhood flooded back to me. I used to think of joining a circus, despite being clumsy and having no visible talent. Acrobats and other circus performers always amazed me. They always seemed so free. I wanted that sort of weightlessness and more importantly, I now longed for some sense of worth to my existence.
The banner was abandoned but my renewed sense of passion was not. It was at that moment I decided to join a circus. It was an odd and childish desire but I was already on a path to absurdity.
The biggest problem was finding my location and finding a circus to join.
Not wanting any possessions, I continued to walk.
The time that progressed became hazy. Eventually, like a mirage, I saw caravans on the horizon.
As if by fate, I had indeed found my circus. I felt happy, something that was a rare sensation for me. I met and spoke to the right people and soon was given a place. As it turns out, the animal keeper was looking for a replacement and somehow I got the job.
They told me they were going to head south, to avoid the weather. We moved out the following day and I began to learn what it took to care for an elephant and the appetite this enormous animal dictated. Not to mention the other four cages of animals. Exhaustion gained a new definition.
I didn’t like socializing with the others. They were all kind to me, but my time of solitude had left me a recluse. So I spent my days with the animals. I watched them watch me and we learned each other’s behavior.
It took me a bit to learn who to feed first. The former animal keeper didn’t alert me the tricks of his trade. The lion, that muscular beast, would be very vocal in his complaints. The first time I experienced this I was scared out of my mind. Basically all I did is chuck a huge piece meat in his cage, I didn't know what he did with it, it smelled to bad for me to stick around.
As for the elephant, Lily, I knew I would stay with her, her eyes showed me warmth that I could not find in another human. It was one of thanks and acceptance. She did not care who I was or where I came from. She was content with the fact that I was there to care for her. She told me so, in a manner of speaking. Elephants use every method they can to communicate with others. She liked to prod me with her trunk.
She was the only animal that tried to communicate with me, unless I was missing something. The ponies seemed content with each other.
The rain came and the dirt became mud. The groan of the caravans became a melodic part of the trip south. I felt as if I had traveled backwards, I had been away from home for an eternity it seemed and all the convenience was gone. This traveling was legitimate work.
When we arrived near the mountains, the rain turned to snow and the progression slowed even further. Things became slippery and we could only move during daylight, it was the least treacherous time.
Tragedy struck the following week. Some of the caravans lost control on the ice and crashed. In the chaos of broken items, I wanted to flee. The past months had been filled with disillusion, and this was far too much to take in. My charge, the elephant, was obviously distressed and freezing cold. In the confusion, I quickly unlocked her cage, gently tugging at her collar. We headed down the path and it was then I saw the blue and red light bars.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
http://susanaraab.files.wordpress.com/2007/07/picture-2.png
It’s just after 12 and we are going to go get some lunch. But first we sneak off to our usual spot. I like him. He has a rebellious streak. Everyone tells me he is trouble and I know it. But I love him. His friends call him Lucky because he always gets the girl he wants.
I don’t like that he smokes and I don’t like how much he drinks, but he makes me happy and I like it when he shows me off to his friends. My best friend Tess thinks it’s stupid that he waves me around like a trophy but she is always a bit dramatic with what she says. I still keep what she says in the back of my mind though because she has been my best friend since the day we met in fourth grade. I remember my teacher, Ms. Jacobs, had us work together on something and we hit it off right away.
My parents think I should date someone else, but what do they know. My dad is always at work and my mom is always on the phone and neither of them seems to be happy. My sister couldn’t care less as to what I do, as long as I don’t touch her stuff.
Anyways, as for Lucky, he’s my first real boyfriend and I don’t care who complains about it. We’ve been together for five months and he just gave me his class ring to celebrate it. He graduated high school. I’m a senior. I’m going to college in the fall and he’s finding himself. Whatever that means. His family just cares about family, they’re all really protective of each other. I don’t think they tell him what to do with his life like my parents tell me. I’ve been to his house for dinner a few times and everybody seems so close. His two brothers beat each other and him up but he doesn’t seem to care.
Lucky wants me to go out with him more than I can. As much as I am crazy about him, I want to keep my grades up. I already got my acceptance letter, but I’m afraid if I slack off now, I might loose my scholarship. Money isn’t a problem in my house; my dad is a very successful lawyer. My mom stays at home and does all the things housewives do. Most of this involves shopping, gossiping, and book clubs. I hope I don’t end up like her. She’s smart but never went to college; it wasn’t as popular to do in the sixties. But it seems she kind of gave up after that. I want more than that. But life gets boring and Lucky makes me feel free. He drives up to my house with his leather jacket and his hair tousled from the wind. When I see him, something inside me longs to be as free as he seems. I wish I could go without a care in the world sometimes. But I know I was raised without that kind of thought process. My parents would probably throw me out of the house if I acted like that.
Tess told me about a guy who has a crush on me. I know he was a year ahead of me in school, but I never got to know him. Scott was shy and studious. I know he’s smart; he got into Princeton. But besides that, that’s all I know about him. I haven’t seen him since he graduated. I always hate finding out someone likes me because I act different around them, but at the same time I want to know if a person likes me. It sounds hypocritical but I think everybody has moments like that.
Sara is pretty great I guess. All the guys are jealous so I show her off. I always like to be the cool one. I keep my motorcycle in top shape and show it off too. The best part is bragging to them about when she and I do it in the back of the convertible. I steal it from my dad when he is at the restaurant late, working. I drive out by the lake and we go at it. She isn’t that kind of girl but she is really into me. I’m not supposed to be that type of boy. Catholics get hung up about a lot of that stuff, at least my family does. My grandmother would be rolling in her grave if she knew what I was up to. Whatever. I wear my cross and go to church and all, but what’s good about life if you can’t get with girls?
So I’ve been with Sara five months know and I gave her my class ring because of it. Girls go crazy over that stuff. Trust me, I’ve been with a lot of girls. I met her when she came into my dad’s restaurant with a couple of friends. I work there sometimes as a waiter/busboy. So anyways, she comes in in this dress and I can’t keep my eyes off her. By the time they finished eating, I went up and asked her for her number and she gave it to me! I told everyone the next day about it.
She still goes to Central High, but she’s only ten months younger than me. I don’t feel like going to college but she’s all bookworm. My dad will just let me work for him, and my uncle is a mechanic. Everything I know how to do is right in the family so I don’t have to worry about it. So anyways, I find this great spot behind the closed car factory. It’s our regular make out spot now. I don’t think anybody knows were it is, except a few of the guys. Some nights we go back there and drink. I think I accidentally left a few bottles back there from this weekend. Oh well, I don’t really care. So the other day we go back there and she sits up my lap, and I got to hold my beer in place cause I think she’s gonna knock it off or something like that. For being so prissy and proper, she sure knows how to kiss a guy.
But I’m getting kinda tired of her always studying. I want to go out and party. She wants to care about school. I don’t get what’s so great about school. She always plans things out, plans ahead. I tell her to live in the moment. It’s more fun that way. She won’t do it though. She says her parents tell her it’s irresponsible and that they expect more out of her. I only met her parents once and her dad grilled me for ten frickin minutes about my plans for the future. He was pretty pissed when I kinda shrugged and said I didn’t know. I don’t care what he thinks of me. I probably should though because I am dating his daughter. I’m with her cause of the sex and show her off. I don’t really care who Henry the VIII was, or how many times he was married. She does, and she tells me about this crap all the time.
I saw them kissing again today. The first time I found them it was an accident. I was on my way home from class and I was trying to find new shortcuts. I don’t think they heard me but I’m not sure. Sara is so pretty and smart. I knew who she was in high school. I was a year ahead so I never got a chance to talk to her. She was always in the hall, talking to her friends, laughing and smiling.
When I found out she was with someone, it hurt even more. I never had much luck with girls but I guess I earned that. When I first say her my sophomore year, she was the one and only one I wanted ever since. It sounds strange but unless you know her, you can’t get what I am describing. She walks into a room and suddenly it glows. She has this ability to get people to smile and she brings warmth with her wherever she goes.
Growing up like I did, with a dad in the military, we moved around a lot. Going to new places all the time, I never had many friends. That’s why I never approached her, I didn’t know how too. I hate myself for it because know she’s with Lucky and he is using her. She is so smart and all he cares about is sex. I hope she doesn’t stay with him. I know she is smarter than that. The worst is that I don’t want him to hurt her like he did will the other girls. He just used them and cast them aside like they were trash. She’s more than that and he doesn’t see it. God, it makes me so angry!
Today I saw the two of them again. I don’t know why I went that way again. She was sitting on his lap with her arm wrapped around his neck. Her hair had a wave in it because she always wears her hair in a ponytail. I wonder why it was down today. She has such nice hair; I wish she did wear it down more. I have curls that I can’t manage so I usually keep my hair pretty short. I never did care much about my appearance. I do what’s the easiest. Lucky is so very different than me. He actually bothers doing things with the mass of hair he has. She was running her fingers through I the first time I saw the two of them together. Every time I see her, I want to be with her even more. And when I don’t see her, all I want to do is see her. I am driving myself insane over a girl I have never even talked too. But my mind won’t free her from its grasp. I hope this all works into something good because I can’t take much more of this.
I don’t understand why they have to go and do the things they do in public. Someone told me that factory closed a good ten years ago and it’s a pretty grungy location. The weeds are growing up the walls and the grass hasn’t been cut. Some kids went back there and broke in and sprayed graffiti the walls, b0oth inside and outside the factory. I guess they think it’s pretty private. I might be the only other one that goes that way.
It’s just after 12 and we are going to go get some lunch. But first we sneak off to our usual spot. I like him. He has a rebellious streak. Everyone tells me he is trouble and I know it. But I love him. His friends call him Lucky because he always gets the girl he wants.
I don’t like that he smokes and I don’t like how much he drinks, but he makes me happy and I like it when he shows me off to his friends. My best friend Tess thinks it’s stupid that he waves me around like a trophy but she is always a bit dramatic with what she says. I still keep what she says in the back of my mind though because she has been my best friend since the day we met in fourth grade. I remember my teacher, Ms. Jacobs, had us work together on something and we hit it off right away.
My parents think I should date someone else, but what do they know. My dad is always at work and my mom is always on the phone and neither of them seems to be happy. My sister couldn’t care less as to what I do, as long as I don’t touch her stuff.
Anyways, as for Lucky, he’s my first real boyfriend and I don’t care who complains about it. We’ve been together for five months and he just gave me his class ring to celebrate it. He graduated high school. I’m a senior. I’m going to college in the fall and he’s finding himself. Whatever that means. His family just cares about family, they’re all really protective of each other. I don’t think they tell him what to do with his life like my parents tell me. I’ve been to his house for dinner a few times and everybody seems so close. His two brothers beat each other and him up but he doesn’t seem to care.
Lucky wants me to go out with him more than I can. As much as I am crazy about him, I want to keep my grades up. I already got my acceptance letter, but I’m afraid if I slack off now, I might loose my scholarship. Money isn’t a problem in my house; my dad is a very successful lawyer. My mom stays at home and does all the things housewives do. Most of this involves shopping, gossiping, and book clubs. I hope I don’t end up like her. She’s smart but never went to college; it wasn’t as popular to do in the sixties. But it seems she kind of gave up after that. I want more than that. But life gets boring and Lucky makes me feel free. He drives up to my house with his leather jacket and his hair tousled from the wind. When I see him, something inside me longs to be as free as he seems. I wish I could go without a care in the world sometimes. But I know I was raised without that kind of thought process. My parents would probably throw me out of the house if I acted like that.
Tess told me about a guy who has a crush on me. I know he was a year ahead of me in school, but I never got to know him. Scott was shy and studious. I know he’s smart; he got into Princeton. But besides that, that’s all I know about him. I haven’t seen him since he graduated. I always hate finding out someone likes me because I act different around them, but at the same time I want to know if a person likes me. It sounds hypocritical but I think everybody has moments like that.
Sara is pretty great I guess. All the guys are jealous so I show her off. I always like to be the cool one. I keep my motorcycle in top shape and show it off too. The best part is bragging to them about when she and I do it in the back of the convertible. I steal it from my dad when he is at the restaurant late, working. I drive out by the lake and we go at it. She isn’t that kind of girl but she is really into me. I’m not supposed to be that type of boy. Catholics get hung up about a lot of that stuff, at least my family does. My grandmother would be rolling in her grave if she knew what I was up to. Whatever. I wear my cross and go to church and all, but what’s good about life if you can’t get with girls?
So I’ve been with Sara five months know and I gave her my class ring because of it. Girls go crazy over that stuff. Trust me, I’ve been with a lot of girls. I met her when she came into my dad’s restaurant with a couple of friends. I work there sometimes as a waiter/busboy. So anyways, she comes in in this dress and I can’t keep my eyes off her. By the time they finished eating, I went up and asked her for her number and she gave it to me! I told everyone the next day about it.
She still goes to Central High, but she’s only ten months younger than me. I don’t feel like going to college but she’s all bookworm. My dad will just let me work for him, and my uncle is a mechanic. Everything I know how to do is right in the family so I don’t have to worry about it. So anyways, I find this great spot behind the closed car factory. It’s our regular make out spot now. I don’t think anybody knows were it is, except a few of the guys. Some nights we go back there and drink. I think I accidentally left a few bottles back there from this weekend. Oh well, I don’t really care. So the other day we go back there and she sits up my lap, and I got to hold my beer in place cause I think she’s gonna knock it off or something like that. For being so prissy and proper, she sure knows how to kiss a guy.
But I’m getting kinda tired of her always studying. I want to go out and party. She wants to care about school. I don’t get what’s so great about school. She always plans things out, plans ahead. I tell her to live in the moment. It’s more fun that way. She won’t do it though. She says her parents tell her it’s irresponsible and that they expect more out of her. I only met her parents once and her dad grilled me for ten frickin minutes about my plans for the future. He was pretty pissed when I kinda shrugged and said I didn’t know. I don’t care what he thinks of me. I probably should though because I am dating his daughter. I’m with her cause of the sex and show her off. I don’t really care who Henry the VIII was, or how many times he was married. She does, and she tells me about this crap all the time.
I saw them kissing again today. The first time I found them it was an accident. I was on my way home from class and I was trying to find new shortcuts. I don’t think they heard me but I’m not sure. Sara is so pretty and smart. I knew who she was in high school. I was a year ahead so I never got a chance to talk to her. She was always in the hall, talking to her friends, laughing and smiling.
When I found out she was with someone, it hurt even more. I never had much luck with girls but I guess I earned that. When I first say her my sophomore year, she was the one and only one I wanted ever since. It sounds strange but unless you know her, you can’t get what I am describing. She walks into a room and suddenly it glows. She has this ability to get people to smile and she brings warmth with her wherever she goes.
Growing up like I did, with a dad in the military, we moved around a lot. Going to new places all the time, I never had many friends. That’s why I never approached her, I didn’t know how too. I hate myself for it because know she’s with Lucky and he is using her. She is so smart and all he cares about is sex. I hope she doesn’t stay with him. I know she is smarter than that. The worst is that I don’t want him to hurt her like he did will the other girls. He just used them and cast them aside like they were trash. She’s more than that and he doesn’t see it. God, it makes me so angry!
Today I saw the two of them again. I don’t know why I went that way again. She was sitting on his lap with her arm wrapped around his neck. Her hair had a wave in it because she always wears her hair in a ponytail. I wonder why it was down today. She has such nice hair; I wish she did wear it down more. I have curls that I can’t manage so I usually keep my hair pretty short. I never did care much about my appearance. I do what’s the easiest. Lucky is so very different than me. He actually bothers doing things with the mass of hair he has. She was running her fingers through I the first time I saw the two of them together. Every time I see her, I want to be with her even more. And when I don’t see her, all I want to do is see her. I am driving myself insane over a girl I have never even talked too. But my mind won’t free her from its grasp. I hope this all works into something good because I can’t take much more of this.
I don’t understand why they have to go and do the things they do in public. Someone told me that factory closed a good ten years ago and it’s a pretty grungy location. The weeds are growing up the walls and the grass hasn’t been cut. Some kids went back there and broke in and sprayed graffiti the walls, b0oth inside and outside the factory. I guess they think it’s pretty private. I might be the only other one that goes that way.
a plotline
She thinks it’s love, he thinks it’s good sex.
He is the bad boy she craves. The one who loves her lies forgotten in the shadows.
He parties hard and drinks, despite being only 19. She is 18. He never cared for school. The catholic Italian boy who fights for his family. Her name is Sara. It’s the summer. It lasts eight months, then his heart is broken. She leaves him. She wants better than a rebel. She grows up, becoming of age. He continues on the downward spiral.
At first she didn’t mind his repeated punishments, she ignored her parents when they begged and pleaded for her to leave him and do better. Eventually she heard him brag about how slutty she was and she realized the error of her ways. She broke up with him, gave him back his class ring and sought out the quiet boy. His name was ( ) and her best friend told he liker her. She ignored him them did something about it her senior year.
Very cliché.
They are spotted by the boy that loves her. She ends up with him. She feels fuller. They care about each other, not the sex. He feels helpless loving her and seeing the boy use her for her brains and beauty.
He is the bad boy she craves. The one who loves her lies forgotten in the shadows.
He parties hard and drinks, despite being only 19. She is 18. He never cared for school. The catholic Italian boy who fights for his family. Her name is Sara. It’s the summer. It lasts eight months, then his heart is broken. She leaves him. She wants better than a rebel. She grows up, becoming of age. He continues on the downward spiral.
At first she didn’t mind his repeated punishments, she ignored her parents when they begged and pleaded for her to leave him and do better. Eventually she heard him brag about how slutty she was and she realized the error of her ways. She broke up with him, gave him back his class ring and sought out the quiet boy. His name was ( ) and her best friend told he liker her. She ignored him them did something about it her senior year.
Very cliché.
They are spotted by the boy that loves her. She ends up with him. She feels fuller. They care about each other, not the sex. He feels helpless loving her and seeing the boy use her for her brains and beauty.
Monday, July 20, 2009
another revision
Every time I bend down, the blood rushes to my head and the room spins. Every fish is harder to cut and I can’t keep this damn knife steady. I had a great time at that party. The stripper was late, but the wait was worth it. The beer supply never ended. Eric is getting hitched in a week. Time really has gone by. I’m amazed. It seems like just a short time ago Eric and I met freshman year of high school. I wish I hadn’t drank so much and I really wish I was still at that party. It was great to see the guys again after all this time.
This stupid monkfish is a nightmare to cut. You get used to it after awhile but last night I had to be stupid and drink that much lager. I lost count of how much I drank but I remember stumbling out of the cab at 1 a.m. Then I kind of blacked out.
Every time someone hits a bone my head pulses. These fluorescent lights definitely aren’t helping, bouncing off the bloodstained metal table into my face.
This job really isn’t for me. I actually hate it but I’m too scared to leave. Maybe I’m not scared but something is keeping me here. Fishmongers are becoming less common. Technology is more efficient and cheaper.
This economy is affecting everything. People are buying less fish. Some of the local specialties are being put on hold until things get back to normal. The calamari usually sells. Most of the local restaurants have it on their menu.
“Joe, hurry up! We need to get those fish out front fast.”
"I'm working on it!"
That would be my father, George. I secretly admire his drive, something I never seemed to have, but I wish he would give me some slack. I wish I wasn’t the oldest. This business has been in the family for six generations and I’ve been working here for as long as I can remember. Even as a teenager I worked here in my free time. Why didn’t I go elsewhere? Because of my father?
Despite the cold temperatures for the fish, I’m sweating. The apron is especially irritating today, never settling in the right position. What's the point of wearing a white apron if its only going to turn red?
I have gotten used to the sight of blood and fish guts everywhere. I used to pity the fish as a kid but I don’t care anymore.
Finally, with my arm nearly numb from the extra exertion, I’m done gutting all the fish. I call my father over so we can hurry and keep these fish fresh. Timing is very important around here. If the fish are old, you can feel it, let alone smell it. Those damn things reek if you aren’t careful. I don’t notice it, but the people out front do and we catch hell for it. The people in this area are very obsessed with hygiene so we butcher in the back before we bring the fish out.
The owner of this place, Susan, she can be a menace. She cares more about keeping up the looks of the place than the actual workers. One time she and I got into this fight because some rich person complained to her about the quality of the fish. The fish were fine, even my dad said so. That wasn’t good enough for her. I guess she is just trying to stay out of a lawsuit. It’s all based on money. Everything seems to be controlled by money these days. If you have enough money, you are invincible and people will nearly worship you. Organic food always costs more so we attract a lot of nut jobs here.
I’m really looking forward to this weekend, driving down to the beach. I really need to get out of this place. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. These weekend trips are nice but I really want something longer. A lot of my friends think it’s funny that I am a fishmonger in love with the ocean. It is pretty strange. They also hate how sand gets into everything. I love to bury my feet in it but it does get annoying spending five minutes dumping the grains out. I always seem to miss a few and my toes complain until I do something about it.
Picking up the fish, I am reminded of the slimy texture. I put the halibut into the ice of the cart and shove the metal of the price sign in. Hopefully the fish sell better today, yesterday was pretty slow. I hate having to stand there and watch the people look at the fish, then walk away. You have to be polite about it though. We take shifts to break up the workday. I have another hour before I am free to take my lunch break. I need to go on a walk; I need to get away from this putrid stench. Some people say they would love to be around food all day. It gets old fast. You always hear a buzzing fly and hope he stays away from what you are trying to sell. Flies tend to upset people. A lot of things tend to upset people. I notice the little petty arguments and complaints meant for only their ears. You notice a lot when you have to stand with nothing to occupy you.
My feet really hurt. And my headache is still here. The scuffs in the tiles are enough to stir up my already bad mood. Why didn’t I go to college? I could have had more opportunities than dealing with a truck that won’t turn over.
My two cousins also work here with us, but usually don’t do the pick up from the fisherman. My family is pretty close knit. I’m pretty happy about that. I work in a father and son team. I never decided to work like this but it just sort of happened and has been this way for the past nine years.
Lunch yields a limp sandwich and a diet coke. I was never that good of a cook, and being out on my own really proves it. I want a new car but all my extra money goes towards the mortgage. This job really doesn’t pay well but not many jobs seem too.
The road we have to drive on to get the fish is hellish. There are potholes everywhere. Not too many people come out this way, unless they are headed out fishing. This means nothing gets fixed until someone gets injured, as long as that someone is not me.
Loading the crates into the truck, I am reminded of how my father is aging. He always seems so strong to me, working as hard as he does. Now I notice how he and to stop and rest every so often. Ever since my mom died, he has been pushing himself to work as hard as he can. I can’t believe she’s been gone for six years. That really was a blow to the family. Luke was only 17 at the time. I guess Dad afraid of something too. We don’t really talk to each other, that wastes to much time.
The rest of the day is a repeat of this morning. Check the crates to make sure it matches the label on the side, it’s routine. Throw the crates out back near the dumpster. Eventually a truck driver who didn’t even finish high school will come and pick them up and take them to who knows where. I think they get reused. I don’t really care. You always see the people who want you to care about the environment, but all they care about is money it seems. One nearly leapt in front of me the other day. Don’t they have real jobs? I wonder how much it pays to annoy people and wave a clipboard.
After I cut the fish I stick them in the walk in fridge. One time, as a prank, I locked my cousin in there. I think I did it out of boredom. He put salt in my coffee that day, now I have a thermos.
It’s 6 pm and the market is getting ready to close. Thankfully people wanted fish today, so not too much is left. Limp, trodden, lettuce is on the ground. Water from a nearby hose mixed with the rubber mats makes the ground all the more disgusting to walk on.
I’m glad the day is over but I have to do it all again tomorrow. I guess I’ll stay for my dad, and I guess I always wanted to impress him. Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll stick it out and stay. Whatever, this is too much to think about. It’s late and the game is on tonight.
This stupid monkfish is a nightmare to cut. You get used to it after awhile but last night I had to be stupid and drink that much lager. I lost count of how much I drank but I remember stumbling out of the cab at 1 a.m. Then I kind of blacked out.
Every time someone hits a bone my head pulses. These fluorescent lights definitely aren’t helping, bouncing off the bloodstained metal table into my face.
This job really isn’t for me. I actually hate it but I’m too scared to leave. Maybe I’m not scared but something is keeping me here. Fishmongers are becoming less common. Technology is more efficient and cheaper.
This economy is affecting everything. People are buying less fish. Some of the local specialties are being put on hold until things get back to normal. The calamari usually sells. Most of the local restaurants have it on their menu.
“Joe, hurry up! We need to get those fish out front fast.”
"I'm working on it!"
That would be my father, George. I secretly admire his drive, something I never seemed to have, but I wish he would give me some slack. I wish I wasn’t the oldest. This business has been in the family for six generations and I’ve been working here for as long as I can remember. Even as a teenager I worked here in my free time. Why didn’t I go elsewhere? Because of my father?
Despite the cold temperatures for the fish, I’m sweating. The apron is especially irritating today, never settling in the right position. What's the point of wearing a white apron if its only going to turn red?
I have gotten used to the sight of blood and fish guts everywhere. I used to pity the fish as a kid but I don’t care anymore.
Finally, with my arm nearly numb from the extra exertion, I’m done gutting all the fish. I call my father over so we can hurry and keep these fish fresh. Timing is very important around here. If the fish are old, you can feel it, let alone smell it. Those damn things reek if you aren’t careful. I don’t notice it, but the people out front do and we catch hell for it. The people in this area are very obsessed with hygiene so we butcher in the back before we bring the fish out.
The owner of this place, Susan, she can be a menace. She cares more about keeping up the looks of the place than the actual workers. One time she and I got into this fight because some rich person complained to her about the quality of the fish. The fish were fine, even my dad said so. That wasn’t good enough for her. I guess she is just trying to stay out of a lawsuit. It’s all based on money. Everything seems to be controlled by money these days. If you have enough money, you are invincible and people will nearly worship you. Organic food always costs more so we attract a lot of nut jobs here.
I’m really looking forward to this weekend, driving down to the beach. I really need to get out of this place. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. These weekend trips are nice but I really want something longer. A lot of my friends think it’s funny that I am a fishmonger in love with the ocean. It is pretty strange. They also hate how sand gets into everything. I love to bury my feet in it but it does get annoying spending five minutes dumping the grains out. I always seem to miss a few and my toes complain until I do something about it.
Picking up the fish, I am reminded of the slimy texture. I put the halibut into the ice of the cart and shove the metal of the price sign in. Hopefully the fish sell better today, yesterday was pretty slow. I hate having to stand there and watch the people look at the fish, then walk away. You have to be polite about it though. We take shifts to break up the workday. I have another hour before I am free to take my lunch break. I need to go on a walk; I need to get away from this putrid stench. Some people say they would love to be around food all day. It gets old fast. You always hear a buzzing fly and hope he stays away from what you are trying to sell. Flies tend to upset people. A lot of things tend to upset people. I notice the little petty arguments and complaints meant for only their ears. You notice a lot when you have to stand with nothing to occupy you.
My feet really hurt. And my headache is still here. The scuffs in the tiles are enough to stir up my already bad mood. Why didn’t I go to college? I could have had more opportunities than dealing with a truck that won’t turn over.
My two cousins also work here with us, but usually don’t do the pick up from the fisherman. My family is pretty close knit. I’m pretty happy about that. I work in a father and son team. I never decided to work like this but it just sort of happened and has been this way for the past nine years.
Lunch yields a limp sandwich and a diet coke. I was never that good of a cook, and being out on my own really proves it. I want a new car but all my extra money goes towards the mortgage. This job really doesn’t pay well but not many jobs seem too.
The road we have to drive on to get the fish is hellish. There are potholes everywhere. Not too many people come out this way, unless they are headed out fishing. This means nothing gets fixed until someone gets injured, as long as that someone is not me.
Loading the crates into the truck, I am reminded of how my father is aging. He always seems so strong to me, working as hard as he does. Now I notice how he and to stop and rest every so often. Ever since my mom died, he has been pushing himself to work as hard as he can. I can’t believe she’s been gone for six years. That really was a blow to the family. Luke was only 17 at the time. I guess Dad afraid of something too. We don’t really talk to each other, that wastes to much time.
The rest of the day is a repeat of this morning. Check the crates to make sure it matches the label on the side, it’s routine. Throw the crates out back near the dumpster. Eventually a truck driver who didn’t even finish high school will come and pick them up and take them to who knows where. I think they get reused. I don’t really care. You always see the people who want you to care about the environment, but all they care about is money it seems. One nearly leapt in front of me the other day. Don’t they have real jobs? I wonder how much it pays to annoy people and wave a clipboard.
After I cut the fish I stick them in the walk in fridge. One time, as a prank, I locked my cousin in there. I think I did it out of boredom. He put salt in my coffee that day, now I have a thermos.
It’s 6 pm and the market is getting ready to close. Thankfully people wanted fish today, so not too much is left. Limp, trodden, lettuce is on the ground. Water from a nearby hose mixed with the rubber mats makes the ground all the more disgusting to walk on.
I’m glad the day is over but I have to do it all again tomorrow. I guess I’ll stay for my dad, and I guess I always wanted to impress him. Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll stick it out and stay. Whatever, this is too much to think about. It’s late and the game is on tonight.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Every time I bend down, the blood rushes to my head and the room spins. Every fish is harder to cut and I can’t keep this damn knife steady. I had a great time at that party. The stripper was late, but the wait was worth it. The beer supply never ended. Eric is getting hitched in a week. Time really has gone by. I’m amazed. It seems like just a short time ago Eric and I met freshman year of high school. I wish I hadn’t drank so much and I really wish I was still at that party. It was great to see the guys again after all this time.
This stupid monkfish is a nightmare to cut. You get used to it after awhile but last night I had to be stupid and drink that much lager. I lost count of how much I drank but I remember stumbling out of the cab at 1 a.m. Then I kind of blacked out.
Every time someone hits a bone my head pulses. These fluorescent lights definitely aren’t helping, bouncing off the bloodstained metal table into my face.
Scrod $8.99 a pound. Raw shrimp (Jumbo) $15.99 a pound. Basa fillet $7.99 a pound. Prices run through my head. Will the people agree with the price or complain about it?
This job really isn’t for me. I actually hate it but I’m too scared to leave. Maybe I’m not scared but something is keeping me here. Fishmongers are becoming less common. Technology is more efficient and cheaper.
This economy is affecting everything. People are buying less fish. Some of the local specialties are being put on hold until things get back to normal. The calamari usually sells. Most of the local restaurants have it on their menu.
“Joe, hurry up! We need to get those fish out front fast.”
"I'm working on it!"
That would be my father, George. I secretly admire his drive, something I never seemed to have, but I wish he would give me some slack. I wish I wasn’t the oldest. This business has been in the family for six generations and I’ve been working here for as long as I can remember. Even as a teenager I worked here in my free time. Why didn’t I go elsewhere? Am I that afraid of my father?
Despite the cold temperatures for the fish, I’m sweating. The apron is especially irritating today, never settling in the right position. What's the point of wearing a white apron if its only going to turn red?
I have gotten used to the sight of blood and fish guts everywhere. I used to pity the fish as a kid but I don’t care anymore.
Finally, with my arm nearly numb from the extra exertion, I’m done gutting all the fish. I call my father over so we can hurry and keep these fish fresh. Timing is very important around here. If the fish are old, you can feel it, let alone smell it. Those damn things reek if you aren’t careful.
We pay rent in the back of an organic market. It’s the kind that seems to have popped up within the past ten years, with all the vegans and nutritionists. The people in this area are very obsessed with hygiene so we butcher in the back before we bring the fish out. No one wants to have morals about what they eat.
I work in a father and son team. My two cousins also work here with us, but usually don’t do the pick up from the fisherman. I never decided to work like this but it just sort of happened and has been this way for the past nine years.
I’m really looking forward to this weekend, driving down to the beach. I really need to get out of this place. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. These weekend trips are nice but I really want something longer. A lot of my friends think it’s funny that I am a fishmonger in love with the ocean. It is pretty strange. They also hate how sand gets into everything. I love to bury my feet in it but it does get annoying spending five minutes dumping the grains out. I always seem to miss a few and my toes complain until I do something about it.
Picking up the fish, I am reminded of the slimy texture. I put the halibut into the ice of the cart and shove the metal of the price sign in. Hopefully the fish sell better today, yesterday was pretty slow. Today yields a sale. Bay scallops $6.99 lb.I hate having to stand there and watch the people look at the fish, then walk away. You have to be polite about it though. We take shifts to break up the workday. I have another hour before I am free to take my lunch break. I need to go on a walk; I need to get away from this putrid stench. Some people say they would love to be around food all day. It gets old fast. You always hear a buzzing fly and hope he stays away from what you are trying to sell. Flies tend to upset people. A lot of things tend to upset people. I notice the little petty arguments and complaints meant for only their ears. You notice a lot when you have to stand with nothing to occupy you.
My feet really hurt. And my headache is still here. The scuffs in the tiles are enough to stir up my already bad mood. Why didn’t I go to college? I could have had more opportunities than dealing with a truck that won’t turn over.
Lunch yields a limp sandwich and a diet coke. I was never that good of a cook, and being out on my own really proves it. I want a new car but all my extra money goes towards the mortgage. This job really doesn’t pay well but not many jobs seem too.
The road we have to drive on to get the fish is hellish. There are potholes everywhere. Not too many people come out this way, unless they are headed out fishing. This means that no other bothers to fix the road.
Loading the crates into the truck, I am reminded of how my father is aging. He always seems so strong to me, working as hard as he does. Now I notice how he and to stop and rest every so often. Ever since my mom died, he has been pushing himself to work as hard as he can. I can’t believe she’s been gone for six years. That really was a blow to the family. Luke was only 17 at the time. I guess Dad afraid of something too. We don’t really talk to each other, that wastes to much time.
The rest of the day is a repeat of this morning. Check the crates to make sure it matches the label on the side, it’s routine. Throw the crates out back near the dumpster. Eventually a truck driver who didn’t even finish high school will come and pick them up and take them to who knows where. I think they get reused. I don’t really care. You always see the people who want you to care about the environment, but all they care about is money it seems. One nearly leapt in front of me the other day. Don’t they have real jobs? I wonder how much it pays to annoy people and wave a clipboard.
After I cut the fish I stick them in the walk in fridge. One time, as a prank, I locked my cousin in there. I think I did it out of boredom. He put salt in my coffee that day, now I have a thermos.
It’s 6 pm and the market is getting ready to close. Thankfully people wanted fish today, so not too much is left. Limp, trodden, lettuce is on the ground. Water from a nearby hose mixed with the rubber mats makes the ground all the more disgusting to walk on.
I’m glad the day is over but I have to do it all again tomorrow. I guess I’ll stay for my dad, and I guess I always wanted to impress him. Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll stick it out and stay. Whatever, this is too much to think about. It’s late and the game is on tonight.
This stupid monkfish is a nightmare to cut. You get used to it after awhile but last night I had to be stupid and drink that much lager. I lost count of how much I drank but I remember stumbling out of the cab at 1 a.m. Then I kind of blacked out.
Every time someone hits a bone my head pulses. These fluorescent lights definitely aren’t helping, bouncing off the bloodstained metal table into my face.
Scrod $8.99 a pound. Raw shrimp (Jumbo) $15.99 a pound. Basa fillet $7.99 a pound. Prices run through my head. Will the people agree with the price or complain about it?
This job really isn’t for me. I actually hate it but I’m too scared to leave. Maybe I’m not scared but something is keeping me here. Fishmongers are becoming less common. Technology is more efficient and cheaper.
This economy is affecting everything. People are buying less fish. Some of the local specialties are being put on hold until things get back to normal. The calamari usually sells. Most of the local restaurants have it on their menu.
“Joe, hurry up! We need to get those fish out front fast.”
"I'm working on it!"
That would be my father, George. I secretly admire his drive, something I never seemed to have, but I wish he would give me some slack. I wish I wasn’t the oldest. This business has been in the family for six generations and I’ve been working here for as long as I can remember. Even as a teenager I worked here in my free time. Why didn’t I go elsewhere? Am I that afraid of my father?
Despite the cold temperatures for the fish, I’m sweating. The apron is especially irritating today, never settling in the right position. What's the point of wearing a white apron if its only going to turn red?
I have gotten used to the sight of blood and fish guts everywhere. I used to pity the fish as a kid but I don’t care anymore.
Finally, with my arm nearly numb from the extra exertion, I’m done gutting all the fish. I call my father over so we can hurry and keep these fish fresh. Timing is very important around here. If the fish are old, you can feel it, let alone smell it. Those damn things reek if you aren’t careful.
We pay rent in the back of an organic market. It’s the kind that seems to have popped up within the past ten years, with all the vegans and nutritionists. The people in this area are very obsessed with hygiene so we butcher in the back before we bring the fish out. No one wants to have morals about what they eat.
I work in a father and son team. My two cousins also work here with us, but usually don’t do the pick up from the fisherman. I never decided to work like this but it just sort of happened and has been this way for the past nine years.
I’m really looking forward to this weekend, driving down to the beach. I really need to get out of this place. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. These weekend trips are nice but I really want something longer. A lot of my friends think it’s funny that I am a fishmonger in love with the ocean. It is pretty strange. They also hate how sand gets into everything. I love to bury my feet in it but it does get annoying spending five minutes dumping the grains out. I always seem to miss a few and my toes complain until I do something about it.
Picking up the fish, I am reminded of the slimy texture. I put the halibut into the ice of the cart and shove the metal of the price sign in. Hopefully the fish sell better today, yesterday was pretty slow. Today yields a sale. Bay scallops $6.99 lb.I hate having to stand there and watch the people look at the fish, then walk away. You have to be polite about it though. We take shifts to break up the workday. I have another hour before I am free to take my lunch break. I need to go on a walk; I need to get away from this putrid stench. Some people say they would love to be around food all day. It gets old fast. You always hear a buzzing fly and hope he stays away from what you are trying to sell. Flies tend to upset people. A lot of things tend to upset people. I notice the little petty arguments and complaints meant for only their ears. You notice a lot when you have to stand with nothing to occupy you.
My feet really hurt. And my headache is still here. The scuffs in the tiles are enough to stir up my already bad mood. Why didn’t I go to college? I could have had more opportunities than dealing with a truck that won’t turn over.
Lunch yields a limp sandwich and a diet coke. I was never that good of a cook, and being out on my own really proves it. I want a new car but all my extra money goes towards the mortgage. This job really doesn’t pay well but not many jobs seem too.
The road we have to drive on to get the fish is hellish. There are potholes everywhere. Not too many people come out this way, unless they are headed out fishing. This means that no other bothers to fix the road.
Loading the crates into the truck, I am reminded of how my father is aging. He always seems so strong to me, working as hard as he does. Now I notice how he and to stop and rest every so often. Ever since my mom died, he has been pushing himself to work as hard as he can. I can’t believe she’s been gone for six years. That really was a blow to the family. Luke was only 17 at the time. I guess Dad afraid of something too. We don’t really talk to each other, that wastes to much time.
The rest of the day is a repeat of this morning. Check the crates to make sure it matches the label on the side, it’s routine. Throw the crates out back near the dumpster. Eventually a truck driver who didn’t even finish high school will come and pick them up and take them to who knows where. I think they get reused. I don’t really care. You always see the people who want you to care about the environment, but all they care about is money it seems. One nearly leapt in front of me the other day. Don’t they have real jobs? I wonder how much it pays to annoy people and wave a clipboard.
After I cut the fish I stick them in the walk in fridge. One time, as a prank, I locked my cousin in there. I think I did it out of boredom. He put salt in my coffee that day, now I have a thermos.
It’s 6 pm and the market is getting ready to close. Thankfully people wanted fish today, so not too much is left. Limp, trodden, lettuce is on the ground. Water from a nearby hose mixed with the rubber mats makes the ground all the more disgusting to walk on.
I’m glad the day is over but I have to do it all again tomorrow. I guess I’ll stay for my dad, and I guess I always wanted to impress him. Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll stick it out and stay. Whatever, this is too much to think about. It’s late and the game is on tonight.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
fishmonger revised
Carolyn Mueller
Every time I bend down, the blood rushes to my head and the room spins. Every fish is harder to cut and I can’t keep this damn knife steady. I had a great time at that party. The stripper was late, but the wait was worth it. The beer supply never ended. Eric is getting hitched in a week. Time really has gone by. I’m amazed. It seems like just a short time ago Eric and I met freshman year of high school. I wish I hadn’t drank so much and I really wish I was still at that party. It was great to see the guys again after all this time.
This stupid monkfish is a nightmare to cut. Every time someone hits a bone my head pulses. These fluorescent lights definitely aren’t helping, bouncing off the bloodstained metal table into my face.
This job really isn’t for me. I actually hate it but I’m too scared to leave. Maybe I’m not scared but something is keeping me here. Fishmongers are becoming less common. Technology is more efficient and cheaper. But this job is so underrated, a butcher can make a mistake and still get a good cut of meat. If we make a mistake then we're kind of screwed. Fish are really hard to cut. No one stops to think what went into cutting a fillet.
This economy is affecting everything. People are buying less fish. Some of the local specialties are being put on hold until things get back to normal. The calamari usually sells. Most of the local restaurants have it on their menu.
“Joe, hurry up! We need to get those fish out front fast.”
"I'm working on it!"
That would be my father, George. I secretly admire his drive, something I never seemed to have, but I wish he would give me some slack. I wish I wasn’t the oldest. This business has been in the family for six generations and I’ve been working here for as long as I can remember. Even as a teenager I worked here in my free time. Why didn’t I go elsewhere? Am I that afraid of my father?
Despite the cold temperatures for the fish, I’m sweating. The apron is especially irritating today, never settling in the right position.
I have gotten used to the sight of blood and fish guts everywhere. I used to pity the fish as a kid. I don’t care anymore.
Finally, with my arm nearly numb from the extra exertion, I’m done gutting all the fish. I call my father over so we can hurry and keep these fish fresh. Timing is very important around here. If the fish are old, you can feel it, let alone smell it. Those damn things reek if you aren’t careful.
We pay rent in the back of an organic market. It’s the kind that seems to have popped up within the past ten years, with all the vegans and nutritionists. The people in this area are very obsessed with hygiene so we butcher in the back before we bring the fish out. No one wants to have morals about what they eat.
I work in a father and son team. My two cousins also work here with us, but usually don’t do the pick up from the fisherman. I never decided to work like this but it just sort of happened and has been this way for the past nine years.
I’m really looking forward to this weekend, driving down to the beach. I really need to get out of this place. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. These weekend trips are nice but I really want something longer. A lot of my friends think it’s funny that I am a fishmonger in love with the ocean. It is pretty strange. They also hate how sand gets into everything. I love to bury my feet in it but it does get annoying spending five minutes dumping the grains out. I always seem to miss a few and my toes complain until I do something about it.
Picking up the fish, I am reminded of the slimy texture. I put the halibut into the ice of the cart and shove the metal of the price sign in. Hopefully the fish sell better today, yesterday was pretty slow. I hate having to stand there and watch the people look at the fish, then walk away. You have to be polite about it though. We take shifts to break up the workday. I have another hour before I am free to take my lunch break. I need to go on a walk; I need to get away from this putrid stench. Some people say they would love to be around food all day. It gets old fast. You always hear a buzzing fly and hope he stays away from what you are trying to sell. Flies tend to upset people. A lot of things tend to upset people. I notice the little petty arguments and complaints meant for only their ears. You notice a lot when you have to stand with nothing to occupy you.
My feet really hurt. And my headache is still here. The scuffs in the tiles are enough to stir up my already bad mood. Why didn’t I go to college? I could have had more opportunities than dealing with a truck that won’t turn over.
Lunch yields a limp sandwich and a diet coke. I was never that good of a cook, and being out on my own really proves it. I want a new car but all my extra money goes towards the mortgage. This job really doesn’t pay well but not many jobs seem too.
Driving up to the get the fresh fish, I wonder when the road was last paved. Not too many people come out this way, unless they are headed out fishing.
Loading the crates into the truck, I am reminded of how my father is aging. He always seems so strong to me, working as hard as he does. Now I notice how he and to stop and rest every so often. Ever since my mom died, he has been pushing himself to work as hard as he can. I can’t believe she’s been gone for six years. That really was a blow to the family. Luke was only 17 at the time. I guess Dad afraid of something too. We don’t really talk to each other, that wastes to much time.
The rest of the day is a repeat of this morning. Check the crates to make sure it matches the label on the side, it’s routine. Throw the crates out back near the dumpster. Eventually a truck driver who didn’t even finish high school will come and pick them up and take them to who knows where. I think they get reused. I don’t really care. You always see the people who want you to care about the environment, but all they care about is money it seems. One nearly leapt in front of me the other day. Don’t they have real jobs? I wonder how much it pays to annoy people and wave a clipboard.
After I cut the fish I stick them in the walk in fridge. One time, as a prank, I locked my cousin in there. He put salt in my coffee that day, now I have a thermos.
It’s 6 pm and the market is getting ready to close. Thankfully people wanted fish today, so not too much is left. Limp, trodden, lettuce is on the ground. Water from a nearby hose mixed with the rubber mats makes the ground all the more disgusting to walk on.
I’m glad the day is over but I have to do it all again tomorrow. I guess I’ll stay for my dad, and I guess I always wanted to impress him. Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll stick it out and stay. Whatever, this is too much to think about. It’s late and the game is on tonight.
Every time I bend down, the blood rushes to my head and the room spins. Every fish is harder to cut and I can’t keep this damn knife steady. I had a great time at that party. The stripper was late, but the wait was worth it. The beer supply never ended. Eric is getting hitched in a week. Time really has gone by. I’m amazed. It seems like just a short time ago Eric and I met freshman year of high school. I wish I hadn’t drank so much and I really wish I was still at that party. It was great to see the guys again after all this time.
This stupid monkfish is a nightmare to cut. Every time someone hits a bone my head pulses. These fluorescent lights definitely aren’t helping, bouncing off the bloodstained metal table into my face.
This job really isn’t for me. I actually hate it but I’m too scared to leave. Maybe I’m not scared but something is keeping me here. Fishmongers are becoming less common. Technology is more efficient and cheaper. But this job is so underrated, a butcher can make a mistake and still get a good cut of meat. If we make a mistake then we're kind of screwed. Fish are really hard to cut. No one stops to think what went into cutting a fillet.
This economy is affecting everything. People are buying less fish. Some of the local specialties are being put on hold until things get back to normal. The calamari usually sells. Most of the local restaurants have it on their menu.
“Joe, hurry up! We need to get those fish out front fast.”
"I'm working on it!"
That would be my father, George. I secretly admire his drive, something I never seemed to have, but I wish he would give me some slack. I wish I wasn’t the oldest. This business has been in the family for six generations and I’ve been working here for as long as I can remember. Even as a teenager I worked here in my free time. Why didn’t I go elsewhere? Am I that afraid of my father?
Despite the cold temperatures for the fish, I’m sweating. The apron is especially irritating today, never settling in the right position.
I have gotten used to the sight of blood and fish guts everywhere. I used to pity the fish as a kid. I don’t care anymore.
Finally, with my arm nearly numb from the extra exertion, I’m done gutting all the fish. I call my father over so we can hurry and keep these fish fresh. Timing is very important around here. If the fish are old, you can feel it, let alone smell it. Those damn things reek if you aren’t careful.
We pay rent in the back of an organic market. It’s the kind that seems to have popped up within the past ten years, with all the vegans and nutritionists. The people in this area are very obsessed with hygiene so we butcher in the back before we bring the fish out. No one wants to have morals about what they eat.
I work in a father and son team. My two cousins also work here with us, but usually don’t do the pick up from the fisherman. I never decided to work like this but it just sort of happened and has been this way for the past nine years.
I’m really looking forward to this weekend, driving down to the beach. I really need to get out of this place. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. These weekend trips are nice but I really want something longer. A lot of my friends think it’s funny that I am a fishmonger in love with the ocean. It is pretty strange. They also hate how sand gets into everything. I love to bury my feet in it but it does get annoying spending five minutes dumping the grains out. I always seem to miss a few and my toes complain until I do something about it.
Picking up the fish, I am reminded of the slimy texture. I put the halibut into the ice of the cart and shove the metal of the price sign in. Hopefully the fish sell better today, yesterday was pretty slow. I hate having to stand there and watch the people look at the fish, then walk away. You have to be polite about it though. We take shifts to break up the workday. I have another hour before I am free to take my lunch break. I need to go on a walk; I need to get away from this putrid stench. Some people say they would love to be around food all day. It gets old fast. You always hear a buzzing fly and hope he stays away from what you are trying to sell. Flies tend to upset people. A lot of things tend to upset people. I notice the little petty arguments and complaints meant for only their ears. You notice a lot when you have to stand with nothing to occupy you.
My feet really hurt. And my headache is still here. The scuffs in the tiles are enough to stir up my already bad mood. Why didn’t I go to college? I could have had more opportunities than dealing with a truck that won’t turn over.
Lunch yields a limp sandwich and a diet coke. I was never that good of a cook, and being out on my own really proves it. I want a new car but all my extra money goes towards the mortgage. This job really doesn’t pay well but not many jobs seem too.
Driving up to the get the fresh fish, I wonder when the road was last paved. Not too many people come out this way, unless they are headed out fishing.
Loading the crates into the truck, I am reminded of how my father is aging. He always seems so strong to me, working as hard as he does. Now I notice how he and to stop and rest every so often. Ever since my mom died, he has been pushing himself to work as hard as he can. I can’t believe she’s been gone for six years. That really was a blow to the family. Luke was only 17 at the time. I guess Dad afraid of something too. We don’t really talk to each other, that wastes to much time.
The rest of the day is a repeat of this morning. Check the crates to make sure it matches the label on the side, it’s routine. Throw the crates out back near the dumpster. Eventually a truck driver who didn’t even finish high school will come and pick them up and take them to who knows where. I think they get reused. I don’t really care. You always see the people who want you to care about the environment, but all they care about is money it seems. One nearly leapt in front of me the other day. Don’t they have real jobs? I wonder how much it pays to annoy people and wave a clipboard.
After I cut the fish I stick them in the walk in fridge. One time, as a prank, I locked my cousin in there. He put salt in my coffee that day, now I have a thermos.
It’s 6 pm and the market is getting ready to close. Thankfully people wanted fish today, so not too much is left. Limp, trodden, lettuce is on the ground. Water from a nearby hose mixed with the rubber mats makes the ground all the more disgusting to walk on.
I’m glad the day is over but I have to do it all again tomorrow. I guess I’ll stay for my dad, and I guess I always wanted to impress him. Maybe I do. Maybe I’ll stick it out and stay. Whatever, this is too much to think about. It’s late and the game is on tonight.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Carolyn Mueller
It's 10 a.m. and Joe is slowly working at a job he does not like. He, like so many others, is quite unhappy. Joe didn’t want to be a fishmonger, but every man in his family became one. It has been a family tradition for six generations. As Joe cuts up a monkfish, his mind drifts back to the party he attended the previous night.
I had a great time at that party. My best friend, Eric, is getting hitched in a week. Last night was his bachelor’s party. I can’t believe he is going to get married. Time really has gone by. I’m amazed. It seems like just recently Eric and I met freshman year of high school.
I wish I hadn’t drank so much, my head is killing me. I really wish I was still at that party. It was great to see the guys again after all this time.
As Joe washes his hands, he thinks about how his job is being replaced by technology. He didn’t really mind as long as he could stay employed. Who knew with this economy on top of everything else?
His father was still working at the same place as Joe and Joe sped up his work pace as his father came to check on him.
“We need to get those fish over to the market fast, so hurry up boy.”
Joe’s father, Ed, had always been tough on him. Joe was the oldest of the three boys and gained the most scrutiny from it. He admired his father’s drive but wished for some slack.
I’m really looking forward to this weekend, driving down to the beach. I really need to get out of this place. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. These weekend trips are nice but I really want something longer.
As Joe finished cutting the halibut then pricing it, he called his father over so they could begin to load everything into the truck. Being father and son, they worked as a father and son team. Joe didn’t really decide this, but it just sort of happened and had been this way for the past nine years.
This truck is getting pretty beat up. I really could use a new one but I’m still using my extra money for my mortgage. This job doesn’t pay much at all.
The market was a four-mile drive up the road. It was one of those new organic places, the ones that seemed to pop up within the past ten years. They parked in the back as usual and began to unload the merchandise.
Ed went in to tell them to get the carts out. Timing is always important, as is refrigeration. If it isn’t done right, the fish reek. After twenty minutes of hard work, the two men head back to work. By now it is lunchtime and Joe takes a walk. He wants somewhere that is not fish scented.
I know I always think that I hate it here, and I do. I guess I am too scared of what my father will think if I tell him I want to leave. He seems to be content with his job. I want more to my day then washing the guts out of a flounder. I want to breathe in air that doesn’t smell this awful. I don’t know what job I want, but I definitely don’t want anymore of this. I really wish I had gone to college, instead of going directly here. I wish I cared a bit more about school. I know I can’t keep thinking like this. It isn’t getting me anywhere. I also know there are a ton of other people out there that also hate their job but they don’t really affect me. I really wish I could figure something out. The worst is that I don’t know what I want so I am stuck here.
Joe slumps back to his station in obvious despair. A nearby worker sees this and asks him what has happened. Not wanting to divulge his personal turmoil, he simply shrugs and gets back to work. A new load of fish come in, needing to be completely slaughtered. He didn't even pity the fish anymore, but he did once, long ago.
It's 10 a.m. and Joe is slowly working at a job he does not like. He, like so many others, is quite unhappy. Joe didn’t want to be a fishmonger, but every man in his family became one. It has been a family tradition for six generations. As Joe cuts up a monkfish, his mind drifts back to the party he attended the previous night.
I had a great time at that party. My best friend, Eric, is getting hitched in a week. Last night was his bachelor’s party. I can’t believe he is going to get married. Time really has gone by. I’m amazed. It seems like just recently Eric and I met freshman year of high school.
I wish I hadn’t drank so much, my head is killing me. I really wish I was still at that party. It was great to see the guys again after all this time.
As Joe washes his hands, he thinks about how his job is being replaced by technology. He didn’t really mind as long as he could stay employed. Who knew with this economy on top of everything else?
His father was still working at the same place as Joe and Joe sped up his work pace as his father came to check on him.
“We need to get those fish over to the market fast, so hurry up boy.”
Joe’s father, Ed, had always been tough on him. Joe was the oldest of the three boys and gained the most scrutiny from it. He admired his father’s drive but wished for some slack.
I’m really looking forward to this weekend, driving down to the beach. I really need to get out of this place. I can’t remember the last time I had a proper vacation. These weekend trips are nice but I really want something longer.
As Joe finished cutting the halibut then pricing it, he called his father over so they could begin to load everything into the truck. Being father and son, they worked as a father and son team. Joe didn’t really decide this, but it just sort of happened and had been this way for the past nine years.
This truck is getting pretty beat up. I really could use a new one but I’m still using my extra money for my mortgage. This job doesn’t pay much at all.
The market was a four-mile drive up the road. It was one of those new organic places, the ones that seemed to pop up within the past ten years. They parked in the back as usual and began to unload the merchandise.
Ed went in to tell them to get the carts out. Timing is always important, as is refrigeration. If it isn’t done right, the fish reek. After twenty minutes of hard work, the two men head back to work. By now it is lunchtime and Joe takes a walk. He wants somewhere that is not fish scented.
I know I always think that I hate it here, and I do. I guess I am too scared of what my father will think if I tell him I want to leave. He seems to be content with his job. I want more to my day then washing the guts out of a flounder. I want to breathe in air that doesn’t smell this awful. I don’t know what job I want, but I definitely don’t want anymore of this. I really wish I had gone to college, instead of going directly here. I wish I cared a bit more about school. I know I can’t keep thinking like this. It isn’t getting me anywhere. I also know there are a ton of other people out there that also hate their job but they don’t really affect me. I really wish I could figure something out. The worst is that I don’t know what I want so I am stuck here.
Joe slumps back to his station in obvious despair. A nearby worker sees this and asks him what has happened. Not wanting to divulge his personal turmoil, he simply shrugs and gets back to work. A new load of fish come in, needing to be completely slaughtered. He didn't even pity the fish anymore, but he did once, long ago.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Disappear
I kidnapped an elephant from a traveling circus train crash. At least I think I did. I know I found myself in those hills.
It all started in October, the leaves were dying their vivid colors. I had no reason to leave my town, but I left anyway. There was no end destination in mind. I took my car that was as ragged as my jeans and just drove away. I didn’t tell anyone I was going, nor did I take anything with me. Surprises are always fun.
I drove for hours, days even. Time passed without notice.
My car broke down near the mountains. I left it there and kept going. Everything is worse at night because that’s when the paranoia kicks in. I walked until sunrise. I had no identity, no location; I was no one, free.
There was a town that one only dreams about, homey and free of chain stores. It was a destination among many. They knew I didn’t live there; I was a stranger, yet someone took me in.
She was widowed. I liked her. Her home was stuck in time. Nothing had changed; it was frozen in her memories. I stayed for a week and left with a renewed faith in humankind. It was rejuvenating that some people were still pure of society’s ills.
I moved along on my way, knowing winter would be biting at my heels before I knew it. Things were better on foot. Nature mattered.
The grass was the only proof of my existence. It left behind my mark, my footprint.
That night I slept by the river and prayed for safety from nature’s beautiful destruction. Days continued to melt by and still nothing mattered to me. I was free from life’s responsibilities, all of them seemingly unnecessary. My family probably thought I was dead.
November snuck in and things continued to die. My shoes snapped dehydrated wood and startled unseen wildlife. I continued trekking across the unknown land.
I found another town and received unexpected stares. What had happened in the world while I was gone? Everything clicked when I caught my reflection in the counter top. I had become an unkempt vagabond. It was time for new clothing, some warmth.
I stayed again in this town. I met the single serving friends that you open up too, knowing full well you will never see them again and that all you say won’t matter if you give it time.
There was a faded banner in the distance, one that bore the harshness of weather for many years. The sun-damaged banner boasted that the circus was coming to town. Memories of my childhood flooded back to me. I used to think of joining a circus, despite being clumsy and having no visible talent. I longed for some sense of unity to my existence.
The banner was abandoned but my renewed sense of passion was not. It was at that moment I decided to join a circus. It was an odd and childish desire but it was something I felt I should do.
The biggest problem was finding my location and finding a circus to join.
Logic told me to head south. Not wanting any possessions, I continued to walk.
The time that progressed became hazy. Eventually, as if a mirage, I saw caravans on the horizon.
As if by fate, I had indeed found my circus. I felt my happiness begin to return, something that was a bit of a shock to me. I met and spoke to the right people and soon was given a place. As it turns out, the animal keeper was looking for a replacement and somehow I got the job.
They told me they were going to head south, to avoid the weather. We moved out the following day and I began to learn what it took to care for an elephant and the appetite this enormous animal dictated.
It was soon I developed an unspoken bond with the mammal and I felt my compassion returned.
The rain came the dirt became mud. The groan of the caravans became a melodic part of the trip south. I felt as if I had traveled backwards, I had been away from home for an eternity it seemed and all the convenience was gone. This traveling was legitimate work.
When we arrived near the mountains, the rain turned to snow and the progression slowed even further. Things became slippery and we could only move during daylight, it was the least treacherous time.
Tragedy struck the following week. Some of the caravans lost control on the ice and crashed. In the chaos of broken items, I wanted to flea. The past months had been filled with solitude and disillusion, and this was far too much to take in. My charge, the elephant was obviously distressed and freezing cold. In the confusion, I grabbed some blankets and led my friend away from the mess, toward more unknown places.
We walked, looking for shelter from the frigid temperatures. There were no towns, no people. We just traveled and seemed to grasp each other.
It all started in October, the leaves were dying their vivid colors. I had no reason to leave my town, but I left anyway. There was no end destination in mind. I took my car that was as ragged as my jeans and just drove away. I didn’t tell anyone I was going, nor did I take anything with me. Surprises are always fun.
I drove for hours, days even. Time passed without notice.
My car broke down near the mountains. I left it there and kept going. Everything is worse at night because that’s when the paranoia kicks in. I walked until sunrise. I had no identity, no location; I was no one, free.
There was a town that one only dreams about, homey and free of chain stores. It was a destination among many. They knew I didn’t live there; I was a stranger, yet someone took me in.
She was widowed. I liked her. Her home was stuck in time. Nothing had changed; it was frozen in her memories. I stayed for a week and left with a renewed faith in humankind. It was rejuvenating that some people were still pure of society’s ills.
I moved along on my way, knowing winter would be biting at my heels before I knew it. Things were better on foot. Nature mattered.
The grass was the only proof of my existence. It left behind my mark, my footprint.
That night I slept by the river and prayed for safety from nature’s beautiful destruction. Days continued to melt by and still nothing mattered to me. I was free from life’s responsibilities, all of them seemingly unnecessary. My family probably thought I was dead.
November snuck in and things continued to die. My shoes snapped dehydrated wood and startled unseen wildlife. I continued trekking across the unknown land.
I found another town and received unexpected stares. What had happened in the world while I was gone? Everything clicked when I caught my reflection in the counter top. I had become an unkempt vagabond. It was time for new clothing, some warmth.
I stayed again in this town. I met the single serving friends that you open up too, knowing full well you will never see them again and that all you say won’t matter if you give it time.
There was a faded banner in the distance, one that bore the harshness of weather for many years. The sun-damaged banner boasted that the circus was coming to town. Memories of my childhood flooded back to me. I used to think of joining a circus, despite being clumsy and having no visible talent. I longed for some sense of unity to my existence.
The banner was abandoned but my renewed sense of passion was not. It was at that moment I decided to join a circus. It was an odd and childish desire but it was something I felt I should do.
The biggest problem was finding my location and finding a circus to join.
Logic told me to head south. Not wanting any possessions, I continued to walk.
The time that progressed became hazy. Eventually, as if a mirage, I saw caravans on the horizon.
As if by fate, I had indeed found my circus. I felt my happiness begin to return, something that was a bit of a shock to me. I met and spoke to the right people and soon was given a place. As it turns out, the animal keeper was looking for a replacement and somehow I got the job.
They told me they were going to head south, to avoid the weather. We moved out the following day and I began to learn what it took to care for an elephant and the appetite this enormous animal dictated.
It was soon I developed an unspoken bond with the mammal and I felt my compassion returned.
The rain came the dirt became mud. The groan of the caravans became a melodic part of the trip south. I felt as if I had traveled backwards, I had been away from home for an eternity it seemed and all the convenience was gone. This traveling was legitimate work.
When we arrived near the mountains, the rain turned to snow and the progression slowed even further. Things became slippery and we could only move during daylight, it was the least treacherous time.
Tragedy struck the following week. Some of the caravans lost control on the ice and crashed. In the chaos of broken items, I wanted to flea. The past months had been filled with solitude and disillusion, and this was far too much to take in. My charge, the elephant was obviously distressed and freezing cold. In the confusion, I grabbed some blankets and led my friend away from the mess, toward more unknown places.
We walked, looking for shelter from the frigid temperatures. There were no towns, no people. We just traveled and seemed to grasp each other.
Monday, July 6, 2009
alternate personalities
A sense of sadism mixed with insecurity. Fueled by a life of predetermination, not one of choice. A driving force of independence to break free from whatever reality was spawned by imagination.
Spending my time needing to try and say the things that have meaning. But words cannot be used for that. So my time is wasted in part. Doubting myself and purging my beliefs to try and remain natural, so it goes. Unless what goes on in my mind is far from reality, how would I know?
Necessary confusion and unnecessary worry, my true desires seeming impossible.
Such is life.
Calm. Letting life’s river take me where it needs to for all things in life one cannot control. Accidents give us identity. Forget.
No one is free from error. Forgive.
Do not judge yourself for you are like all others and share the common links you hate yourself for.
Relax with the knowledge that idolization often occurs unnoticed.
Life will continue with or without you so just go along with all that is and all that will be. Throw in existentialism. Give me indifference.
Nothing will matter. Only the great heroes will be remembered. Fell free to fumble and fall like all others have before you. Remember you are one in eternity. There is no perfection.
Spending my time needing to try and say the things that have meaning. But words cannot be used for that. So my time is wasted in part. Doubting myself and purging my beliefs to try and remain natural, so it goes. Unless what goes on in my mind is far from reality, how would I know?
Necessary confusion and unnecessary worry, my true desires seeming impossible.
Such is life.
Calm. Letting life’s river take me where it needs to for all things in life one cannot control. Accidents give us identity. Forget.
No one is free from error. Forgive.
Do not judge yourself for you are like all others and share the common links you hate yourself for.
Relax with the knowledge that idolization often occurs unnoticed.
Life will continue with or without you so just go along with all that is and all that will be. Throw in existentialism. Give me indifference.
Nothing will matter. Only the great heroes will be remembered. Fell free to fumble and fall like all others have before you. Remember you are one in eternity. There is no perfection.
Friday, July 3, 2009
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