Fear My Fierce Umbrella

9:21 AM
I've been thinking about death. In the old folk's home, people died left and right. I got more invitations to funerals than I got bills. Personally, I think the nurses were putting poison in the IVs so that they could shift the people out as fast as they could and make room for more nearly-not-alive bodies. And then they push those people off the edge of the living...and so on and so forth.
I don't have an IV. No matter now; I'm more likely to get shot than poisoned around here.

9:25 AM
If any one tries to shoot me, I'll savage them with my umbrella.

9:26 AM
And my dentures.

9:28 AM
But what if I die? Who will take care of my cats?!

9:30 AM
Perhaps Macy would do it? Oh, here she comes, perhaps I should ask her... She's talking to herself a bit. Well, there's no harm in that, I do that all the time, muttering when I can't find my glasses and such...
"They'll call. I know they'll call. My friends from the sky are just a bit busy. They'll call," is what she's saying.

9:38 AM
I'd better find someone else to feed the cats.

9:45 AM
I might get shot at.

9:50 AM
We're all going to be murdered in our beds.

A poem for Spacey Macy

8:45 AM
I wrote a poem for Macy. I put it in her little cubby inbox.

Do you know how late you are?
You live around the corner--not far.
Did you hurry? Did you run?
Faster than a bullet from a gun?
I don't think you did--you're not out of breath
Listen up, ducky--next time, the penalty is death.

Later today

4:57 PM
I decided to get back up. My heater isn't really working; I'd probably freeze to death if I didn't move around every thirty minutes or so. I think I'll make some tea.

5:10 PM
The water's boiling. I'll have to go down to the store later tonight and buy some form of food. I got paid last Friday; maybe I'll get some sausage as well.

5:12 PM
Well I say "paid." I'm a public librarian. Hahahaha.

5:20 PM
Ha.

6:30 PM
Rode my bicycle down to the Big Dolla, next to the library. I get most of my groceries from here; what I can't get here, I get from the convenience store attached to the gas station just on the edge of the block.
The Big Dolla smells like...well. Like something crawled in it, died, rotted for a bit, then reanimated to rub itself in every possible corner. A bit like the old folk's home back in Texas. Only without the Lysol disinfectant stench that tried to cover it up. I'd best pay for my groceries and head on home before I die of asphyxiation.

6:35 PM
Well, now I'm at the butcher's shop. I talked to the Butcher, Mr. Gorlomi, but he didn't seem particularly disposed to talk to me. Or focus on me. Focus on anything, really. I take back all of my unkind remarks about Big Dolla; it in fact smells like sunshine and roses and honeysuckles.

6:36 PM
I am now a vegetarian.

6:38 PM
Mr. Yilmaz stopped me on the street, selling his coffee. I would have bought some, if only I were a different person with different taste buds (or lack there of). Tea is the only drink for me.

6:45 PM
I'm back in my apartment. Took me forever to haul my bicycle up the stairs three floors. Did anyone offer the little old lady any help? I don't think so.

6:47 PM
And did I mention it rained the whole ride home? It's a good deal I've got a plastic baggy over my bike seat, otherwise I'd have a damp bottom for weeks. That dratted seat never dries out.

6:48 PM
Cold rain. It's freezing outside. In fact, it doesn't deserve the name of rain; it's sleet. It doesn't sleet in Houston this often, or for this long. This time of year in Houston, it's in the high 70s.
I'm still wet. I changed my clothes and dried myself off, but I'm still damp and the heater's still not working.

6:55 PM
I piled all of my quilts on the couch in the living room and crawled under them with a plate of cheese, crackers, and apples.

6:58 PM
Mmmmm. Cheese.

8:05 PM
The power's gone out. Typical. It's freezing cold outside, raining, and the power's gone out. I guess I shall go to bed.

5:30 AM
I love mornings, lalala. I drink tea and have cottage cheese on toast and everything is lovely. I fed the cats, too. I have 9 cats. My daughter thinks that's too many, but my daughter has a skewed view on what's healthy and what's not.

6:28 AM
I can't find my glasses.

6:40 AM
I guess I'll just be blind. At least the power's working again.

6:50 AM
Blind as a bat. I wonder if I squeaked, would the sound bounce off and tell me where everything was?

6:52 AM
No.

7:03 AM
I found my glasses. They were in my dentures' solution.

7:05 AM
Which solved the mystery of where my dentures were. They were in my glasses' case. Time to go to work.

7:30 AM
It was still drizzling in a supremely miserable way when I rode my bike to work. The whole world is grey and sickly green, like a painting of a hospital room that's been dipped in water and left to smear and fade, losing all defined edges. Just before Basho died, he wrote:

"Sick on my journey
only my dreams shall wander
these desolate shores. "

If that is what he saw, just before he died, then god help me, because that's all I see. Desolate shores. Even the scenery goes 'squish' when you look at it, like a sponge that's soaked up so much water that it's leaking.

7:50 AM
The library opens at 8. My assistant, Macy, is supposed to get here at 7:30.

7:51 AM
Meaning that she's not here, was the point of my last entry.

7:55 AM
There she is. Macy's a strange gal. She's got an expression and a hairstyle that makes her look like she's been electrocuted. If humans found a way to breed with praying mantises, Macy is what would happen. A race of Macys.
I guess I'd better tell her she's late.

8:00 AM
On the bright side, no one is ever in the library at this time of day (besides me and Macy). I think I shall read the day away.

October 12

12:34 PM: At The John G. Oden Public Library
On my lunch break. I've had a truly exhausting morning. Three people came into the library today, and they all wanted a book each. I hate it when the library's busy. Don't these people realize I have better things to do than trot around finding books for them? I'm sixty-two years old and I deserve a bit of peace and quiet.
What do they mean by checking out books, anyhow? The books in here are right where they belong: on the shelves, in alphabetical order, nice and tidy. I can't bear to look at those empty spots where books have been taken away. It's like the whole shelf has cancer.

1:20 PM
I'm at the counter again. There's another person here, squawking at me for some book or other. I think I've nearly convinced him that I'm entirely deaf and he'd do better to go and find someone else to help him. A few more moments of ignoring him ought to get him to go away.
Good heavens, could he stop ringing that horrid bell? I'm right here! Oh, yes, he thinks I'm deaf... best not react...

1:23 PM
He's stolen the desk pen! He's stolen the desk pen! He ripped the chain right out of the socket and stole the desk pen! Thief! Now he's shouting at me; young people can be so rude.
“WOMAN, I” breath, “AM LOOKING,” breath, “FOR A BOOK!” pant, pant. Dear dear. He doesn't sound very healthy at all. And he's waving the pen about.
“Young man, there's no need to shout, I can hear you,” I said. He turned a funny color when I said that; I can't imagine what's got him so worked up.
“I'm looking for a book.” He sounds rather strained. Perhaps he has constipation. I've seen ads for medicine that helps with that sort of thing.
“Well then, there's some over there.” I tried pointing to the shelves furthest from me, but he didn't seem to get the hint.
“A particular book.”
A particular book, he says. Picky picky. “Well what's the name of it?” I might as well just get him his silly book; he's obviously not going to go away otherwise, and would he stop waving that pen about?
“Well, I can't remember the title, but it's got a brown cover with a black spine, and I can't exactly remember what happened but I'm pretty sure it turned out that she was his mother.”
I hate people.

2:40 PM
At last! That man has gone. It took me nearly an hour to track down the book he wanted. “It turned out that she was his mother.” Good grief. I've got the desk pen back, too; I've duct-taped it back to its mooring. With any luck, the head librarian won't notice it.
When I was young, no men acted like that lunatic, blundering in and demanding a book like that. In the good old days...well, things were...good... and just as soon as I've remembered exactly how good they were, I shall write about it.

2:45 PM
Still can't remember the good old days.
2:51 PM
I've just had a horrible idea. What if there weren't any good old days? What I've been sixty-two years old forever?

2:55 PM
I feel ill.

3:30 PM
Went home on sick leave. Fed the cats, put on carpet slippers and fingerless gloves. I think I shall have tea and cheese and crackers. I hope I still have some cheese.

3:32 PM
No cheese. None at all. I shall starve and waste away and no one will care. I'm going to bed. When I wake up, I'll probably be dead. Good night.