Tag Archives: cartoon art

How I get through meetings

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I wrote this last year during my first meeting/welcome party at my job. I still find it entertaining.

 

 

 

what an awkward meeting

everyone’s staring at each other

nobody has jack shit to say

stare

stare

…

all of these people will be dead in fifty years

or close

unless there’s a war

or global warming

then all of these people will be dead in less than fifty years

and everyone would come to their meetings with haunted eyes

but I doubt that will happen

because the university will shut down

and in the case of a nuclear apocalypse

that will be

the only blessing

 

Two worlds blew up in the future and I

I chose the one without the university

and that has made all the difference

 

I feel like we’re gonna be here a long time because we want to justify all the planning and partying we’ve done to be here

that’s ok

every welcome party

makes me feel more isolated

and hate myself more

why is that I wonder

all this attention on me

and me, not being the right kind of person to accept it healthily

 

now we’re talking about pies

and everyone is a LOT more comfortable

people are cute

now we’re awkward again

we’ve exhausted the topic of pies

 

Now we’re talking about baseball

and John has taken over the conversation

everyone seems a bit relieved and just a slight tad antsy

but mostly relieved that we don’t have to look at each other

conclusion: not a lot of extroverts in this group

 

Somebody let a monster into the room.

“GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE!” Melissa screamed. It looked at us all with beady bloodshot eyes, its fangs dripped, its short nude body all unnatural veins and floppy genitals and lumpy musculature. It heaved with each breath and flitted its eyes around the room as if looking for something.

Everyone rolled their their chairs away from it instinctively.

The creature started towards Melissa, the closest, who got up and backed into the table. She grabbed the nearest weapon, a coaster, and threw it at the monster. It bounced off the monster’s head with a stony PLUNK noise and then hit Kirk.

The creature menaced towards her. It grabbed her with one meaty hand and bared its fangs. She screamed hysterically as it sank its teeth into her shoulder.

John, who had the most PTSD, was the quickest to react. He grabbed his thermos and beat the creature over the head. The creature flinched several times but didn’t back down.

Stacey ran out for help. Erin leaped on the creature, trying to pull it off of Melissa. I grabbed a pen and stabbed the creature repeatedly in the shoulder and back. The pen broke.

And that’s when Hannah hulked out. “NOT AGAIN!” she screamed. “Goddammit not again! You bastard!” She flipped the ten foot conference table, leaped upon the monster, and caved in its skull with one punch. The creature twitched and died. Blood pooled. Melissa shakily extracted herself from underneath the body.

“Whew, you guys have interesting meetings,” I said lamely.

Awkward silence reigned once more.

 

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Different ways that strangers treat me

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When I drive home on a normal day, people don’t notice me much. Everybody is reasonably respectful. But when I put my sunglasses on and hide my eyes, people get a lot more impatient with me. They pass me quickly, try to zoom ahead of me at stop signs, etc. I’m sure this has everything to do with the glasses and is in no way a reflection of my driving skills…

In the winter, if I wear my crocheted white owl hat with the cute tufted ears on top, people are really nice to me. They bag my groceries with extra care, talk to me like a friend, and look at me fondly. My adorable owl hat makes me an adorable owl hat person. I have learned that adorable owl hat people are very approachable and are already friends with everyone.

If I feel tired and weak, people look more nervous and keep more distance. I’m pale and get really dark lines under my eyes when I feel tired, so I think I can look pretty bad. Some people give me space, some people have a more supportive and protective air and try to cheer me up with careful, gentle jokes.

When I feel really sick and grouchy and have to go out and pump gas in my swishy pants, when all I want to do is crawl under a rock and die and I hate everyone, this is when guys seem most attracted to me. This has led me to the conclusion that there are lots of men out there who want a woman who will kick their ass.

These are huge differences in treatment, based on very small changes such as my mood or a single article of clothing. If you’re walking down the street, how differently do you treat each person who passes? Do you smile at one and not the other, mutter excuse me to one and avoid eye contact with the other? Why?

Once I read an essay or something (I’m sorry to have forgotten the details) by an African-American man. He noticed people getting tense if he walked down a lonely street near them. His solution to this was to start whistling Vivaldi. He said he could see their backs immediately loosen up. Hardened criminals don’t give their position away by whistling cheerful, cultured tunes!

I wonder how much of our personalities, clothing choices, etc are made to get other people to look at you the right way.

I wonder what we would each be if there was no peer pressure. I tell you what, I probably wouldn’t shower.

 

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…who am I kidding. This drawing is my reality.

Love poem

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You are my comfort.

You wrap me in your warm embrace.

Softly console me when I cry.

You know me inside and out.

The only one I can rely on.

Any time, day or night

You are there

Always willing to spark a little joy

Into my waning mindset.

You are so tender

But sometimes you have a little bite.

Rough around the edges

You are bitter enough to match me

You are sweet enough to sweeten me

I can feel my brain chemistry change in your presence

When you are gone your memory lingers.

Why is it that nothing good can last?

My greatest love

My finest friend

My hopeless addiction

O chocolate brownie

 

 

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Please don’t let it be a limerick

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Last night I was consumed with worry for my fellow human beings. There is only one form which can carry this sentiment, but I fear I lack the talent to really do it justice.

 

I’m concerned about people who go

Through their lives doing just as they’re told.

They insist they’re too pure

To get down on the floor

And take a look at their own asshole.

 

Inadequate. I tried again:

 

Some people can live their whole lives 

And apparently think that it’s fine 

That they never bent over

And angled a mirror

To see where the sun doesn’t shine

 

Maybe I shouldn’t have bucked tradition. Maybe a limerick is no good unless it starts with Nantucket.

 

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One Month Later

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It’s only been a month since I started blogging?? I started on 6/26.

It’s been a lifetime. I’ve already learned so much, written so much, read so much. I dare say my poetry has gone up a level or two since I began.

Not long ago, I was thinking to myself, “I need more writer friends.” I have a lot of visual artist friends, and I am head over heels in love with every one of them. But I had very few people with whom I could talk about writing as a craft.

I didn’t realize it, but I was stagnating as a writer.

I’m not sure what happened. I was just following the flow of Tao, “what the hell.” I barely even knew what a blog was. I figured I’d be invisible. Actually I was sort of banking on it, not really wanting to be emotionally exposed. I didn’t know there was a wordpress community. I was vaguely aware of the term “blogosphere” and thought that sounded like a dreadful place full of people bitching about the mundanity of their lives or ranting their crazy.

Well, I guess it is that. But it’s also much more than that. And it’s really unexpectedly lovely.

I never thought of myself as a poet. I was just venting on paper. If someone told me six months ago that I was going to do this, my mind would have boggled. “Poetry” and “blog,” were two of the most boring words put together. 

No. It’s electricity. The level of talent out there, the things people post leave me breathless. And where are the trolls? I’ve spent a month just reading, and the greater part of the dialogue has been enlightening and respectful. Everyone has been kind in their own way.

They say writing is a solitary craft, but I have learned about as much in the past month as I managed to teach myself in my years of solitary efforts.

Warm fuzzies to all.

 

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