The Party Line

Half 4 in the morning is an early time to be up, but surprisingly many people are. A dream stirred her to awake and there was no going back. The Sun hadn’t traveled over the east horizon yet but it was still quite light out and people were walking or running the sidewalks across from and in front of her house — some with dogs, one with a nifty water bottle holder hanging across her chest, most with their phones in hand. Quite a few there were. A parade. It was a good time to walk because it still wasn’t much past cool.

The day before, out until the sun set in the west, she had been doing the same — fixing this and that. Lots of things to fix including self. This morning it was a good time to see about moving tomatoes from where they had been started. A few things accomplished, a few started and plans made in her head for more — but only after coffee.

Party lines. She was thinking now that it hadn’t been a dream that had stirred her awake because the dream was a kind that would want her to sleep, to stay, to be in that moment. It was a man that came from her past but was an amalgam of many men and not the real one that he had been. This man wasn’t drinking except for at the dinner that they had invited guests and one, a female one, was trying to entice. Arms lodged on her hips she strutted over and hissed at the guest to leave. The man cowered and put the drink away, not having it and not because she had hissed but because he was ready not to drink and grateful for the reminder. They continued to circle each other in her dream, the way couples circle when they are at home and unencumbered by outside influences. Pleasant dealings. Happy dealings.

What had stirred her was the stories crisscrossing all over her brain all night — several times she had almost gotten up to get a pen. “No, she’d remember” she thought to herself.

She remembered party lines and social media, but be sure not to use the term social media because there was resenting and when she resents something it’s best just to dismiss it — that way brain waves can be conserved. Kind of like pumpkinhead, the friend of Kim Jong-un. She tries not to think of him at all and certainly never engages in any discussions — save this and always not using his name.

She just discovered that if you block a friend who has parted from the friend zone or become a kind of obsession, there is no way to see what they are saying. It is possible to stop the crazy. Falling off the wagon would be unblocking and luck would be that they had blocked her too.

What did we do before 384 Flat 4, Islington, London, England, the World, the Universe — the world wide web of interference. We went to each others houses or got on the party line.

“Well, the thing is” she thinks to herself, “no one is holding a screen to my face and forcing me to use.”

Smoothing ruffled feathers, quelling aches and pains, stopping hurting — any obsession will do and can lead to the same conclusion — of not working anymore.

“Well, she thinks to herself again, “I have practiced writing for about two hours now, that’s what the teacher said to do, 30 years or more ago. No point in being obsessed.”

He had also said to quit at a point and not edit, edit, edit.

Like anything and everything, perfection is ever elusive. Half 9 now and time to get those plans in gear.

She wonders what he is doing.


courtesy is contagious



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