Splender!

I work until late teaching on Monday, so I have no time to write, but I got a lot of ideas yesterday. I was stuck in the w all day, so I filled up scrap paper with notes for the novel. Tonight, I'm going to transfer the ale to half-gallon bottles with the Dufflebag, where they will ferment for another few weeks before the tasting. After that, I'm going to turn my attention to the novel and try to press on with it.

*

Jess believes that she is constantly seeing the number 34. So often, in fact, that it is beyond coincidence.

I explained that this would involve two possible conclusions: 1. that the universe is bending and warping its own fabric to somehow impress upon you the importance of this number (and the attendent riddle: if the universe could do such a thing, why do it cryptically?) or 2. that cognitions works through filters, and we are consciously and unconsciously drawn to notice some items more often than others.

Still, it becomes eerie that, whenever she walks into the room, she'll note that the clock reads 4:34, or 2:34. You get the point.

Early Monday morning, the house phone, which we hardly use, rang. Seconds later, her cell phone rang. Jess sat up. "It's 4:34," she said, and chills ran up our spines.

She ran downstairs.

I rolled over and imagined all the terrible reasons for the twin calls.

She came backupstairs a few minutes later.

"It was the Dufflebag's school. There's a two hour delay because of the icy roads."

They called at four thirty in the fucking morning! Imagine how many others heard that ring, wondering for whom the bell tolled. Well, it didn't fucking toll for me. I needed sleep, goddamnit.

*

I'm out of cash. I steamed some sweet Chinese sausage and mixed it with mushrooms and brown rice and brought it to work, where I was going to divide it up for lunches this week. Billy, known to forage through my food, got a long lecture about my economic situation. I begged him not to go through my food. There wasn't much.

After work, I got a sheepish text message: "Goo Goo, I ate your delicious lunch."

I texted back wondering the f he was talking about. A flying f!

"I will pay for your lunch tomorrow."

Nevermind that I spent a long time preparing that food, and that it required special ingredients.

So today, he gave me a ten-spot and I ate at Sal's Pizza in Lowell -- the best local pizzeria, to my tastes.

Before I left today, he pulled me aside. "About that lunch I ate," he explained with great sincerity, "It's the mushrooms that made it."

*

Billy asked me to run to Dunkin Donuts for him and wrote down what he wanted: a blueberry ice coffee with two creams and one "splender."

"Splender? What the fuck is a splender? Do you mean 'Splenda?'"

"Splenda."

"But you didn't write that. You wrote, 'Splender.'"

For those of you who don't know, Splenda is a noxious sugar substitute.

Billy of New England just assumed he was dropping his r's in pronounciation and adjusted accordingly for writing.

I got to the Dunkin Donuts and ordered his large blueberry ice coffee with two creams and Splenda.

The woman who took my order -- older, I'll assume Eastern European -- looked at me, lost. "Do you mean "Splender?" she asked, emphasizing the r.

I can't make this shit up.

*

As I mentioned above, I've been taking notes for the novel on scrap pieces of paper. I just went over them to see if I scribbled anything about blog entries. Surprise, surprise! I had totally forgotten that I had used the "splender" note as a scrap.

I also forgot that I obnoxiously crossed out his word and wrote the correct one. That's me, being that way.

So it goes into the museum of cf's. On the same page where I outline my narrative theories, where I clarify the thematic structure of the novel, you'll find Billy's Dunkin Donut's request. There is meaning here. Somewhere. Please?

*

I walk into the W.

Billy tells me:

Eyes may shine
And teeth may glitter
But you cannot bullshit
A bull
Shitter.

The awkwardness of this little bit of folk wisdom troubles me. But I also question its validity.

Aren't children the biggest bullshitters around? And aren't they the most easily swindled? Santa Claus, Sponge Bob, candy shaped like hamburgers . . . .

*

The Boss seemed glassy eyed and strange today. He left early and unexpectedly. I wonder if the long hours have gotten to him. He has worked in a high stress, so-so paying job for a decade now, never putting in anything less than a ten hour day. Usually more.

Is he at that breaking point? The confluence of the bad economy, bad management, and poor health?

Humans hunger for other things. He had cold, animal eyes today. And it was scary enough that no one said anything. No rumor-mongering. At this point, we just shrug and try not to think about it.