Shut Up and Kiss Me

From the corner of my eye I can see him. He's looking at my tits.
I pretend not to notice and continue up the path...
I should have worn a bra, I think. I should have worn a bra...
Put on a little makeup, made myself presentable...

Instead I say nothing about something such as:
"What do you think was here in the year '0'?"
"Zero?" he repeats. "When the hell was that?"
"Before A.D. and pre B.C," I explain.
"Oh," he said hesitantly. "I don't know...maybe no one?"

"Perhaps you're right," I said. "It was the year that nothing happened.
Or maybe it was the year that EVERYTHING happened. I imagine it depends on who you ask."

"Is this a trick question?" he returned.
I could feel the smile curling up on his face, but I refused to look.

"Never mind," I said. I know better than to discuss religion on a first date.

I continued hiking up the hill.

He tried to grab my hand so I decided that it would be better to talk with it>
I used it to describe all of the amazing things that must have happened in the year '1'.

"Though maybe year '0' had something to do with it," I went on..."But I don't know. I wasn't there.

"Would you have like to have been?" he asked, noting my fixation for years for which I have no history.

Does that mean I would not have to be here with you right now? I thought to myself.
My answer then would have been "Yes."

But instead I said,
"I think it would have been a tough time to be me."

He reached out and put his hand on my face and tried to draw my eyes to his, but I wasn't buying it.

"You're beautiful," he told me.

"You're silly," I answered.

I was afraid. Flustered by the fact that if he could see into my eyes he would see the puss around my pupils.

He was cute and nice and smart and all...didn't eat meat...plays guitar, likes the farmer's market and could tell apart the trees by looking at their leaves.

But I didn't want him looking at me. I was afraid he would be able to see just how ugly my insides were and just how angry I was at nothing. Besides there was something about him that was creepy.

So instead, I shut my eyes and kissed him. Nothing major, mind you, a quick peck on the lips and that was it.

"It's hot out here," I told him. "Let's go get some ice cream."

Resistance

Stop!
I don't want it!
I don't want to feel you

Gazing down at me
Your optimistic eyes
Offering adoration,
Hope.

I'm sorry
I just don't want to smile yet
To dream about tomorrow
Or to think beyond the wounded thoughts
With which I curl up with at night
And clutch close.
What do I have without them?

Take ten steps back
And stay there.
But don't just stand there and stare...
Move!

Give me room
To move
Without thinking,

Give me a chance
To know what I need
And remind myself of what I don't have.

Give me space
To be selfish
Without seeming to be unkind.

Strip away
Your "one day" aspirations
And let me be free
Wit neither guilt
Or expectations.

I know nothing about tomorrow,
I want to wallow in today.

If you pull what I push,
Don't be disappointed when you
Get dragged along on the ride.

Clutching at Straws

Today at work, I edited a paper: “The Outcomes Project”. The outcomes for what, I couldn’t really say, but that’s really not important at this point. It’s merely the start of what I’m about to tell you.

Part way through the project, the team, it seems, took a “straw poll vote”. It being Friday, it was an act I was about to let them get away with without argument. The results clearly showed favor to one of the outcomes, 7 to 5. Fine, whatever, but what exactly is a “straw poll vote”?

“Poll” and “vote” seemed a little redundant, so I circled each word and wrote down in red: Redundant, underlining it for emphasis.

With that done, I was down to “straw poll” or “straw vote”, but I was still confused. If you’re pulling straws, it seemed to me, there’s no majority rule. There’s a winner and a loser, everyone else falls through the cracks. Isn’t it just luck of the draw when dealing with straws?

I could be wrong, so I looked it up. Sure enough…I was wrong.

A “straw poll vote”, it seems, is an acceptable term. According to an online encylopedia, it is:

a type of voting where the results of the poll have little or no direct results, other than to gauge opinion. Straw polls are commonly used in American political caucuses, where the primary goals are to select delegates and vote on resolutions. The results of the straw polls may or may not influence the delegates as they participate in political conventions after the caucus.

I came to the conclusion that essentially it’s a vote that lets you voice your opinion, but that’s about it. It counts for nothing, means nothing, does nothing. It’s just an opportunity to state your side with the complete understanding that ultimately it will make no difference on the situation.

So I crossed out all of my comments, called it a day, and went home.

“Straw poll vote away,” I said. “It doesn’t mean a thing.”

And now that I’m here, I started thinking that lately I’ve been a very good straw poll voter myself. I straw poll vote my situation and then when there nothing more to straw poll vote, I brush my teeth, curl up in bed, and go to sleep.

Unless of course, there’s a cigarette to smoke or a wine bottle to open or something to shop for…or someone who I can talk to and try to pretend it is you, but honestly, the strategy never works.

I thought that perhaps if I take one last final crack at this straw poll voting stuff, I might finally be able to get it out of my system. Maybe then, I can move to motion something…get it passed and put into effect.

Do I miss you? Yes.

Do I want you to be happy? Yes.
Do I want you to be happy with me? Of course!
The probability of that happening? Clutching at straws.