Monday, July 19

Unused pencils

It's probably no surprise to anyone that I get less sleep than 80% of you. If I'm not up twice, it's three times a night tending to really pressing stuff like "I saw a shadow" or "I had a dream about tomatoes.. I DON'T LIKE TOMATOES!" and of course getting bottles of milk ready. So getting back to sleep sometimes the oddest things pop into my (what should be empty) head. Last night I was driving home from Hamilton, which I never do, and I realized I should check my headlights as I didn't see them on. I pulled right over into what happened to be a liquor store parking lot downtown. As I got out to check I noticed it was locked up and abandoned looking, which might just be what a closed liquor store looks like down there as I was pretty sure it was open less than an year ago. We all know how unlikely it is that a liquor store goes out of business! but that's what it looked like.




Well apparently that little 30 second stop caused a random memory to pop up in the middle of the night of a time my mother and I went to that liquor store when I was little. Back then they had those cold blue pools you could quickly chill your shiz in.. remember that?? Anyway! it was summertime and it was busy but as we left I must have really bugged her for a dollar, cos she actually gave me one, because I wanted to give it to the man sitting outside in a wheelchair selling bright neon coloured pencils in a cup. I was really happy with myself for doing that since I thought that maybe he could go home if he sold them all. It reminded me a little of the story of the little match girl if you've ever had it read to you... I am not sure why it was a child's story since it's the saddest fucking thing on earth but anyways. I fell asleep finally, remembering that day and the fact that as soon as I got back into the car after my good deed I was incredibly heartbroken over it. No, not because he was in a wheelchair.. I was a child, I could have convinced myself he was making extra money to pay for a groundbreaking surgery so he could walk again if I really wanted to.

You know the moment people talk about when they realize their parents don't know everything/Dad isn't the strongest person ever/neither of them will live forever? That moment was it for me; seeing a grown up man, as pleasant and happy he was, and all he could think of to sell were pencils because he really needed money. Grown ups were not supposed to do that and I was pretty sure that's not the kind of thing he wanted to be doing, either. I don't think I ever did use the pencil I bought. Hmm. I swear the brain is just a bunch of electrical impulses playing russian roulette up there.

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