Cherry tomatoes and foam cat toys

Earlier tonight I was sitting in the drive-through at Steak and Shake, waiting for my grilled chicken sandwich and cup of cottage cheese to be sacked up and passed to me through a small window. I was behind two cars and had some time to look around at my surroundings. Directly across the street from the restaurant, there was a bank. The thing that got my attention were the four red lights above each drive-through lane, lights that I assume were in place to tell bank customers that they were headed the wrong way. The lights made me think of angry eyes, as red spheres sometimes do, and I began thinking of other crimson circles. A stoplight on red. A drop of blood. Cherries. A clown’s nose. A circle of rouge on an actor’s cheek. A scoop of watermelon. The interior of my mouth when I gasp in surprise.

Maybe I should've driven to the other side to see the green circles. An M&M. A stoplight on go go go. A dot from a lime green marker. The little used-to-be-green squishy cat toy ball that Gizmo carries around in her mouth. A scoop of honeydew. The neckhole on my forest-themed goddess shirt.

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It’s been kind of a rough night. I went to therapy and touched on some core issues and found my eyes leaking after I left my appointment was over. It’s good, though – I mean, it’s all about healing and getting better and moving forward – but it’s still rough at the moment it’s happening. I’m not going into any of the issues I discussed because it’s all a raw jumble in my head and a sistah’s gotta keep some things to herself sometimes, even though that same sistah is blogging about seeing her shrink.

I guess I thought this was going to be far more profound, what with the descriptions of red and green spheres and such. It seemed poetic and brilliant in my head and on the screen it’s just… there. It’s probably because I’m tired and only finished crying about two hours ago. I should take myself to bed, especially since I have to be up early in the morning, but I keep hearing a stereo or loud television and I’m stalling, hoping that whomever is watching TV or listening to music will realize it’s getting late for us day folks (late at 10:30 – oy) and we need our sleep.

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Sometimes my philanthropy, if you want to call it that, bites me in the ass. I ordered five boxes of Girl Scout cookies to help out a friend’s kid who was trying to make a sales goal (she made it) and now I have, what, 100 cookies headed my way? I paid for them, so I don’t exactly want to give the boxes away, but $3/box wins when compared to how much physical and emotional weight I would gain from eating all the cookies. Maybe I’ll give them to people I know who don’t have compulsive eating issues like I do. A coworker has had two boxes of cookies in his desk for a couple weeks and is the kind of guy who can open the box, take out a cookie, eat it, and put the box away. Are you kidding me? By this time, I would have eaten the cookies, the box they came in, the drawer they were in, the desk the drawer came from, and probably my coworker as well. I know myself well enough that I won’t eat all five boxes -- I'd probably break some kind of guilt law if I did that -- but I think I’ll have to leave the boxes at work, or in my trunk or something. No, they’d still be available if they were in my trunk. Sigh. I’ll... just let someone else eat them. They don't have to carry around this ass.

Update: I told the Girl Scout's mom to keep the cookies but I went ahead and paid for them. Ah. Safe.

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I feel a bit like a pencil worn down to its nub. I think I’m going to roll across the desk-ness of my apartment and slide into a nice, cozy drawer where it’s dark and I can rest for a few hours with my writing utensil friends. Maybe I'll spoon a Sharpie.