Recycling Day

Monday, February 23, 2015

This morning I was vacuuming the living room as the Boatman was getting ready to leave. I turned off the vacuum cleaner so that he could get ready in peace. He kissed me and said I love you. Then I finished  vacuuming. I went upstairs to hump our rolled up duvet. We haven’t had much sex over the past couple of weeks and it is one of my several complaints. After a few minutes of humping, likely less than three, I arrived at my usual orgasm, whatever that means. And then I sobbed.  And I thought that somehow this sobbing orgasm masturbation scene could begin my next excellent book.

Now I am at a coffee shop called the Smiling Goat. In Halifax, they like naming things after goats. The Stubborn Goat. The Smiling Goat. The Smiling Goat has the most expensive coffee in the city. I came here during my first weekend in Halifax. In the Smiling Goat bathroom, on that rainy Saturday, I discovered that my period had arrived. Since I was on a sex trip, this was somewhat inconvenient. Oh well. We managed.

I am drinking my expensive latte and looking out the window. It is garbage day.  Also, recycling day. Some guy parked a recycling truck in front of the café. He looks a little bit like Simon would if Simon were a little bit fatter and a little bit taller. And alive.

I am not particularly good at seeing or describing what people look like. The Boatman says that I have Face Blindness.

The Recycling Guy is shoving long cardboard boxes into the side of the recycling truck. I open my Linked In profile to see if some sort of magnificent opportunity will present itself.

Someone has posted an inspirational message.

“Stay away from negative people. They have a problem for every solution.”



Inspirational Message



This is how I feel. Like none of the solutions will work. This is exactly how I felt before I wrote “I Let Go.” Exactly like this. Terrible.

Now the Recycling Guy is putting a plastic bag filled with bottles and cans into the side of the truck. Another bag is filled with receipts and empty vitamin pill bottles. The recycling truck rocks back and forth.

A man with a comb-over walks into the café. Across the street, a police officer parks his car and gets out. I am not sure what he is doing. He has avoided the comb-over by shaving his head.

I fuck around on the Internet. By the time I look out the window again, the recycling truck and the Recycling Guy are gone.

The End.

Unlabelled Footnotes:

-Making an authentic life and/or self-satisfaction an emergency won’t help you get there any faster.  

-Everyone says that if you don’t know whether or not you’ve had an orgasm, then you haven’t had one. People say the same thing about yeast infections. I’m not really sure if any of that is true.

-Something about being the party pooper that all the Happy, Successful LinkedIn people are struggling desperately to avoid. 

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook

Twitter: @mypelvicfloor

I Let Go, All Yours for only $2.99 U.S. or approximately $3.36 Canadian. 

Simon Girard (1979-2015)
Yours Til Ekam Inhales
Deep Unyielding Depression