Saturday, January 21, 2012
And in related news, here is Mr Bunches' Wild Kingdom:
Most people think butterflies are silent. Mr Bunches knows better.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
So I am sitting at my computer wondering just what I wanted to write about this week and nothing was coming to mind. I mean I don’t live a boring life or anything but at the same time I do. But then I thought that this was just a fluke because I have been sick the past three days and so maybe my mind is too clogged up with mucous and all of that good stuff. And then I thought well since I am on that note of me being sick I thought that I would tell you how the last three days have gone for me since I have been sick.
To start I don’t have and have not taken any cold medicine because I just have not been able to stop and get some. I mean I could have stopped on my way to or from work but then I would always forget because like I said earlier I am sick and when I am sick I do not function well. But I was at work Tuesday and one of my coworkers knew that I was sick and told me that she had some cold medicine in her bag and offered me some. And of course me being the sickly human being that I was, took the offer and hoped for the best.
It was as if I could see myself taking the medicine and then cooking this amazing meal for the patients at the hospital and then someone would recognize my amazing cooking skills and then I would get nominated employee of the month because I took such pride in making sure that my food was the best for these patients. And then I would become employee of the month because everyone would see just how dedicated I was to my work and then I would be put up to win an award for top chef on the food network and then I would win that. Then after I won that I would be offered a slot on the food network for my own show titled “Food is the best Medicine” (Funny right since I work in a hospital). And all of that wouldn’t have been possible unless I took that cold medicine.
But that did not happen. What happened was my coworker only had these orange zest tablets that dissolve in water that I would have to drink. So I took a bottle of water and put the two tablets and inside and watched as the magic unfolded. After the fizzing stopped I opened the cap and took a drink and it wasn’t a sip I took a gulp of this medicine magic. OH DEAR LORD!!!! An explosion of nasty orange zest gross sewer water erupted inside my mouth and I immediately spit it out, it went all over my coworker and the wall behind her. She screamed and I ran to the trash can and vomited. Then after my head was pulled out of the trash can where only the dark side has been and my coworker innocently suggests;
“Maybe you should try and drink it with orange juice?”
Well I, of course, being dumb and sick (a deadly combination) walked over to the refrigerator and got some orange juice and poured the medicine that I had in with some of it and took another drink. At first it wasn’t so bad it was sitting a little better. My coworker looked at me and said;
“There that seems to be sitting better.”
But then I could feel the orange juice medicine mixture coming back up and I ran over to my trash can (yes I have now names this my trash can because I vomited in it once and now twice. I looked at my coworker and she had a sad innocent helpless and disgusted look on her face.
“I don’t think that I want to drink this anymore.” I told her as I threw the medicine away on top of my throw up and covered the can. After cleaning up my sprayed spit/medicine off the wall and floor I had to clean out the trash can. So safely speaking I did not create a phenomenal meal for the patients (it was just delightful, like always) and I did not get nominated for employee of the month and I did not become employee of the month and I didn’t not win top chef and I do not have my own show on the food network.
The next day I woke up to find that the cough drop that I went to bed with still in my mouth was now stuck to my nostril. Yep I kid you not. I had to use water to get it off without ripping any part of my skin. It was as gross as it sounds. And that is just how my day started.
The rest of the day was average except when I was turning the fryers off at work I put my oven mitt in the fryer as I turned it off. Why I did that, I do not know. I do not remember doing it and let me tell you my manager asked me about it the next day and I told her that I had no recollection of doing it and she started laughing because the glove was fried. Delicious right?
And then there was today. Now today I forgot my brain at my house but all day today I would have to blow my nose and as I did my nose would start to bleed. And not just bleed but it was almost like a gush of blood that would flood out of my nose. Sorry I will not spare any of the details. I would have to sit by my trash can. Yes the same trash can that I threw up in twice not two days earlier and sit there and bloody up tissue after tissue making all of my coworkers really want to sit and chat with me. But the bleeding stopped and I am now here writing all of my yummy details for you all to read and enjoy while holding toilet paper up to my nose trying to prevent blood from getting on my computer. Yep the day in the life of Middle. Fun, adventurous and almost a little too much.
Neither Mr F nor Mr Bunches is as far along the autism spectrum as this girl:
But Mr F is pretty close.
That dad waited 10 years to meet his daughter. Mr Bunches this year began being more able to express himself and we know what his personality is like now.
We're still waiting to meet Mr F.
But this made me cry with hope.
I know exactly what that dad means when he says you could see the intelligence in her. When I look at Mr F's eyes, I can tell how smart he is. He's just looking for a way to show it.
"Let go of me," I said.
He pushed me back on the bed, his leering face only inches from mine. "No," he breathed. "Do you know what I've been through? I've literally been to Hell, died, had my body reconstructed into this monstrosity," and he pointed down at himself, "All to search for what is rightfully mine."
Another pause, as he loomed over me.
"You, you are mine."
"I got that," I told him, trying to sound braver than I was feeling. He was lying on top of me and was heavier than I felt I could move.
"I created you, Rachel. Not literally. I did not myself carve up the women who would become your parts. I did not myself go and kidnap you from that concert. I did not drag your unconscious body down into the cellar where that mad idiot works doing things only he can do. I did not remove your chip and I did not pick out the limbs that would become the new you and then sew them together into this remarkably sexy package, binding them seamlessly by calling on energy from in between the dimensions."
He looked down at the stump of my left arm.
"Except for that one. I picked out that one, and that one in particular was the one that belonged to me." He stared back into my eyes and then put one of his hands, the one with the delicate nails, onto my breast, began kneading it and pulling it, roughly.
"Do you want to know why?" he asked.
"Don't touch me, please," I managed to whisper.
He took his hand and pushed harder against my breast, and I felt a cold sweat break out. Shifting his weight, he pressed his knee into my stomach, just below my ribcage.
"Don't tell me what to do, you lesbian zombie whore," he said, and my blood stopped in my veins at the threat in his voice.
With a tiny twitch of his weight, he pumped his knee into me. My breath whooofed out of me and tears sprang to my eyes and I gasped. He pinched my breast and then punched me in the face.
"Stop it!" Bridget yelled. I couldn't see her. I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath as my legs were roughly pushed apart.
"You don't know what resources went into creating you, all to have a body that could hold on to that hand and all because that hand was the final ingredient in controlling the thousands of slaves we created," Bridget's dad said.
"Don't do this, Daddy!" Bridget yelled again.
"SHUT HER UP!" Bridget's dad roared and punched me in the face again. Before I could even catch my breath he pushed his knee into my stomach again and I gasped again, feeling emptied of air entirely. His hands were pushing in between my thighs and I wanted to fight him, I did, but I couldn't even catch my breath and my lungs were so empty it caused me actual pain inside my chest.
I heard a crack of metal on a head and Bridget screamed and The Me's voice said "Don't do that!" and there was a scuffle sound as Bridget's dad's hand pushed into me and I tried to fight and he said:
"Don't fight me. You have lost the one thing you were created to keep and since this body belonged to others before it became your demon soulless shell, you shouldn't care what I do to it." He pushed his knee down again and my body felt like it was turned inside out as I struggled to breath. He punched the side of my head and I saw stars.
"I would kill you, but I need the body alive. I must make sure you understand never to oppose me again," he said, and viciously raked his nails over my inner thigh. I would have screamed but I couldn't even suck in air, as he was keeping his knee pushed into my stomach now.
I began to black out.
I felt his hands in me, inside my thighs and on my breasts and one pushing into my mouth and the room went all spinny and then a voice crackled through an intercom:
"It's not here!"
Bridget's dad stopped staring at my pussy and turned his terrible face back to look at mine. Through blurred tunnel vision, I saw him purse his lips.
"That is very bad for you," he said. "But worse for your lovers."
He punched me again in the face, and said: "Kill them."
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Everyone in the world is copying me in advance.
It made you uncomfortable to be alone with him in the subway car, not just because he was mumbling loudly enough to seem he was trying to talk to you, complaining about how everyone knew his thoughts and did the stuff before he could.
“And the waffle iron? I came up with that!” he suddenly said ferociously, and you got off the car at the next stop because that little fleck of spittle in the corner of his mouth seemed too wild to want to deal with at 3:00 in the afternoon.
The job interview didn’t go well. You were still unnerved by the whole incident, and you were pretty sure that the waffle iron was older than the subway nut. The interviewer never called.
Later on, even Gina’s encouragement (why don’t you just go ahead with that idea you had?) wasn’t enough to help you sleep and in your dreams you saw him again.
“EVERYBODY IN THE WORLD IS COPYING ME IN ADVANCE!” he yelled in your head, and it didn’t help that in the dream he was an extra on the set of Ocean Girl.
And you had to take the F train, two days later, to yet another job interview. He was there, of course, and he said “I’m going to invent an app that will scan the ears of small children and see if there is an ear infection.”
But that was your idea.
Six months ago.