“I don’t think I use tissues the proper way; I always get snot on my hands.”
“I don’t either.”
The snot was flowing like a river, like a beer keg at a New Years party, hell any party for that matter. It had it’s path—knew the path it would take as if it were as natural as God deciding where to put a river. It flowed with free reign, with ease and when I blew my nose in to the nice Kleenex I had bought one day earlier at CVS—the kind with the aloe built in—the snot would cover the tissue, but then escape always out of the bottom leaving a coat on my palm, right palm usually.
The snot was not the condensed add water to this thick snot kind. It was liquid—almost. Think shampoo only a bit more watery.
I had been silly enough to ride my bike in the blistering cold wind Monday needing at least twenty-minutes of substantial exercise. The ride itself wasn’t such a poor decision, but the lack of thin-layered facemask was. I’ve been wearing this when exercising for the past month or so and it does the job. On Monday I either couldn’t find it or didn’t care enough to look hard enough and pedal pushed my way through the fierce wind. My legs felt good—but my ears, my ears were aching that dull inner and outer ache, the hat I had worn seemingly did little good.
Then there was Tuesday—the night shoveling. Again a colder than cold outside winter, but not really winter yet atmosphere. Again no thin-layered facemask. I shoveled with a few beers in belly looking forward to rewarding myself with a few more post shovel.
The next day the snot came. The dull aches. I lounged around reading all day pretending the cold was nothing more than a little sniffle. The next day full throttle leaky noise of shampoo, but slightly thinner, forced to buy tissues, more soup and Taco Bell.
The box from yesterday is nearing the end. A fresh one sits waiting to get in the game. Eyes have been leaking as if I’ve lost a loved one and soon I’ll be out amongst others hoping my snot won’t leak out on to a plate of food, a glass of beer, a bowling ball or shoe.
The to-go pack of 15 2-Ply Tissues awaits my jacket pocket. I carried these packs all over Japan. I will place this pack in my left pocket and think of a life that now seems so far away and fake.
Who was nice enough to get you that lil' "to go pack"?
Posted by: LP | January 03, 2009 at 07:03 PM