The Man in The Mirror

I stand in front of the mirror this morning like every other morning and take a deep breath. No time like the present to check myself out and see how things are going. After a quick once-over, I am transfixed by the haunting eyes that stare back at me. I remove the mask as Halloween is months off and I have sworn not to "freak the kids out before breakfast" any longer. Damn fine print. 

While my face leaves a small shopping list of things to be desired, the mirror is impeccable and it is a lasting tribute to the mirror craftsman who probably worked two jobs while supporting a family just to go to school to learn to make mirrors such as these thus fulfilling his deathbed-promise to his grandmother. She lived a long full life well after this promise despite her family giving her bed such a morose moniker.

When I look at myself, what do I see, aside from a missed opportunity to shelve pork products at the local butcher? I see a man, although that is arguable according to some well-written and painfully-descriptive pamphlets I had thrust upon me at the mall. I just hate having things thrust at me any time unless those things are either frozen or rent-controlled. 

Yes, I am a man, but notice I didn't say all man as that is like an oceanographer declaring the ocean is all water, marine life and rock formations. I am at least 2% marine life. Guess which parts! It's quite the surprise! 

I see in front of me dark baggy eyes befitting a person who has just waken after another poor night's sleep. Do I suffer from nightmares involving bogeymen and the bogeywomen who love them? Do I lead such a stressful life full of life or death or some sort of waking dead decisions? Am I just overly anxious to the point that I have gnawed all objects made of wood in the house gerbil-style? No. I do have allergies though and despite my best attempts, these allergies have begun to define me. Quite the bright allergies!

I have my shirt off and fight the temptation and male conditioning that was part of my elementary education to flex and kiss and attempt to flirt with my muscles. I don't look half-bad I think, and while that leaves me somewhere between 0 and 49% bad, I like what I see and I just know I'd be highly coveted as both a mate and a street performer if I moved to the gorilla colony I read about on line the other night after consuming too many cashews.

I am often told that I don't look my age. And I always reply "look harder; I am trying!" I do act my age and I try to feel my age although it is getting harder and harder to compare and contrast in these days of "no touching". I'll let you in on a big secret - I don't cover myself in creams or lotions or ointments and I did consider it as I just love Alfredo sauce and I hate to throw away leftovers. I guess my youthful looks are a result of genetics or genetic testing both of which I am a big fan. I have season's tickets! 

In moments where I am so vain, I wish my teeth were as white as a Disney princess and that my hair wasn't receding also like a Disney princess. Don't get me wrong - I love my forehead in all its freckled and shiny and partially reflective glory. I just miss the potential to sit around drinking herbal tea and growing an Afro and all of the extracurricular activities that opened the door to. Those doors are closed now and some have been freshly painted. Even I have to applaud their choice of colours and I never applaud colour choice on principle alone. My principles are always alone.

My temples are graying. Man, I wish I had some monks to say that to! It would bring the house down or at least get a chuckle or two if the monks gathered had no sense of humour. My once proud dark-red hair is now littered with the occasional white strand who say they want to be friends but I am sure they have ulterior and sinister motives and will never pick up the cheque. My once tight curls are slowly unfurling and becoming generally loose and frizzy which would make a great, albeit slightly depressing, title for my autobiography: "Generally Loose and Frizzy: One Man's Descent From Hairiness". But it would make an excellent musical comedy or How-To book.

And what to make of my slightly golden teeth? I don't smoke or chew tobacco, I don't drink coffee or soy sauce and I have a healthy amount of enamel and enamel inspired artwork adorning the walls of my house. I have seen dentists and hygienists and even asked a girl who strangely had a shape that was strangely and attractively tooth-like - we went out on a date and I just wanted to brush her - and they all said the same things "your teeth are healthy - aren't you glad your mom stopped you from eating rocks as a baby, oh wait a second, that was me and she didn't" and "I'll trade you my watch for your mouth full of gold" and "leave me alone and let me enjoy my nougat". They are always eating nougat and never offering to share.

My legs and arms are still strong and the inevitable atrophy hasn't completely hit me yet. And to be honest I'm not that excited about that part of my future. Offer me a trophy instead and we'll talk. On good days, I feel like I have the strength of a 25 year old with the wisdom that I always heard would arrive as I got on in years but my friends always doubted would actually show up. They even had a betting pool. Resourceful and cruel, those are my friends!

My hands are not unlike those hands you've all seen before. You know the ones...right, those ones! They are weathered and calloused and slightly sun-damaged, and yet they still get up in the morning, down two shots of espresso, put on their pants one leg at a time and go to work like every other pair of hands and don't try to tell me that your hands don't do this as my hands are covering my ears right now so I can't hear you and yes it is a good question how they are doing that while I am typing this too. It is a really good question and I am the one who is here right now and I don't even know, so imagine how you must feel. I thank the power above for my two hands each and every day except for those days when I have an overwhelming desire to stand and give everyone I see a standing ovation for reasons that are not clear to me at all.

I stand in front of the mirror in my upstairs bathroom each and every morning and look at myself and wonder who is that man of mystery staring back at me before I remember he moved in last week and is always hogging the mirror. What can I say, I am a sucker for men of mystery.

  

Waiting For My Ride

So, I'm currently sitting on the bench outside my place sipping on a lemon-flavoured cool drink waiting for my ride to come

and

wondering why he's running late this time hoping I haven't been forgotten or left out like that time late last summer or was it early fall when I sat there for what seemed like hours in the blazing sun without my hat because I lent it to my girlfriend right before she decided to move far away forever instantly converting her into an ex-girlfriend

and

a hat thief in that order and I got quite the sunburn sitting on that bench without my hat while my quote unquote friend was at the beach or the park or an identical bench a few blocks away because he made what he claims was an honest mistake with where he thought we were meeting and I was told countless times not to take it personally

and

each time I tried as hard as I could but it was hard not to as how do you honestly forget someone really unless they were really forgettable or if you just had too much on your mind like if you were an important surgeon performing a complicated operation or if you had to remember lots and lots and lots of people

and

then you could be forgiven or excused if you missed just one but my buddy who is being downgraded into an acquaintance with each passing minute and car that doesn't have him in it has no excuse that I am aware of

and

now that I think of it he has never been all that great a friend as he is never there for me or here for me or even in the neighbourhood when I could use a hand or pair of hands depending on the circumstances and how many hands are needed

and

it is always all about him and even when it's not it's mostly about him to the point that it annoys and frustrates me and makes me wish I was somewhere else surrounded by people some of which will have curly hair and others will not

and

they not only care about me and laugh at my jokes and be genuinely interested in me and they wouldn't forget all about me forcing me to waste yet another afternoon sitting like a loser at the bench drinking a lemon soda that has not only turned lukewarm but reminded me to finally stop being cheap

and

just get my ice maker fixed especially considering my boss is coming over for a dinner of roasted chicken and he is not one for room temperature beverages unless at sea and I am trying to make a good impression so I can get that raise partially for the money but mostly as proof to my dad that I'm at least partially a success

and

I can't get over this warm drink in my hand and how it is just adding to my state of anger as well as exponentially increasing my perspiration and finally allowing me to work up the courage and desire to give my ride a piece of my mind because who does he think he is treating me like this

and

you know what he can forget about those tickets to that soldout show I promised him and I am so done with his sarcasm and perpetually unshaven look as well as that goatee that is aching to be taken seriously but doesn't quite get there although it does fit his personality which is not meant to be a compliment at all

and

I'm just going to get up now and go inside to leave a series of increasingly depressing voice messages for my ex-girlfriend that passive aggressively hint about my old hat without directly addressing it as I don't want to come across like that

and

then I'm going to sit back and wait to see if she ever calls about the hat or if he ever calls to say sorry about not meeting me then I can ignore them both for a while and then either exact my revenge on her and or treat him as if he was invisible sort of like what I'm experiencing right now

and

what do you know there he is.

I guess he was just running late as usual.

Wanting to Scream

He wants to scream

But he can't.

At least not here
not now
no way.

Anger boils up inside him like a pot 
full of water
rapidly bubbling
releasing steam
making a mess
everywhere.

Fired.

Let go.

Dismissed.

Around him the others are typing, talking, texting, tallying numbers and terminating deals and teeming with work place spirit.

Animated, motivated, tabulated, isolated, frustrated.

Punch in, punch out.

Head down, work hard.

Kiss up, laugh hard.

He did it all!

Now this.

Why?

He
had been ordered to collect his things
like a nobody
an after thought
a has been
or a piece of trash
tossed to the proverbial curb of life as well as the real curb outside the door.

Sitting at his desk for the last time, he
fights the urge to punch the wall 
or his boss
or his neighbour (who just needs to blow his nose already)
or those personal demons.

It's all their fault.

He rises
making a fist 
nails piercing skin
drawing blood
the pain feels right.

And yet it doesn't.

He was once 
the golden boy
the promised one
the t crosser and the i dotter
the yes man
and the no sir.

He was both the jack and the master of all of the trades.

He had jumped how high, and now, he had sank so low.

He wants to scream.

Just not here.

You're Never Here

"You're never here when I need you" she said as I entered our apartment after yet another long day of thankless work.

I was hoping to come home to a house full of love and warmth and dinner.

Instead, I was greeted with an anger I was unfamiliar with and completely unprepared for.

The words hit me like a brick being throw at a glass window and it shattered me into a million pieces.

"What did she need," I wondered "and what was so wrong, this time?"

Panicked, I quickly searched my memory, looking for the right words to soothe her.

Nothing.

I was desperate. "Never?" I probed.

The room was dark and cold and she felt miles away.

She looked at me with red eyes that from this day forth will always be etched in my brain.

"Never" she replied before leaving and aggressively slamming the door behind her.