this morning, i had a dream that i was riding a yellow motorbike to work. i was kinda late. i recall passing the jack-in-the-box in pearl city, and then parking at some auto mechanic shop. for some reason, i got distracted, and, next thing i knew, my bike was gone. the mechanic shop turned into some old dilapidated house. i went into the house, which was filled with old broken screen windows, and peeled green painted walls. it was a haunted house. i remember at one point helping a pair of japanese girls carry a television out of the house. i was walking outside, and i was barefoot, carrying the tv. i had to stop, because i saw a dead cat in the moist ground, and it was surrounded by large pink maggots, "disco rice." i didn't want to get the maggots on me...

***

i want to feel human again.

people like myself don't need much. just a word of conversation, a recognition that you are a person, alive inside the cubicle of your assigned role. i don't want much more than that, but if i had that, i feel like i could survive. i feel as though, with that, i just might make it.

***

trichiasis

my son has an ingrown eyelash in his right eye. trichiasis, they call it. i sit beside him, urging him to stay still, as i fold the offending lashes with a moist q-tip, and then press a towel with ice on his swollen eye. i have considered pulling the lashes out, but the mere sight of sharp tweezer edges sends him in a panic, so i have opted for this quieter, gentler method. it is actually the way i would prefer, even though it requires more time and patience on both our parts.

meanwhile, the sky has been unstable, occasionally hooding us like a sweater, trapping the moisture until we gasp the thick air, and occasionally, with a strange mix of fright and relief, breaking open with grumbling cracks and letting fall the rain of reluctant but inevitable rage. under this background, i drift through the uneventful events of my life, emptying myself in my duties, holding secret plots for better tomorrows. on occasion, a lightning strike will pierce even my closed eyelids, and, like a strobe light or the flash of a camera, cut this moment out of time. something, i suspect, is trying to irritate a reaction in me. in the grumble and window-shaking thunder, it seeks to disturb.

but i keep my eyes closed, nose to the grindstone. i, after all, have opted for a quieter, gentler method. even though it requires time. and patience.