Ions Above Ions
Hearing myself on tape is like hearing myself inside my head, only worse. Do I really talk like that? Do I actually say things that way? Someone once said my laugh was sparkling, but I find it annoying and a little too loud. I don’t enunciate, and I certainly don’t pose my questions using the most efficient route.
It was just last week when things were fine; when no one was taking my name in vain, when it wasn’t so humid, when A’s were A’s and B’s were B’s, when I was trusted, when I was spitting cherry seeds onto Kingshighway and when my legs didn’t ache from all that soccer playing. The ball’s sitting in my back seat if you ever want to play with me–I’m much better at that than Ms. Pac-Man and pinball, apparently. I’m much better at a lot of things, apparently.
But then you have to think about the man sitting in the park who told me about positive energy, how I exude it, leak it, emanate it and shouldn’t allow negative people to suck it up. He said I’d live until I was wrinkly and 95. I would explore at least 10 more years out of the states until I settle somewhere. He attested to the fact that I don’t know what I want, that I get bored easily and that I do yoga. I would be married at least a couple times, he told me. He was Asian and thin, had bad teeth, spat when he spoke and sat so cross-legged that it looked like he might squeeze too hard and pull a muscle.
Note to all energy vampires: I could be swayed.
