NervousMan realized he needed to go to the store and get more items. So many things to do! Go to the store, see Mr. Deedle, cash his check.
NervousMan needed a planner to plan his day.
But where would he write down his plan to get a planner if he didn't have a planner to write it down in?
NervousMan felt nervous.
NervousMan was too nervous to sleep. And NervousMan was hungry. So NervousMan got up from the bed and walked carefully to the kitchen.
"Carefully! Carefully!" NervousMan thought. "So as not to trip on anything I nervously left on the floor!"
Opening the refrigerator NervousMan saw that all he had left inside that he could eat immediately was a half jar of mayonnaise and a red Roman apple. There were other things inside too, but they would require cooking up. And NervousMan was too nervous to do that! He might nervously leave the burner on the stove burning! And then his face would burn up and the fire trucks would come and people would beat NervousMan up!
"I will eat the apple!" thought NervousMan. "That will make me less nervous!"
NervousMan felt the cool skin of the apple in his hand as he shut the refrigerator door carefully and then walked cautiously back to his bed.
"Carefully! Carefully!" thought NervousMan as he made little gasping noises of distress with each step."Or I will trip and fall and hurt myself terribly!"
NervousMan was nervous.
And so NervousMan took his apple and sat on the bed and took a big bite out of it savoring its cool sweetness.
"Mmmmm yummy yummy apple!" said NervousMan aloud his mouth full of apple. "This is mine. This is my apple. My little... red... apple-ly apple". NervousMan smiled and took another bite. "Yummy yummy! Eating the apple!" NervousMan ate more and more and more.
After the apple was nothing more than just a core, NervousMan felt tired and too un-nervous to get up and put it in the garbage. So, NervousMan put the core on his nightstand.
"I will put the apple-ly apple core in the garbage-y garbage laterly later!" NervousMan said to his empty apartment, and chuckled.
"Now I will take a nappy nap!" he said.
Somehow, talking in this silly way made NervousMan less nervous. But what was the harm? There was no one around to make fun of NervousMan for doing so. NervousMan was too nervous to have people in his apartment anyway. He could be silly and do anything he wanted to.
Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door.
"Oh no!" thought NervousMan, suddenly very nervous. "What will I do! I am naked and someone is at the door!"
The knocking happened again, this time more insistent. Someone wanted NervousMan to open the door right away!
"Uhm.... who is it??" said NervousMan, nervously.
From the other side of the door came a mean male voice. "Your downstairs neighbor!" it said.
"Oh no!" thought NervousMan. "What in the world could they want?"
While NervousMan slipped on his bathrobe, the knocking came again.
"I'm... I'm coming!" said NervousMan. "I mean-- I'll be right there!"
"Hurry up, I don't have all day" said the voice.
The neighbor sounded like he must be mean and angry thought NervousMan. But what could NervousMan do? He had to open the door. And he better do it quickly! He didn't even have time to get properly dressed.
NervousMan unlocked his door with a click and then opened it slightly.
"Y-yes?" said NervousMan.
"Yeah. I'm your downstairs neighbor," said the man.
The man looked to be in his 40's and was unshaved. He was wearing dirty jeans and a tshirt that was sleeveless and a bit too small for him. A beer gut poked out from underneath the bottom edge of the tshirt.
"What are you doing?" said the man pointedly. He looked right at NervousMan.
"Uh... what?" said NervousMan.
"You heard me. What are you doing?"
"I uh, I'm taking a nap".
"You're, uh, you're taking a nap," said the man mockingly.
NervousMan felt nervous. Was the man going to beat him up?
"We're sitting outside and you know that even though your blind is drawn, you've got your window open and we can hear everything you're saying down there?"
"OH NO!" Thought NervousMan. Suddenly he was mortified.
NervousMan looked away from the man, his face distressed and anxious and flushed with shame. Then NervousMan looked at the ground.
"Uh... I... I was... uh..." NervousMan said.
"Yeah, you're 'uh... ahhh... uh' alright. Listen you little freak. I don't like the looks of you! Standing there with your eyes darting around in your dirty bathrobe. Talking out your window about being naked and eating 'appley apples' and whatnot. What have you got going on in there?"
The man narrowed his eyes and looked over NervousMan's shoulder into the darkness of NervousMan's apartment.
Unconsciously, NervousMan moved the door a little bit more toward being closed.
"Probably doing some sort of weird sick nasty things in there," said the neighbor, grimacing disgustedly. "Don't let me hear you in here going through your pre-versions you twisted little freak!".
"Oh uh... I was just probably having a dream or something" NervousMan said and looked at his feet.
"Having a dream. Yeah, I'll bet. Sleeping in the middle of the day. When other good and decent hard-working people are at work trying to feed their families. Either way, I don't like the looks of you. So you'd better watch it!"
NervousMan was very nervous!
"Oh--okay. I'll be more careful," said NervousMan.
Maybe if he were nice, the mean man would go away!
"I'm sorry," said NervousMan.
"All right. That's more like it," said the man and walked away shaking his head in disbelief, but not before giving NervousMan a studious and supicious glare.
NervousMan closed the door and gulped.
NervousMan was nervous.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
NervousMan Gets Naked
NervousMan walked quickly down the hall to his small studio apartment, feet padding over the tiles faster and faster as he neared the door.
"Quickly! Quickly!" NervousMan thought! "Or else someone might see me and my frightful nervousness!"
NervousMan's face grimaced in a harried mask of distress and terror.
NervousMan dropped the book on the ground and with trembling fingers fishing the keys out of his pocket.
He thought of movies where the heroine is pursued by some sort of menacing shape, getting closer and closer and closer until the last minute when...
NervousMan turned the key and bending down to get his book, he pushed his bulk to open the heavy door and rushed inside, slamming the door behind him.
"Oh! Not so loud! Someone might be disturbed! They might complain about me!" he thought to himself. "Then, I will get thrown out of my apartment, and I will be homeless myself! No one will give me potato chips and I'll starve!"
Sweat was already starting to cool on his forehead and his chest heaved mightily. He could feel waves of heat pour off of him.
"So hot!" thought NervousMan.
The hallway inside was dark and cool and quiet. NervousMan started to relax. Just a bit. He was safe. Apparently.
NervousMan ran a shaking hand over his face and breathed deeply.
"Must... breathe... must breathe..." he thought. But I am breathing. I am breathing. He thought to himself.
NervousMan let the book drop to the floor and his shoulders slumped. He took a few steps into his darkened apartment and then looked over to the light switch.
NervousMan took off his shirt. He was very warm. Then he took of his shoes, then his pants. Then walking into the bathroom, he sat down on the closed toilet and and took off his socks.
"I made it... I made it..." NervousMan said to the walls around him.
NervousMan took off his underwear, then got up and walked over to the shower and slid the sliding door back on its tracks so he could get in. The door hit the wall with a THUD.
NervousMan grimaced. He hoped his neighbors didn't complain about him. Maybe someone heard.
NervousMan felt ashamed. Naked and ashamed.
NervousMan got in the shower and turned on the water and forgetting it came out cold, NervousMan jumped. "Oh! I must be careful! I might slip in here!" he thought.
Fear cluched NervousMan's guts like a giant freezing scaly claw.
After a moment, he stepped into the stream cautiously and the water flowed over his naked body and slowly got warmer and warmer until it was fully hot. NervousMan reached over to the knob tentatively and turned the temperature down. The water might scald him!
If it did, he might slip and his leg might break, the bone sticking out of his thigh, he would have to lie helpless in the shower, screaming piteously for help from someone passing by outside.
"Help me! Help me!" he would scream.
They would have to call an ambulance, thought NervousMan, and then they would have to break down the door and the paramedics would see him naked! And for weeks, he would have to walk around with huge blisters all over his body and in a cast. People would laugh at him and call him 'that idiot who slipped in his own shower'.
NervousMan was tired.
Pushing the thoughts of getting scalded by hot water from his mind, NervousMan lathered himself up and washed himself everywhere. His chest, his hair, behind his ears, especially his ears, his face, his stomach... and... down there. All the while being very careful not to slip and fall. NervousMan eyed the handle of the door in case he felt his legs going and he would have to reach out and grab it suddenly.
"This will get me clean. Real clean." thought NervousMan. "I have to go see Mr. Deedle, my Chinese Stepfather, about more money".
NervousMan scrubbed his legs furiously.
After rinsing off NervousMan got out of the shower, stepping onto his lime green bathroom carpet, and dried himself off with his big yellow towel.
Stepping out of the bathroom, he saw himself for a moment in the hallway mirror.
NervousMan walked up to his reflection and looked at his own eyes, examining his pupils. Then, he looked at his own nostrils. Something NervousMan just couldn't do without a mirror.
"I'm naked now. Yes. I'm naked. Yes. I'm naked now". NervousMan said to himself.
NervousMan walked in the living room, passing the picture of his late mother. NervousMan blushed and carefully turned the picture to the wall.
"Good", NervousMan thought, "the blinds are drawn". If they weren't someone might look into NervousMan's window and see him naked and then call the police on him. He would get sued by the person, and then led out under a police blanket completely naked. There would be photographers from the media and he would be on the evening news and called a pervert for all to see!
NervousMan sat on his unmade bed.
"I'm naked now" he said one last time to the dark walls around him.
Looking over to the drawn blinds, NervousMan thought of the poor homeless man somewhere eating his bag of potato chips.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." said NervousMan softly to the blinds.
Then he laid back on his bed, shaking so badly he feared that he might fall off and hurt himself.
"I'm sorry" he said once more, barely above a whisper.
"Quickly! Quickly!" NervousMan thought! "Or else someone might see me and my frightful nervousness!"
NervousMan's face grimaced in a harried mask of distress and terror.
NervousMan dropped the book on the ground and with trembling fingers fishing the keys out of his pocket.
He thought of movies where the heroine is pursued by some sort of menacing shape, getting closer and closer and closer until the last minute when...
NervousMan turned the key and bending down to get his book, he pushed his bulk to open the heavy door and rushed inside, slamming the door behind him.
"Oh! Not so loud! Someone might be disturbed! They might complain about me!" he thought to himself. "Then, I will get thrown out of my apartment, and I will be homeless myself! No one will give me potato chips and I'll starve!"
Sweat was already starting to cool on his forehead and his chest heaved mightily. He could feel waves of heat pour off of him.
"So hot!" thought NervousMan.
The hallway inside was dark and cool and quiet. NervousMan started to relax. Just a bit. He was safe. Apparently.
NervousMan ran a shaking hand over his face and breathed deeply.
"Must... breathe... must breathe..." he thought. But I am breathing. I am breathing. He thought to himself.
NervousMan let the book drop to the floor and his shoulders slumped. He took a few steps into his darkened apartment and then looked over to the light switch.
NervousMan took off his shirt. He was very warm. Then he took of his shoes, then his pants. Then walking into the bathroom, he sat down on the closed toilet and and took off his socks.
"I made it... I made it..." NervousMan said to the walls around him.
NervousMan took off his underwear, then got up and walked over to the shower and slid the sliding door back on its tracks so he could get in. The door hit the wall with a THUD.
NervousMan grimaced. He hoped his neighbors didn't complain about him. Maybe someone heard.
NervousMan felt ashamed. Naked and ashamed.
NervousMan got in the shower and turned on the water and forgetting it came out cold, NervousMan jumped. "Oh! I must be careful! I might slip in here!" he thought.
Fear cluched NervousMan's guts like a giant freezing scaly claw.
After a moment, he stepped into the stream cautiously and the water flowed over his naked body and slowly got warmer and warmer until it was fully hot. NervousMan reached over to the knob tentatively and turned the temperature down. The water might scald him!
If it did, he might slip and his leg might break, the bone sticking out of his thigh, he would have to lie helpless in the shower, screaming piteously for help from someone passing by outside.
"Help me! Help me!" he would scream.
They would have to call an ambulance, thought NervousMan, and then they would have to break down the door and the paramedics would see him naked! And for weeks, he would have to walk around with huge blisters all over his body and in a cast. People would laugh at him and call him 'that idiot who slipped in his own shower'.
NervousMan was tired.
Pushing the thoughts of getting scalded by hot water from his mind, NervousMan lathered himself up and washed himself everywhere. His chest, his hair, behind his ears, especially his ears, his face, his stomach... and... down there. All the while being very careful not to slip and fall. NervousMan eyed the handle of the door in case he felt his legs going and he would have to reach out and grab it suddenly.
"This will get me clean. Real clean." thought NervousMan. "I have to go see Mr. Deedle, my Chinese Stepfather, about more money".
NervousMan scrubbed his legs furiously.
After rinsing off NervousMan got out of the shower, stepping onto his lime green bathroom carpet, and dried himself off with his big yellow towel.
Stepping out of the bathroom, he saw himself for a moment in the hallway mirror.
NervousMan walked up to his reflection and looked at his own eyes, examining his pupils. Then, he looked at his own nostrils. Something NervousMan just couldn't do without a mirror.
"I'm naked now. Yes. I'm naked. Yes. I'm naked now". NervousMan said to himself.
NervousMan walked in the living room, passing the picture of his late mother. NervousMan blushed and carefully turned the picture to the wall.
"Good", NervousMan thought, "the blinds are drawn". If they weren't someone might look into NervousMan's window and see him naked and then call the police on him. He would get sued by the person, and then led out under a police blanket completely naked. There would be photographers from the media and he would be on the evening news and called a pervert for all to see!
NervousMan sat on his unmade bed.
"I'm naked now" he said one last time to the dark walls around him.
Looking over to the drawn blinds, NervousMan thought of the poor homeless man somewhere eating his bag of potato chips.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." said NervousMan softly to the blinds.
Then he laid back on his bed, shaking so badly he feared that he might fall off and hurt himself.
"I'm sorry" he said once more, barely above a whisper.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
NervousMan Tries to Decide Which Way to Go
Things seem to be included in his memory. Like days of sunshine and deep green grass and trees, somewhere far off and away.
"Somewhere," NervousMan thought as he walked away from the park. "Sometime," he thought dreamily.
Like maybe a few minutes ago, he thought.
"Where? Where?" someone said next to him and NervousMan glanced at them. They were talking on a cellphone.
NervousMan walked away from the park, secretly wondering if he shouldn't have stayed a bit longer. The Immortal Reality book was tucked under his arm and he felt its presence there against his side, like a companion.
NervousMan munched chips from the bag in his hands, his eyes focused on some distant place a thousand miles away, somewhere up in the distance, where the sidewalk turns into the street. He was vaguely aware of perhaps not looking so great, someone dressed a bit shabbily walking down a city street, munching on a bag of chips, staring off into space.
NervousMan saw that he happened to be walking past the 59 Club restaurant again. He looked through the plate glass window of the place and saw the mean waiter serving a couple of people at the counter. All three were looking at the menu and the mean waiter was explaining something to them.
The mean waiter glanced up briefly, as if sensing NervousMan staring at him. Ever so imperceptibly, the mean waiter's eyebrows raised, and his head tilted very slightly, as if looking down and up the length of NervousMan. The look lasted only a moment and then the mean waiter turned back to the couple he was talking to.
The word 'critical' flashed through NervousMan's mind. And he frowned.
NervousMan felt strange. NervousMan remembered that he had to cash the check he got from them as a prize. Perhaps tomorrow, NervousMan thought. The thought of going into the bank today made NervousMan nervous. Especially today with so much going on.
NervousMan walked on. After a minute, he saw a man who was sitting on the ground. It was the man he had seen before sitting asleep in the sun in front of the cafe. The man who didn't have anywhere else to sleep.
As NervousMan approached, the man looked up and said to him "Sir, this is really embarassing, but do you have any change you could spare? I'm real hungry," said the man.
NervousMan looked at the man's face looking up at him. His face was half covered by a bushy white beard and his eyes seemed old and sad.
"I don't--," NervousMan began. "Uh... here you can have these chips. I've had enough". NervousMan smiled slightly.
The man's face brightened as if the sun above had come out from behind a cloud and illuminated it.
"Ooooh, God bless you sir, God bless you," the man on the ground said as NervousMan handed him the chips.
NervousMan walked on.
Maybe, thought NervousMan, he could do more. Maybe he could help out people like the man who had nowhere to sleep. Or help carry boxes on Saturdays. What did that woman Jenny say? Between 3 and 4pm. Maybe, thought NervousMan. But I don't want to get nervous.
NervousMan wasn't used to dealing with people. NervousMan was used to being alone. Living in the building that his Chinese stepfather owned was his own private space. Other people made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan stopped on the sidewalk to think for a moment. Should he go back home, or should he go to the bank? Or back to the park?
NervousMan started to walk to toward the bank, and then stopped and thought, no, perhaps I should go home and take it easy, enough for one day. He reversed his steps and started walking back the way he had came.
He stopped. And then thought he might look peculiar to other people walking back and forth aimlessly on a city street. Maybe it looked like there was something wrong with NervousMan if he did something like that. NervousMan didn't know.
NervousMan glanced around at the people around him. Some of them glanced back, perhaps wondering what NervousMan was looking at, but most were either talking to other people, or listening to their headphones, or talking to someone they already knew on their cellphones.
Some of the other people laughed, even though NervousMan couldn't see where the laughter came from, and NervousMan winced at the laughter, caught by the notion that it was somehow directed at him.
"I will walk home," thought NervousMan finally. "I will go home. That is best".
And that is what NervousMan did.
"Somewhere," NervousMan thought as he walked away from the park. "Sometime," he thought dreamily.
Like maybe a few minutes ago, he thought.
"Where? Where?" someone said next to him and NervousMan glanced at them. They were talking on a cellphone.
NervousMan walked away from the park, secretly wondering if he shouldn't have stayed a bit longer. The Immortal Reality book was tucked under his arm and he felt its presence there against his side, like a companion.
NervousMan munched chips from the bag in his hands, his eyes focused on some distant place a thousand miles away, somewhere up in the distance, where the sidewalk turns into the street. He was vaguely aware of perhaps not looking so great, someone dressed a bit shabbily walking down a city street, munching on a bag of chips, staring off into space.
NervousMan saw that he happened to be walking past the 59 Club restaurant again. He looked through the plate glass window of the place and saw the mean waiter serving a couple of people at the counter. All three were looking at the menu and the mean waiter was explaining something to them.
The mean waiter glanced up briefly, as if sensing NervousMan staring at him. Ever so imperceptibly, the mean waiter's eyebrows raised, and his head tilted very slightly, as if looking down and up the length of NervousMan. The look lasted only a moment and then the mean waiter turned back to the couple he was talking to.
The word 'critical' flashed through NervousMan's mind. And he frowned.
NervousMan felt strange. NervousMan remembered that he had to cash the check he got from them as a prize. Perhaps tomorrow, NervousMan thought. The thought of going into the bank today made NervousMan nervous. Especially today with so much going on.
NervousMan walked on. After a minute, he saw a man who was sitting on the ground. It was the man he had seen before sitting asleep in the sun in front of the cafe. The man who didn't have anywhere else to sleep.
As NervousMan approached, the man looked up and said to him "Sir, this is really embarassing, but do you have any change you could spare? I'm real hungry," said the man.
NervousMan looked at the man's face looking up at him. His face was half covered by a bushy white beard and his eyes seemed old and sad.
"I don't--," NervousMan began. "Uh... here you can have these chips. I've had enough". NervousMan smiled slightly.
The man's face brightened as if the sun above had come out from behind a cloud and illuminated it.
"Ooooh, God bless you sir, God bless you," the man on the ground said as NervousMan handed him the chips.
NervousMan walked on.
Maybe, thought NervousMan, he could do more. Maybe he could help out people like the man who had nowhere to sleep. Or help carry boxes on Saturdays. What did that woman Jenny say? Between 3 and 4pm. Maybe, thought NervousMan. But I don't want to get nervous.
NervousMan wasn't used to dealing with people. NervousMan was used to being alone. Living in the building that his Chinese stepfather owned was his own private space. Other people made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan stopped on the sidewalk to think for a moment. Should he go back home, or should he go to the bank? Or back to the park?
NervousMan started to walk to toward the bank, and then stopped and thought, no, perhaps I should go home and take it easy, enough for one day. He reversed his steps and started walking back the way he had came.
He stopped. And then thought he might look peculiar to other people walking back and forth aimlessly on a city street. Maybe it looked like there was something wrong with NervousMan if he did something like that. NervousMan didn't know.
NervousMan glanced around at the people around him. Some of them glanced back, perhaps wondering what NervousMan was looking at, but most were either talking to other people, or listening to their headphones, or talking to someone they already knew on their cellphones.
Some of the other people laughed, even though NervousMan couldn't see where the laughter came from, and NervousMan winced at the laughter, caught by the notion that it was somehow directed at him.
"I will walk home," thought NervousMan finally. "I will go home. That is best".
And that is what NervousMan did.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
NervousMan and the Bag of Chips
The men drumming the drum circle in the park came all at once to an ending. A climax of sorts to their playing which concluded with a big group BEAT and then a pause and then laughter from the drummers.
NervousMan opened his eyes and looked around at the lush green trees and the beautiful grass which shined brightly in the clear day's sunshine.
"Ugccchhh!! I hate that beat!" said someone next to NervousMan.
NervousMan felt nervous. He looked over to the seat next to him on the bench. A man had sat down next to him.
"That pounding pounding pounding oh it drives me crazy!"
Why had the man come to the park and sat in front of the music if he did not want to hear it?
"When do they ever play jazz or some classical music? Why not form an ensemble? It seems like all the music nowadays if they ever play it is around a beat. Boom! Boom! Boom!"
NervousMan glanced at the man. His clothes did not seem to fit him and his hands were chapped and red.
"I'm Ned" said the man and offered NervousMan his hand. NervousMan shook it and it felt sweaty and a little cold.
"Nice to meet you," said NervousMan. NervousMan felt nervous. Maybe it wasn't safe to shake the man's hand. But NervousMan wanted to be nice.
NervousMan saw a line of people carrying boxes, over by the concrete steps where the musicians played. The line of people went to a car where there were more people retreiving boxes.
One of the people opened the boxes and started pulling out bright green packages that looked like bags of potato chips. Other boxes looked like they had fruits and vegetables and greens in them.
"Oh good... EATS!" said Ned and got up from the bench and walked as fast as he could over to the boxes. NervousMan noticed that the man had a limp but got around fairly quickly.
NervousMan cautiously got up and stepped slightly closer to the people with the boxes. What was this? What was going on?
A young woman gathered together bags of chips from several boxes, placing them in a larger box on one of the benches. A small group of people waited behind her and then another man appeared and put another box down next to the big box. He opened it up and inside there were carrots that looked like they had just come from the farm.
"Hi" said the woman who stood next to the large box. "I'm Jenny". She offered her hand.
"Hi" said NervousMan and looked down. Then he looked up. Then to the side.
"I was going to ask you if you're homeless but I don't think you are,"
"I have a place," said NervousMan. "I came out today".
NervousMan glanced over at Ned who was going through the boxes and humming a tune to himself. NervousMan felt nervous.
"Well, that's okay," said Jenny and turned back to the box. "Would you like some chips?" She held out a couple green bag of chips to NervousMan and smiled.
"Sure," said NervousMan.
"We're here every Saturday between 3 and 4. Come and join us if you like". Jenny smiled again.
"Okay," NervousMan said. He looked at the chips.
"...or help out if you want," Jenny said and smiled again.
"Okay," said NervousMan again softer and more dreamily. "Help out... help... out" he thought inside.
NervousMan opened his eyes and looked around at the lush green trees and the beautiful grass which shined brightly in the clear day's sunshine.
"Ugccchhh!! I hate that beat!" said someone next to NervousMan.
NervousMan felt nervous. He looked over to the seat next to him on the bench. A man had sat down next to him.
"That pounding pounding pounding oh it drives me crazy!"
Why had the man come to the park and sat in front of the music if he did not want to hear it?
"When do they ever play jazz or some classical music? Why not form an ensemble? It seems like all the music nowadays if they ever play it is around a beat. Boom! Boom! Boom!"
NervousMan glanced at the man. His clothes did not seem to fit him and his hands were chapped and red.
"I'm Ned" said the man and offered NervousMan his hand. NervousMan shook it and it felt sweaty and a little cold.
"Nice to meet you," said NervousMan. NervousMan felt nervous. Maybe it wasn't safe to shake the man's hand. But NervousMan wanted to be nice.
NervousMan saw a line of people carrying boxes, over by the concrete steps where the musicians played. The line of people went to a car where there were more people retreiving boxes.
One of the people opened the boxes and started pulling out bright green packages that looked like bags of potato chips. Other boxes looked like they had fruits and vegetables and greens in them.
"Oh good... EATS!" said Ned and got up from the bench and walked as fast as he could over to the boxes. NervousMan noticed that the man had a limp but got around fairly quickly.
NervousMan cautiously got up and stepped slightly closer to the people with the boxes. What was this? What was going on?
A young woman gathered together bags of chips from several boxes, placing them in a larger box on one of the benches. A small group of people waited behind her and then another man appeared and put another box down next to the big box. He opened it up and inside there were carrots that looked like they had just come from the farm.
"Hi" said the woman who stood next to the large box. "I'm Jenny". She offered her hand.
"Hi" said NervousMan and looked down. Then he looked up. Then to the side.
"I was going to ask you if you're homeless but I don't think you are,"
"I have a place," said NervousMan. "I came out today".
NervousMan glanced over at Ned who was going through the boxes and humming a tune to himself. NervousMan felt nervous.
"Well, that's okay," said Jenny and turned back to the box. "Would you like some chips?" She held out a couple green bag of chips to NervousMan and smiled.
"Sure," said NervousMan.
"We're here every Saturday between 3 and 4. Come and join us if you like". Jenny smiled again.
"Okay," NervousMan said. He looked at the chips.
"...or help out if you want," Jenny said and smiled again.
"Okay," said NervousMan again softer and more dreamily. "Help out... help... out" he thought inside.
Friday, August 24, 2007
NervousMan and The Drum Circle
NervousMan walked along the sidewalk at noontime on his way to the library.
Sometimes on the sidewalks, people were mean and took up the whole sidewalk as you tried to get past.
Well, maybe they weren't mean, thought NervousMan. Maybe they were just unaware of not being polite. They weren't like NervousMan. NervousMan always got out of the way for people.
NervousMan passed a cafe on the corner and saw an overweight man with a big bushy white beard and long white hair sitting in one of the chairs, fast asleep, in the light and heat of the noonday sun.
"Strange to be sleeping in a chair outside a restaurant," thought NervousMan. Maybe the man had no other place to sleep except out in the sun.
Sometime the sun made NervousMan nervous. Too much sun wasn't good. But too little sun wasn't good either. It was a constant challenge, thought NervousMan, to stay in the middle. Like walking along the sidewalk, like he was now.
NervousMan imagined a line of his footprints along a path. But the line of his footprints zig-zagged back and forth back and forth, back and forth, like a wave, as he struggled to stay on the path but to also get out of people's way.
Suddenly, down the middle of the sidewalk came a skateboarder speeding fast right for NervousMan.
NervousMan froze and scowled nervously, not knowing whether to walk left or right to get out of the skateboarder's way. But at the last instant, the skaterboarder pivoted and whizzed past NervousMan, the wheels of the skateboard making a sharp 'ssssshhhh!' sound as they went by.
NervousMan could hear the sound of the wheels rapidly disappearing down the sidewalk behind him. 'Rrrrrrr! (pat) Rrrrrr! (pat) Rrrrrrrrrrr!'.
A car honked nearby with a sharp and sudden bark and NervousMan winced as if someone had pinched him.
NervousMan opened his eyes and sighed. He wondered if he should just go home and call it a day. He was not even where he wanted to go yet, and he was already very nervous.
But NervousMan walked on.
Inside the library, NervousMan breathed in the air-conditioned air. Many people milled passed NervousMan as he walked cautiously through the aisles full of books and newspapers. Some of the people had white wires sticking out of their ears. "Odd for people to have wires coming out of their ears" thought NervousMan. He had seen the wire-people walking by more and more. NervousMan could hear the tinny sounds of music coming out of the people's heads. Some of the music sounded like a tish-tish-tish sound, very rhythmic and metallic.
iPods NervousMan thought they were called. Pod-People.
NervousMan tried to find an empty aisle to walk down.
"Hello!" said a woman happily behind NervousMan. "How are you?!"
NervousMan's eyes turned wide and he put a strained smile on his face as he turned around to greet whoever it was who had greeted him.
The woman was a pretty and tall dark haired lady in a 3 piece suit. She was talking to someone on a hand-held phone.
"No, I'm at the library right now, where are you?" NervousMan could hear the woman say into the phone as he walked quickly away.
In the New Books section, one book caught NervousMan's eye. "Your Immortal Reality" it was called. On the cover was a picture of a huge wave cresting, sort of like the poster of that one movie about the storm that was perfect. That poster had a boat on the wave, but this one didn't.
Looking at the picture, NervousMan remembered a time when his mother and his Chinese stepfather took him to Hawaii. He must have been about 13 or 14 years old. He remembered standing on the edge of the beach. Walls of cold saltwater rushed toward him one every couple of minutes or so.
NervousMan remembered that he, as a boy, would punch the waves as hard as he could as they came in. But the waves would always sweep him off his feet and catch him in some sort of vertical whirpool, like a washing machine, for what seemed like forever.
In the wave's washing machine, NervousMan, didn't know up from down for a few seconds, and he would panic. But somehow, each time, he would find the surface of the water, crawl back to the beach fighting against the pull of the surf, and then start the whole cycle over again.
NervousMan felt the cool smoothness of the book's plastic covering which he held. He looked at the subtitle.
It said "How to Break the Cycle of Birth and Death".
"Hmmm," thought NervousMan. "How strange to think of life as a cycle that you get into over and over." 'Incarnation,' he thought it was called. No, RE-incarnation, that was it. Life cycling over and over like zig zagging down a path.
Maybe that sort of thing made sense, thought NervousMan. After all wasn't the sun in a cycle of sunrise and sunset all the time? The moon too? And weren't the seasons always cycling? The rain going back to the ocean and them forming rain again? Even hurricanes and galaxies and waves seem to curl around and be circular, like the wave.
Maybe life, thought NervousMan, which seemed to be everywhere, operated the same way. Like a circle or a spiral going around and around and around.
How many cycles had NervousMan been through, he wondered? Maybe this was his first. Maybe that's why he felt so nervous and strange all the time, when other people around him seemed to be getting along okay. Maybe he was new here, in this life. Maybe this was just his first time through. Maybe NervousMan was just in a 'spin cycle' here. And being in the spin cycle was what made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan strode out of the shadow of library's lobby, his newly checked out book under his arm, and walked into the sunlight, making his way toward the park. As he approached, he could hear the rhythmic sound of drums and instruments playing somewhere. It was coming from the northside of the park and NervousMan made his way toward the sound.
Under a tree, beneath the shade that shielded them from the afternoon sun, NervousMan saw at least a dozen men playing drums in a circle. Some of the drums looked tall and the men pounded on them in a very rhythmic and impassioned way. Others looked like bongo drums.
NervousMan watched the blur of their hands as they pounded the drums over and over. BOOM-boom-bah-bah-bah-boom-boom-bah-bah-bah bah bah BOOM and then over and over and over again.
Some of the men standing in the back of the men were sharing a cigarette, NervousMan saw. "Strange some people would share a cigarette" thought NervousMan. "What about germs?" But maybe it was their last cigarette and they wanted to make it last.
NervousMan sat on a bench and watched the nice men play. Most of them had black or brown skin, NervousMan saw and many were smiling.
The sound of the beats seemed to almost describe a texture to NervousMan inside his mind, a pattern repeated over and over, and he ran his fingers over the texture lovingly. And it washed over him.
Unconsciously, NervousMan's foot tapped out rhythm in time with the drums' pattern.
NervousMan felt the wallpaper pattern of the music as if it covered the inside of a spiraling shell.
NervousMan's busy mind rested inside the patterned shell and he closed his eyes and drifted off into the spaces between the beats that surrounded him. And after a minute, NervousMan blissfully lost himself.
And for a moment, which lasted who knows how long, NervousMan forgot to be nervous.
Sometimes on the sidewalks, people were mean and took up the whole sidewalk as you tried to get past.
Well, maybe they weren't mean, thought NervousMan. Maybe they were just unaware of not being polite. They weren't like NervousMan. NervousMan always got out of the way for people.
NervousMan passed a cafe on the corner and saw an overweight man with a big bushy white beard and long white hair sitting in one of the chairs, fast asleep, in the light and heat of the noonday sun.
"Strange to be sleeping in a chair outside a restaurant," thought NervousMan. Maybe the man had no other place to sleep except out in the sun.
Sometime the sun made NervousMan nervous. Too much sun wasn't good. But too little sun wasn't good either. It was a constant challenge, thought NervousMan, to stay in the middle. Like walking along the sidewalk, like he was now.
NervousMan imagined a line of his footprints along a path. But the line of his footprints zig-zagged back and forth back and forth, back and forth, like a wave, as he struggled to stay on the path but to also get out of people's way.
Suddenly, down the middle of the sidewalk came a skateboarder speeding fast right for NervousMan.
NervousMan froze and scowled nervously, not knowing whether to walk left or right to get out of the skateboarder's way. But at the last instant, the skaterboarder pivoted and whizzed past NervousMan, the wheels of the skateboard making a sharp 'ssssshhhh!' sound as they went by.
NervousMan could hear the sound of the wheels rapidly disappearing down the sidewalk behind him. 'Rrrrrrr! (pat) Rrrrrr! (pat) Rrrrrrrrrrr!'.
A car honked nearby with a sharp and sudden bark and NervousMan winced as if someone had pinched him.
NervousMan opened his eyes and sighed. He wondered if he should just go home and call it a day. He was not even where he wanted to go yet, and he was already very nervous.
But NervousMan walked on.
Inside the library, NervousMan breathed in the air-conditioned air. Many people milled passed NervousMan as he walked cautiously through the aisles full of books and newspapers. Some of the people had white wires sticking out of their ears. "Odd for people to have wires coming out of their ears" thought NervousMan. He had seen the wire-people walking by more and more. NervousMan could hear the tinny sounds of music coming out of the people's heads. Some of the music sounded like a tish-tish-tish sound, very rhythmic and metallic.
iPods NervousMan thought they were called. Pod-People.
NervousMan tried to find an empty aisle to walk down.
"Hello!" said a woman happily behind NervousMan. "How are you?!"
NervousMan's eyes turned wide and he put a strained smile on his face as he turned around to greet whoever it was who had greeted him.
The woman was a pretty and tall dark haired lady in a 3 piece suit. She was talking to someone on a hand-held phone.
"No, I'm at the library right now, where are you?" NervousMan could hear the woman say into the phone as he walked quickly away.
In the New Books section, one book caught NervousMan's eye. "Your Immortal Reality" it was called. On the cover was a picture of a huge wave cresting, sort of like the poster of that one movie about the storm that was perfect. That poster had a boat on the wave, but this one didn't.
Looking at the picture, NervousMan remembered a time when his mother and his Chinese stepfather took him to Hawaii. He must have been about 13 or 14 years old. He remembered standing on the edge of the beach. Walls of cold saltwater rushed toward him one every couple of minutes or so.
NervousMan remembered that he, as a boy, would punch the waves as hard as he could as they came in. But the waves would always sweep him off his feet and catch him in some sort of vertical whirpool, like a washing machine, for what seemed like forever.
In the wave's washing machine, NervousMan, didn't know up from down for a few seconds, and he would panic. But somehow, each time, he would find the surface of the water, crawl back to the beach fighting against the pull of the surf, and then start the whole cycle over again.
NervousMan felt the cool smoothness of the book's plastic covering which he held. He looked at the subtitle.
It said "How to Break the Cycle of Birth and Death".
"Hmmm," thought NervousMan. "How strange to think of life as a cycle that you get into over and over." 'Incarnation,' he thought it was called. No, RE-incarnation, that was it. Life cycling over and over like zig zagging down a path.
Maybe that sort of thing made sense, thought NervousMan. After all wasn't the sun in a cycle of sunrise and sunset all the time? The moon too? And weren't the seasons always cycling? The rain going back to the ocean and them forming rain again? Even hurricanes and galaxies and waves seem to curl around and be circular, like the wave.
Maybe life, thought NervousMan, which seemed to be everywhere, operated the same way. Like a circle or a spiral going around and around and around.
How many cycles had NervousMan been through, he wondered? Maybe this was his first. Maybe that's why he felt so nervous and strange all the time, when other people around him seemed to be getting along okay. Maybe he was new here, in this life. Maybe this was just his first time through. Maybe NervousMan was just in a 'spin cycle' here. And being in the spin cycle was what made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan strode out of the shadow of library's lobby, his newly checked out book under his arm, and walked into the sunlight, making his way toward the park. As he approached, he could hear the rhythmic sound of drums and instruments playing somewhere. It was coming from the northside of the park and NervousMan made his way toward the sound.
Under a tree, beneath the shade that shielded them from the afternoon sun, NervousMan saw at least a dozen men playing drums in a circle. Some of the drums looked tall and the men pounded on them in a very rhythmic and impassioned way. Others looked like bongo drums.
NervousMan watched the blur of their hands as they pounded the drums over and over. BOOM-boom-bah-bah-bah-boom-boom-bah-bah-bah bah bah BOOM and then over and over and over again.
Some of the men standing in the back of the men were sharing a cigarette, NervousMan saw. "Strange some people would share a cigarette" thought NervousMan. "What about germs?" But maybe it was their last cigarette and they wanted to make it last.
NervousMan sat on a bench and watched the nice men play. Most of them had black or brown skin, NervousMan saw and many were smiling.
The sound of the beats seemed to almost describe a texture to NervousMan inside his mind, a pattern repeated over and over, and he ran his fingers over the texture lovingly. And it washed over him.
Unconsciously, NervousMan's foot tapped out rhythm in time with the drums' pattern.
NervousMan felt the wallpaper pattern of the music as if it covered the inside of a spiraling shell.
NervousMan's busy mind rested inside the patterned shell and he closed his eyes and drifted off into the spaces between the beats that surrounded him. And after a minute, NervousMan blissfully lost himself.
And for a moment, which lasted who knows how long, NervousMan forgot to be nervous.
NervousMan Goes to the Store
NervousMan walked through the aisles of the local supermarket, not quite sure what he was looking for.
In the produce section, NervousMan looked at all the bright colors and held his breath without realizing he was doing so. He could feel the cool air of the refrigeration on his skin.
NervousMan felt light-headed.
They were having a sale on strawberries. Two bushels for three dollars. NervousMan put one in his cart. NervousMan liked strawberries. He also needed to get some salad, and some milk and some bread.
The aisles of the store, NervousMan thought, were very close together. Sometimes he would reverse his direction and go to another aisle if someone were in the aisle that he wanted to go down. NervousMan didn't want to make anyone else nervous with his nervousness. That would make NervousMan even more nervous and NervousMan already was.
Sweat rolled into his NervousMan's eyes and he thought to himself "It seems like they are all looking at me. Logically, I know that they are not. But it feels like they are".
NervousMan was nervous.
"Where are the eggs?" NervousMan thought to himself as he looked around.
Walking on, NervousMan imagined what it would be like if the store were being looted and all these people around him were rushing about and not getting out of anyone's way. Like, if there was some sort of emergency in the world and things in general broke down. Like the bridge had.
Then, NervousMan thought, if that happened, the mean people would come and get all the strawberries and things like that first. They might even beat up NervousMan. How could NervousMan ask the mean people for strawberries after the looting? They would laugh at NervousMan and beat him up again.
The thought of being beat up by the mean people made NervousMan nervous. So NervousMan tried not to think about it. But in order not to think about it, he had to first think about not thinking about it, and that meant thinking about it.
NervousMan sighed.
NervousMan found himself in an aisle staring at the canned beets. NervousMan looked at the nutritional information table on the one of the cans and blinked.
Did NervousMan want canned beets? How much were they compared to the canned corn? Which was a better value? Which was better for you?
So many questions. How could NervousMan figure this all out? Why was it so hard for NervousMan to figure out if he wanted canned beets or not? Other people around him did not seem to have that trouble. They just walked in to the store, got what they wanted and walked out. What was the problem? What was wrong with NervousMan?
NervousMan was nervous.
Glancing to his right, NervousMan watched a woman in a green apron stocking shelves very quickly. "She sure seems to think fast" thought NervousMan.
NervousMan looked back at the canned beets and regarded them.
At the checkout counter, NervousMan nervously put his items onto the conveyer belt. The checkout person was a good looking young man with a very clear skin and a light and short dark beard running along his jaw. The man did not seem nervous at all.
"Hey man. How's it going?" said the man, taking NervousMan's canned beets.
"Fine, thank you" said NervousMan, forcing himself to smile slightly but looking in the direction, but slightly away, from the checkout's man eyes. He seemed to remember reading somewhere that smiling at other people put them at ease, and also looking at them too.
"If my eyes are nervous, and I am smiling, I look weird", thought NervousMan. And he looked down, nervously.
NervousMan stared at the canned beets as the man fed them through the laser scanner.
"I should look at them and smile pleasantly," thought NervousMan. And he wondered if he should look back at the checkout man and say something pleasant. He could say something corny, like talking about the weather. But the thought of looking or being corny made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan slid his card through the reader, his hands shaking ever so slightly.
The checkout man said something to him.
"Eh--Excuse me?" said NervousMan.
"Paper or plastic?" the checkout man asked NervousMan again, smiling pleasantly.
"Oh... Uhm... plastic please" NervousMan said.
NervousMan always said please and thank you.
When NervousMan's groceries were bagged he told the checkout man 'thank you' yet again.
"Sure man, take care," the checkout man said and he smiled at NervousMan again.
It seemed like the checkout man was thinking something about NervousMan but NervousMan did not know what that something was. Maybe it was something pleasant.
Then, without meaning to, as he reached out to take the bags from the checkout man's hand, NervousMan's thumb briefly touched the back of the checkout's man's fingers. The checkout man released the bags into NervousMan's grasp. Then without a word, the man turned to help the next customer.
Later, as NervousMan walked home, he felt the cool air of the rapidly approaching night on his arms and neck. And yet NervousMan sweated and felt hot. NervousMan needed a shower.
"That man at the checkout counter was nice," thought NervousMan. "Much nicer that the mean waiter".
As Nervousman ate his strawberries at home, he thought it was nice that there were nice people in the world. People who were nice, and not mean. People like the checkout man.
And thinking this thought made NervousMan feel a little less nervous.
NervousMan turned his covers down and got into bed.
NervousMan thought: "As the world becomes a meaner place, with more and more mean people in it, then must I too become meaner in order not to fall victim to it? Would that not just make the world meaner if I did that?"
Perhaps, Nervousman thought, the thing is to love, as much as one can, in the face of fear. To hold onto one's heart. Maybe that is the greatest challenge,
And then, thinking these thoughts, NervousMan fell asleep at the end of a busy day
In the produce section, NervousMan looked at all the bright colors and held his breath without realizing he was doing so. He could feel the cool air of the refrigeration on his skin.
NervousMan felt light-headed.
They were having a sale on strawberries. Two bushels for three dollars. NervousMan put one in his cart. NervousMan liked strawberries. He also needed to get some salad, and some milk and some bread.
The aisles of the store, NervousMan thought, were very close together. Sometimes he would reverse his direction and go to another aisle if someone were in the aisle that he wanted to go down. NervousMan didn't want to make anyone else nervous with his nervousness. That would make NervousMan even more nervous and NervousMan already was.
Sweat rolled into his NervousMan's eyes and he thought to himself "It seems like they are all looking at me. Logically, I know that they are not. But it feels like they are".
NervousMan was nervous.
"Where are the eggs?" NervousMan thought to himself as he looked around.
Walking on, NervousMan imagined what it would be like if the store were being looted and all these people around him were rushing about and not getting out of anyone's way. Like, if there was some sort of emergency in the world and things in general broke down. Like the bridge had.
Then, NervousMan thought, if that happened, the mean people would come and get all the strawberries and things like that first. They might even beat up NervousMan. How could NervousMan ask the mean people for strawberries after the looting? They would laugh at NervousMan and beat him up again.
The thought of being beat up by the mean people made NervousMan nervous. So NervousMan tried not to think about it. But in order not to think about it, he had to first think about not thinking about it, and that meant thinking about it.
NervousMan sighed.
NervousMan found himself in an aisle staring at the canned beets. NervousMan looked at the nutritional information table on the one of the cans and blinked.
Did NervousMan want canned beets? How much were they compared to the canned corn? Which was a better value? Which was better for you?
So many questions. How could NervousMan figure this all out? Why was it so hard for NervousMan to figure out if he wanted canned beets or not? Other people around him did not seem to have that trouble. They just walked in to the store, got what they wanted and walked out. What was the problem? What was wrong with NervousMan?
NervousMan was nervous.
Glancing to his right, NervousMan watched a woman in a green apron stocking shelves very quickly. "She sure seems to think fast" thought NervousMan.
NervousMan looked back at the canned beets and regarded them.
At the checkout counter, NervousMan nervously put his items onto the conveyer belt. The checkout person was a good looking young man with a very clear skin and a light and short dark beard running along his jaw. The man did not seem nervous at all.
"Hey man. How's it going?" said the man, taking NervousMan's canned beets.
"Fine, thank you" said NervousMan, forcing himself to smile slightly but looking in the direction, but slightly away, from the checkout's man eyes. He seemed to remember reading somewhere that smiling at other people put them at ease, and also looking at them too.
"If my eyes are nervous, and I am smiling, I look weird", thought NervousMan. And he looked down, nervously.
NervousMan stared at the canned beets as the man fed them through the laser scanner.
"I should look at them and smile pleasantly," thought NervousMan. And he wondered if he should look back at the checkout man and say something pleasant. He could say something corny, like talking about the weather. But the thought of looking or being corny made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan slid his card through the reader, his hands shaking ever so slightly.
The checkout man said something to him.
"Eh--Excuse me?" said NervousMan.
"Paper or plastic?" the checkout man asked NervousMan again, smiling pleasantly.
"Oh... Uhm... plastic please" NervousMan said.
NervousMan always said please and thank you.
When NervousMan's groceries were bagged he told the checkout man 'thank you' yet again.
"Sure man, take care," the checkout man said and he smiled at NervousMan again.
It seemed like the checkout man was thinking something about NervousMan but NervousMan did not know what that something was. Maybe it was something pleasant.
Then, without meaning to, as he reached out to take the bags from the checkout man's hand, NervousMan's thumb briefly touched the back of the checkout's man's fingers. The checkout man released the bags into NervousMan's grasp. Then without a word, the man turned to help the next customer.
Later, as NervousMan walked home, he felt the cool air of the rapidly approaching night on his arms and neck. And yet NervousMan sweated and felt hot. NervousMan needed a shower.
"That man at the checkout counter was nice," thought NervousMan. "Much nicer that the mean waiter".
As Nervousman ate his strawberries at home, he thought it was nice that there were nice people in the world. People who were nice, and not mean. People like the checkout man.
And thinking this thought made NervousMan feel a little less nervous.
NervousMan turned his covers down and got into bed.
NervousMan thought: "As the world becomes a meaner place, with more and more mean people in it, then must I too become meaner in order not to fall victim to it? Would that not just make the world meaner if I did that?"
Perhaps, Nervousman thought, the thing is to love, as much as one can, in the face of fear. To hold onto one's heart. Maybe that is the greatest challenge,
And then, thinking these thoughts, NervousMan fell asleep at the end of a busy day
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
NervousMan Wins a Prize and Thinks about Things
NervousMan stared at the mean waiter's shoes as he walked evenly across across the floor toward him. The waiter seemed to be glowering at him as he stopped a few feet away.
NervousMan gulped.
"Do they think my card is stolen? Maybe I'm the victim of identity theft," he thought.
The thought of NervousMan being someone's victim made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan knew he should have paid cash. Now, probably he was going to jail. What would happen to him in jail?
NervousMan felt nervous.
The waiter motioned for NervousMan to follow him.
"I thought he wanted me to wait in my seat!" thought NervousMan. NervousMan felt fear in his stomach. Maybe the mean waiter was going to beat NervousMan up because he thought his card was stolen!
As they walked, the mean waiter, turned back toward NervousMan and said the word "Congratulations" tightly under his breath. Was the waiter being sarcastic?
NervousMan was nervous.
NervousMan followed the waiter up to the cash register where the well-dressed man in the pinstripe suit was standing. NervousMan felt like everyone was watching him. From off in the corner came a burst of laughter.
NervousMan didn't want to be here, he felt hot and nervous. What was going on?
NervousMan swallowed.
"Hello sir, how are you doing today?" the pinstriped man said with a steady smile.
"I'm fine," said NervousMan, his eyes darting back and forth between his surroundings and the man's eyes. They seemed like friendly eyes, thought NervousMan.
Professional eyes.
"I'm Derek Little," said the man. "I am a public relations representative for the 59 Club chain of restaurants".
"Puh--Public Relations?" asked NervousMan. What was this about?
"Yes sir. We are doing a promotion of our restaurant, and it is my duty to happily inform you that you are our one million and 59th customer!"
Mr. Little shook NervousMan's hand.
"I am?" said NervousMan, eyes widening.
From somewhere off to NervousMan's left, a flash bulb went off and people started to applauded wildly....
NervousMan felt nervous.
Later, NervousMan walked down city streets back to his apartment wearing his new 59 Club t-shirt and thumbing the folded up check in its breast pocket. The pocket had a little highway 59 logo on it, and then a big sign like it on the back of the tshirt.
Derek Little seemed like an okay person, thought NervousMan. But he sure made NervousMan nervous. Especially having the picture of him put up amongst all the other winners up on the wall.
NervousMan looked down at his copy of that picture which they had given him.
NervousMan thought Mr. Little looked a bit creepy. "Long in the tooth" NervousMan thought the phrase was. The man's gray and white combover was reminiscent of some kind of hairstyle... maybe it was Paul Newman's. Did Paul Newman have a combover? NervousMan couldn't remember.
NervousMan could see why they paid Mr. Little to do 'public relations' he had a great big smile. NervousMan thought maybe he had seen him in some commercial once. NervousMan remembered that Mr. Little's breath smelled like onions. But that was okay. Such a thing wouldn't show up on the picture, NervousMan thought.
In the picture Mr. Little was shaking NervousMan's hand. NervousMan looked at the picture while he walked along. He looked at himself, wide-eyed, and trying desperately to smile. However the gravity of his own distress pulled most of his features downward. He looked as though he was going to cry. Now this moment would be on the wall for everyone to look at, and laugh at. Forever.
"But I won", thought NervousMan.
NervousMan looked at the tiny representation of his own face in the instamatic photograph as he walked along.
"Somewhere under there, there is ... I think... maybe a smile" said NervousMan under his breath to no one in particular. "Hmmm."
A car honked sharply and NervousMan jumped.
He had almost walked out in the middle of the street! NervousMan thought about many things but this time he had been very lost in his thoughts!
The thought of being hit by a car made NervousMan very nervous.
NervousMan stepped 2 big steps back onto the curb. Other people nearby looked at NervousMan and scowled.
NervousMan saw a coin-operated newspaper machine. On the front of the paper were stories and pictures of a bridge that had fallen down the day before.
NervousMan wondered how such a thing could happen. Weren't there people out there who were taking care of the bridge? Wasn't that their job to do that? Perhaps, thought NervousMan, those people were nervous too and didn't do a very good job and then the bridge fell down. NervousMan looked at the pictures of cars strewn about in the water like so many kids' toys in a mud puddle.
The pictures made NervousMan nervous.
It was getting late. Almost time for dinner. NervousMan frowned and decided not to cross the street, but rather to go to the store.
"But first", thought NervousMan I will buy a sandwich so I would not 'shop hungry'. Of NervousMan's habits, this was one of the very few.
The lady at the cash register rang up NervousMan's sandwich and NervousMan ate it by the window of the restaurant, off in the corner.
"No one can see me sitting alone back here," thought NervousMan.
NervousMan thought about how the lady at the cash register just now didn't really look at or talk to him when he paid his money to her. Everything and everyone seemed so mechanical thought NervousMan. She even said 'Thank You' to him like a robot, not even bothering to look or smile at NervousMan.
"Maybe she was nervous doing her job too", NervousMan thought. Or maybe she was tired out from being nervous.
NervousMan was nervous too.
Sitting at the window, NervousMan watched the people pass back and forth outside the place. Back and forth, back and forth.
Some of the people looked mean. Others looked tired. Some looked nervous. But none were as nervous as NervousMan.
NervousMan could still taste the mustard of his sandwich as he pushed the contents of his tray through the THANK YOU door and left the sandwich shop, walking out into the dying rays of the sun.
NervousMan gulped.
"Do they think my card is stolen? Maybe I'm the victim of identity theft," he thought.
The thought of NervousMan being someone's victim made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan knew he should have paid cash. Now, probably he was going to jail. What would happen to him in jail?
NervousMan felt nervous.
The waiter motioned for NervousMan to follow him.
"I thought he wanted me to wait in my seat!" thought NervousMan. NervousMan felt fear in his stomach. Maybe the mean waiter was going to beat NervousMan up because he thought his card was stolen!
As they walked, the mean waiter, turned back toward NervousMan and said the word "Congratulations" tightly under his breath. Was the waiter being sarcastic?
NervousMan was nervous.
NervousMan followed the waiter up to the cash register where the well-dressed man in the pinstripe suit was standing. NervousMan felt like everyone was watching him. From off in the corner came a burst of laughter.
NervousMan didn't want to be here, he felt hot and nervous. What was going on?
NervousMan swallowed.
"Hello sir, how are you doing today?" the pinstriped man said with a steady smile.
"I'm fine," said NervousMan, his eyes darting back and forth between his surroundings and the man's eyes. They seemed like friendly eyes, thought NervousMan.
Professional eyes.
"I'm Derek Little," said the man. "I am a public relations representative for the 59 Club chain of restaurants".
"Puh--Public Relations?" asked NervousMan. What was this about?
"Yes sir. We are doing a promotion of our restaurant, and it is my duty to happily inform you that you are our one million and 59th customer!"
Mr. Little shook NervousMan's hand.
"I am?" said NervousMan, eyes widening.
From somewhere off to NervousMan's left, a flash bulb went off and people started to applauded wildly....
NervousMan felt nervous.
Later, NervousMan walked down city streets back to his apartment wearing his new 59 Club t-shirt and thumbing the folded up check in its breast pocket. The pocket had a little highway 59 logo on it, and then a big sign like it on the back of the tshirt.
Derek Little seemed like an okay person, thought NervousMan. But he sure made NervousMan nervous. Especially having the picture of him put up amongst all the other winners up on the wall.
NervousMan looked down at his copy of that picture which they had given him.
NervousMan thought Mr. Little looked a bit creepy. "Long in the tooth" NervousMan thought the phrase was. The man's gray and white combover was reminiscent of some kind of hairstyle... maybe it was Paul Newman's. Did Paul Newman have a combover? NervousMan couldn't remember.
NervousMan could see why they paid Mr. Little to do 'public relations' he had a great big smile. NervousMan thought maybe he had seen him in some commercial once. NervousMan remembered that Mr. Little's breath smelled like onions. But that was okay. Such a thing wouldn't show up on the picture, NervousMan thought.
In the picture Mr. Little was shaking NervousMan's hand. NervousMan looked at the picture while he walked along. He looked at himself, wide-eyed, and trying desperately to smile. However the gravity of his own distress pulled most of his features downward. He looked as though he was going to cry. Now this moment would be on the wall for everyone to look at, and laugh at. Forever.
"But I won", thought NervousMan.
NervousMan looked at the tiny representation of his own face in the instamatic photograph as he walked along.
"Somewhere under there, there is ... I think... maybe a smile" said NervousMan under his breath to no one in particular. "Hmmm."
A car honked sharply and NervousMan jumped.
He had almost walked out in the middle of the street! NervousMan thought about many things but this time he had been very lost in his thoughts!
The thought of being hit by a car made NervousMan very nervous.
NervousMan stepped 2 big steps back onto the curb. Other people nearby looked at NervousMan and scowled.
NervousMan saw a coin-operated newspaper machine. On the front of the paper were stories and pictures of a bridge that had fallen down the day before.
NervousMan wondered how such a thing could happen. Weren't there people out there who were taking care of the bridge? Wasn't that their job to do that? Perhaps, thought NervousMan, those people were nervous too and didn't do a very good job and then the bridge fell down. NervousMan looked at the pictures of cars strewn about in the water like so many kids' toys in a mud puddle.
The pictures made NervousMan nervous.
It was getting late. Almost time for dinner. NervousMan frowned and decided not to cross the street, but rather to go to the store.
"But first", thought NervousMan I will buy a sandwich so I would not 'shop hungry'. Of NervousMan's habits, this was one of the very few.
The lady at the cash register rang up NervousMan's sandwich and NervousMan ate it by the window of the restaurant, off in the corner.
"No one can see me sitting alone back here," thought NervousMan.
NervousMan thought about how the lady at the cash register just now didn't really look at or talk to him when he paid his money to her. Everything and everyone seemed so mechanical thought NervousMan. She even said 'Thank You' to him like a robot, not even bothering to look or smile at NervousMan.
"Maybe she was nervous doing her job too", NervousMan thought. Or maybe she was tired out from being nervous.
NervousMan was nervous too.
Sitting at the window, NervousMan watched the people pass back and forth outside the place. Back and forth, back and forth.
Some of the people looked mean. Others looked tired. Some looked nervous. But none were as nervous as NervousMan.
NervousMan could still taste the mustard of his sandwich as he pushed the contents of his tray through the THANK YOU door and left the sandwich shop, walking out into the dying rays of the sun.
Monday, August 13, 2007
NervousMan and the Mean Waiter (Part 2)
NervousMan came out of his reverie and was startled to look up and see the scowling face of the mean waiter standing over him.
The waiter put down the bill for the sandwich. "Pay here not up there" the waiter said, pointing at the cash register with an imperious finger and frowning. And then he walked away.
NervousMan took out his wallet and fished his debit card out of it, fingers shaking.
Maybe the waiter thought that NervousMan was going to walk out of the restaurant without paying and he wanted to keep an eye on NervousMan. Maybe NervousMan looked suspicious because he was so nervous. NervousMan worried about seeming suspicious all the time.
NervousMan looked at the bill. $9.98. He put the debit card onto the table and waited.
NervousMan thought that he should see his Chinese step-dad to get more money. NervousMan had thought about getting a job. His mother's inheritance had seen him through thus far, but in a few months, he would start to run out of money. He wouldn't be able to afford such luxuries as buying a sandwich at a nice restaurant like this one.
NervousMan looked around the restaurant. It was called The 59 Club. There were all sorts of representations of the number 59 on the wall. He looked up and saw what looked to be a roadsign that was for 'Route 59' that had neon around it the color of hot pink. This was the logo for the place. Instead of the word 'Route' it had the word 'Club'.
After a while the waiter came back and took NervousMan's credit card up to the register. In the booth next to NervousMan many teenagers piled in and talked in a nervous manner amongst themselves.
NervousMan wanted to leave the restaurant at this point. His nerves started to act up. NervousMan's nerves always made him nervous. NervousMan could feel his anti-perspirant start to fail. He thought he would like to get up and go to the bathroom, and get the ranch dressing out of his shirt, but the mean waiter was going to come back with his debit card at any moment.
The teenagers laughed and twittered next to NervousMan. Every few seconds they seemed to bark out sharply with more laughter at jokes that NervousMan couldn't understand. They seemed to be talking in English and yet NervousMan couldn't understand anything they were saying. He thought he could make out someone saying the name 'Derek'.
NervousMan looked across the floor of the restaurant, over to where the mean waiter was standing behind the cash register. He seemed to be talking to the man in the dark pinstripe suit. Were they looking at NervousMan's debit card? NervousMan didn't know.
NervousMan felt nervous.
(to be continued)
The waiter put down the bill for the sandwich. "Pay here not up there" the waiter said, pointing at the cash register with an imperious finger and frowning. And then he walked away.
NervousMan took out his wallet and fished his debit card out of it, fingers shaking.
Maybe the waiter thought that NervousMan was going to walk out of the restaurant without paying and he wanted to keep an eye on NervousMan. Maybe NervousMan looked suspicious because he was so nervous. NervousMan worried about seeming suspicious all the time.
NervousMan looked at the bill. $9.98. He put the debit card onto the table and waited.
NervousMan thought that he should see his Chinese step-dad to get more money. NervousMan had thought about getting a job. His mother's inheritance had seen him through thus far, but in a few months, he would start to run out of money. He wouldn't be able to afford such luxuries as buying a sandwich at a nice restaurant like this one.
NervousMan looked around the restaurant. It was called The 59 Club. There were all sorts of representations of the number 59 on the wall. He looked up and saw what looked to be a roadsign that was for 'Route 59' that had neon around it the color of hot pink. This was the logo for the place. Instead of the word 'Route' it had the word 'Club'.
After a while the waiter came back and took NervousMan's credit card up to the register. In the booth next to NervousMan many teenagers piled in and talked in a nervous manner amongst themselves.
NervousMan wanted to leave the restaurant at this point. His nerves started to act up. NervousMan's nerves always made him nervous. NervousMan could feel his anti-perspirant start to fail. He thought he would like to get up and go to the bathroom, and get the ranch dressing out of his shirt, but the mean waiter was going to come back with his debit card at any moment.
The teenagers laughed and twittered next to NervousMan. Every few seconds they seemed to bark out sharply with more laughter at jokes that NervousMan couldn't understand. They seemed to be talking in English and yet NervousMan couldn't understand anything they were saying. He thought he could make out someone saying the name 'Derek'.
NervousMan looked across the floor of the restaurant, over to where the mean waiter was standing behind the cash register. He seemed to be talking to the man in the dark pinstripe suit. Were they looking at NervousMan's debit card? NervousMan didn't know.
NervousMan felt nervous.
(to be continued)
Saturday, August 11, 2007
NervousMan and the Mean Waiter
NervousMan decided to go somewhere other than the sandwich shop where people made his sandwich in front of him and he ate all alone in the corner.
Instead, he went to the upscale burger joint down the street. It was a little more pricey, but NervousMan wanted to treat himself. Maybe something nice like that would make NervousMan less nervous.
The restaurant was made to look like something out of the 50's. There were many people there. Some singer, maybe it was Chuck Berry, sang on the loudspeaker. The seats cushions were cherry red and the place was very bright and colorful.
Not seeing anyone to seat him, NervousMan sat down at one of the booths.
After a few minutes, a waiter who looked to be in his late forties or early fifties came up and scowled at NervousMan. The waiter had brownish skin and black, slicked back hair. The waiter said something to NervousMan, but NervousMan couldn't really hear the waiter over the music. Perhaps the waiter was asking NervousMan what he wanted to eat.
"Can I get a pastrami sandwich, a side salad, with uhm, ranch dressing, and a large glass of ice water?" asked NervousMan.
The waiter scowled more at NervousMan and took NervousMan's menu. He jotted something on his pad, and then walked away.
Thinking back, NervousMan seemed to think the waiter had rolled his eyes when he took the menu. Had NervousMan done something wrong? Perhaps the waiter didn't like NervousMan.
NervousMan felt nervous.
After a few moments, the waiter came back with NervousMan's salad and a large glass of ice water and sat them down in front of NervousMan. The waiter did not say a word. He seemed to be upset at something. Then, he walked away.
NervousMan looked, for the first time, at how others in the restaurant held their forks. By the side, NervousMan thought, by the side. Not with one's fist, held out way away from one's body, scooping it into one's mouth like a child.
It seemed that NervousMan had seen this lesson once in a movie. Maybe it was the Titanic movie.
The thought of being on the Titanic made NervousMan nervous.
"Nervousness is a constant problem," thought NervousMan. And NervousMan was aware of the problem. Or at least, he tried to be.
NervousMan thought about how he hadn't known how to hold his fork. NervousMan felt that there was a certain logic to dealing with cleanliness issues and things like manners that he just hadn't been taught. Or maybe he had not been paying attention at the time. Or somebody wasn't paying attention. Attention to things like simply how to eat properly. Or something like that.
Why couldn't NervousMan pay attention? What was wrong with NervousMan??
"It is very hard to get a handle on this problem," thought NervousMan as he grasped the fork again and righted himself in his chair and tried to eat his salad. "Just things like my clothes, my hair, my thoughts, he thought. My shoes. My self. All these things are problems", thought NervousMan nervously.
"Hygiene", thought NervousMan. "Hygiene".
NervousMan suddenly felt warm. He took a sip of his ice water. As he did so he saw the waiter behind the counter. Was the waiter smirking at NervousMan? What had happened? Could it be that the waiter did something to NervousMan's water? Or was the waiter thinking of a joke? NervousMan didn't know. And he felt nervous.
NervousMan looked down and noticed that he had spilled some ranch dressing on the front of his shirt.
NervousMan thought more about his hygiene.
"What do I have to do?" thought NervousMan as he reached for a napkin to clean himself. Clean constantly? Spend 90 percent of my time keeping things clean? It exhausts me!
NervousMan felt tired.
As soon as all is clean, thought NervousMan, there is still more cleaning to do. One could spend one's entire life cleaning and still never get things completely clean.
NervousMan thought that he needed a maid. Or maybe a nurse. But NervousMan didn't have much money to hire one.
The waiter came back and gave NervousMan his pastrami sandwich on a white plate. NervousMan looked at the sandwich and regarded the texture of the white bread. The waiter said something to NervousMan that he didn't quite hear and then took his half empty glass of water away.
NervousMan lifted the pastrami sandwich up to take a bite of it. Some of the shredded meat fell out from between the slices of bread and onto the table, and some spilled onto NervousMan's lap.
NervousMan sighed.
Putting the sandwich down and reaching for yet another napkin, NervousMan's noticed that his sleeve had some dressing on it. NervousMan grabbed another napkin.
Perhaps NervousMan should finish his salad first.
The fork slipped from NervousMan's grasp and landed on the sandwich and tumbled end over end onto the floor.
Maybe NervousMan had had enough salad.
The word 'unconscious' appeared suddenly in NervousMan's mind.
NervousMan looked up at the face of the scowling waiter. The waiter sat a full glass of water next to NervousMan and walked away without saying anything.
NervousMan looked down, and frowned.
"The problem is a result of just being raised very badly", thought NervousMan as he grabbed a fourth napkin. "I see very clearly where it comes from" he said under his breath.
But to blame one's parents for not teaching proper manners, or good cleanliness habits, seems like blaming the water that's already flowed under the bridge. Bad parents, yes. Not really bad people. But bad parents. Or, just not very good ones. Or something like that. Maybe it was NervousMan who was bad.
NervousMan didn't know.
Maybe NervousMan had had enough to eat. He sat still for a few moments to collect his thoughts.
NervousMan saw himself as a soul in the before-life and choosing the family he was born into. And it made sense. Considering what sloppy decisions he usually makes. Choosing a weird family and a weird life to live, that was some kind of masochistic, wild, impetuous act. To... to show off, he thought. Like trying to eat the biggest sandwich ever, to impress your friends, and then getting sick on it.
Showing off. That's what it was like, thought NervousMan. Yes, this life is a show-off, thought NervousMan. That's what it is.
NervousMan watched the mean waiter wait on other tables. The waiter smiled pleasantly as he talked to a man in a dark pinstripe suit.
NervousMan imagined the ghostlike faces of the before-souls as they watched him open the door to this life and rush, unthinkingly, inside. They must have snickered at him, like the waiter had.
"Sometimes", NervousMan thought, "there is a fine line between courage and being rash", thought NervousMan.
That was a truth.
But now, there was no way out of it. No way that he could get out of this life.
NervousMan was trapped. And because he was trapped, NervousMan felt nervous.
Instead, he went to the upscale burger joint down the street. It was a little more pricey, but NervousMan wanted to treat himself. Maybe something nice like that would make NervousMan less nervous.
The restaurant was made to look like something out of the 50's. There were many people there. Some singer, maybe it was Chuck Berry, sang on the loudspeaker. The seats cushions were cherry red and the place was very bright and colorful.
Not seeing anyone to seat him, NervousMan sat down at one of the booths.
After a few minutes, a waiter who looked to be in his late forties or early fifties came up and scowled at NervousMan. The waiter had brownish skin and black, slicked back hair. The waiter said something to NervousMan, but NervousMan couldn't really hear the waiter over the music. Perhaps the waiter was asking NervousMan what he wanted to eat.
"Can I get a pastrami sandwich, a side salad, with uhm, ranch dressing, and a large glass of ice water?" asked NervousMan.
The waiter scowled more at NervousMan and took NervousMan's menu. He jotted something on his pad, and then walked away.
Thinking back, NervousMan seemed to think the waiter had rolled his eyes when he took the menu. Had NervousMan done something wrong? Perhaps the waiter didn't like NervousMan.
NervousMan felt nervous.
After a few moments, the waiter came back with NervousMan's salad and a large glass of ice water and sat them down in front of NervousMan. The waiter did not say a word. He seemed to be upset at something. Then, he walked away.
NervousMan looked, for the first time, at how others in the restaurant held their forks. By the side, NervousMan thought, by the side. Not with one's fist, held out way away from one's body, scooping it into one's mouth like a child.
It seemed that NervousMan had seen this lesson once in a movie. Maybe it was the Titanic movie.
The thought of being on the Titanic made NervousMan nervous.
"Nervousness is a constant problem," thought NervousMan. And NervousMan was aware of the problem. Or at least, he tried to be.
NervousMan thought about how he hadn't known how to hold his fork. NervousMan felt that there was a certain logic to dealing with cleanliness issues and things like manners that he just hadn't been taught. Or maybe he had not been paying attention at the time. Or somebody wasn't paying attention. Attention to things like simply how to eat properly. Or something like that.
Why couldn't NervousMan pay attention? What was wrong with NervousMan??
"It is very hard to get a handle on this problem," thought NervousMan as he grasped the fork again and righted himself in his chair and tried to eat his salad. "Just things like my clothes, my hair, my thoughts, he thought. My shoes. My self. All these things are problems", thought NervousMan nervously.
"Hygiene", thought NervousMan. "Hygiene".
NervousMan suddenly felt warm. He took a sip of his ice water. As he did so he saw the waiter behind the counter. Was the waiter smirking at NervousMan? What had happened? Could it be that the waiter did something to NervousMan's water? Or was the waiter thinking of a joke? NervousMan didn't know. And he felt nervous.
NervousMan looked down and noticed that he had spilled some ranch dressing on the front of his shirt.
NervousMan thought more about his hygiene.
"What do I have to do?" thought NervousMan as he reached for a napkin to clean himself. Clean constantly? Spend 90 percent of my time keeping things clean? It exhausts me!
NervousMan felt tired.
As soon as all is clean, thought NervousMan, there is still more cleaning to do. One could spend one's entire life cleaning and still never get things completely clean.
NervousMan thought that he needed a maid. Or maybe a nurse. But NervousMan didn't have much money to hire one.
The waiter came back and gave NervousMan his pastrami sandwich on a white plate. NervousMan looked at the sandwich and regarded the texture of the white bread. The waiter said something to NervousMan that he didn't quite hear and then took his half empty glass of water away.
NervousMan lifted the pastrami sandwich up to take a bite of it. Some of the shredded meat fell out from between the slices of bread and onto the table, and some spilled onto NervousMan's lap.
NervousMan sighed.
Putting the sandwich down and reaching for yet another napkin, NervousMan's noticed that his sleeve had some dressing on it. NervousMan grabbed another napkin.
Perhaps NervousMan should finish his salad first.
The fork slipped from NervousMan's grasp and landed on the sandwich and tumbled end over end onto the floor.
Maybe NervousMan had had enough salad.
The word 'unconscious' appeared suddenly in NervousMan's mind.
NervousMan looked up at the face of the scowling waiter. The waiter sat a full glass of water next to NervousMan and walked away without saying anything.
NervousMan looked down, and frowned.
"The problem is a result of just being raised very badly", thought NervousMan as he grabbed a fourth napkin. "I see very clearly where it comes from" he said under his breath.
But to blame one's parents for not teaching proper manners, or good cleanliness habits, seems like blaming the water that's already flowed under the bridge. Bad parents, yes. Not really bad people. But bad parents. Or, just not very good ones. Or something like that. Maybe it was NervousMan who was bad.
NervousMan didn't know.
Maybe NervousMan had had enough to eat. He sat still for a few moments to collect his thoughts.
NervousMan saw himself as a soul in the before-life and choosing the family he was born into. And it made sense. Considering what sloppy decisions he usually makes. Choosing a weird family and a weird life to live, that was some kind of masochistic, wild, impetuous act. To... to show off, he thought. Like trying to eat the biggest sandwich ever, to impress your friends, and then getting sick on it.
Showing off. That's what it was like, thought NervousMan. Yes, this life is a show-off, thought NervousMan. That's what it is.
NervousMan watched the mean waiter wait on other tables. The waiter smiled pleasantly as he talked to a man in a dark pinstripe suit.
NervousMan imagined the ghostlike faces of the before-souls as they watched him open the door to this life and rush, unthinkingly, inside. They must have snickered at him, like the waiter had.
"Sometimes", NervousMan thought, "there is a fine line between courage and being rash", thought NervousMan.
That was a truth.
But now, there was no way out of it. No way that he could get out of this life.
NervousMan was trapped. And because he was trapped, NervousMan felt nervous.
Friday, August 10, 2007
NervousMan Thinks about Negativity
NervousMan walked along the streets downtown. Thinking.
NervousMan watched his black shoes fall on the gray pavement in front of him over and over and over.
Outside of the Safeway store, a man in a white suit rang a bell next to a bucket which rested on a small table.
"He is collecting money for some sort of charity", thought NervousMan.
The man smiled at NervousMan and rang his bell twice and said something which NervousMan did not hear. NervousMan walked on by, looking down. NervousMan's stomach felt a little queasy all of a sudden. NervousMan frowned.
Why was NervousMan so nervous?
NervousMan wanted to be as balanced and healthy as he could be. He didn't want to get too nervous. "But," NervousMan thought, "I need a certain amount of negativity going on in my head at any given time. Moreso than the average person, perhaps".
NervousMan liked his negativity. Negativity grounded NervousMan to the quote-unquote real world, he realized.
After all, just about everyone NervousMan was around was negative 24/7.
NervousMan looked around at the faces of those around him on the street. So many of them seemed to be frowning at NervousMan.
Here was a gray-haired man with slumped shoulders and a downcast face carrying two sagging plastic bags of groceries. Here, an old Asian woman with a scarf on her head and a dour expression, walking with a cane.
And here... on the corner, a young couple embracing each other. Smiling and laughing.
Why couldn't NervousMan be like the young man in that couple, thought NervousMan. It must be nice to have a girlfriend. Maybe a girlfriend would make NervousMan less nervous. But to have a girlfriend, he would have to talk to girls.
And doing that, made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan didn't like to be nervous.
NervousMan passed another young lady who was jogging. In her hand was a leash for her dog which ran next to her. It looked like there was a red rubber band around the dog's mouth. "Probably to keep it from biting and snapping at people," thought NervousMan.
It seemed like negativity was reality to NervousMan. The only 'positivity' or humor seemed to come from the TV and movies and entertainment things, if anywhere at all.
But most of the time those things were negative too.
Walking along the street, looking at the smears in the sidewalk, NervousMan was suddenly caught by the deep blue of a storefront. He saw that he was standing in front of a Blockbuster Video store.
Having nothing else to do, he went inside.
Along the walls of the store were all sorts of shiny and colorful boxes for DVD's. But so many of the boxes seemed to be about scary things. Negative things. Chainsaws and killers and guns and whatnot.
NervousMan picked up one box which depicted a man holding a spear menacingly out at whoever happened to be looking at the box at the time. NervousMan looked at it. The man's face was a mean sneer. The title's lettering seemed to be in bright, smeared blood.
"How terrible", thought NervousMan. And frowned.
NervousMan watched a clerk putting boxes back on the shelf. The clerk smiled softly to himself, not noticing NervousMan.
How would it be to work at Blockbuster video, NervousMan thought. To be around the scary boxes all day long?
The thought of that made NervousMan nervous.
How could he escape such negative things?
Walking out of the store, NervousMan imagined himself in social situations, like parties, or at a job like at Blockbuster, or out in public. Places where NervousMan so-called 'had' to be positive. He found those situations to be extremely stressful.
Because even if NervousMan could 'pass' for being 'positive', he was afraid he would be afraid of, at any moment, opening his mouth, and saying something negative, and getting busted.
This prospect caused NervousMan to be quite nervous.
NervousMan walked past a bus stop and looked at the lined and dirty faces of the poor people waiting for the bus to arrive. The people frowned at NervousMan.
Walking on, NervousMan thought, "In social situations I will just stay quiet just in case I would say something negative, and just hope that no one would talk to me".
But, thought NervousMan, that wouldn't be very social.
NervousMan sighed. Why was everything so hard? What was wrong with NervousMan?
Lately, NervousMan noticed, he had been going around in black. Black shirt, black shoes, black coat, black hair, black sunglasses. Maybe some days NervousMan had even gone so far to have black socks and black underwear too.
NervousMan had been a little 'goth' lately.
No, he didn't go in for the black fingernails or eyeliner or whatever. NervousMan wasn't a 'joiner'.
A woman with bright red hair and a yellow dress smiled at NervousMan from in front of a Starbuck's. But NervousMan didn't notice.
NervousMan thought "my black clothes are all a reaction to certain people trying to 'positize' me". Yes, 'positize'.
Perhaps NervousMan had made a new word.
People trying to get NervousMan to 'cheer up' freaked NervousMan out.
NervousMan didn't want to freak out, and he never did. But NervousMan thought about freaking out.
NervousMan thought about everything.
NervousMan watched his black shoes fall on the gray pavement in front of him over and over and over.
Outside of the Safeway store, a man in a white suit rang a bell next to a bucket which rested on a small table.
"He is collecting money for some sort of charity", thought NervousMan.
The man smiled at NervousMan and rang his bell twice and said something which NervousMan did not hear. NervousMan walked on by, looking down. NervousMan's stomach felt a little queasy all of a sudden. NervousMan frowned.
Why was NervousMan so nervous?
NervousMan wanted to be as balanced and healthy as he could be. He didn't want to get too nervous. "But," NervousMan thought, "I need a certain amount of negativity going on in my head at any given time. Moreso than the average person, perhaps".
NervousMan liked his negativity. Negativity grounded NervousMan to the quote-unquote real world, he realized.
After all, just about everyone NervousMan was around was negative 24/7.
NervousMan looked around at the faces of those around him on the street. So many of them seemed to be frowning at NervousMan.
Here was a gray-haired man with slumped shoulders and a downcast face carrying two sagging plastic bags of groceries. Here, an old Asian woman with a scarf on her head and a dour expression, walking with a cane.
And here... on the corner, a young couple embracing each other. Smiling and laughing.
Why couldn't NervousMan be like the young man in that couple, thought NervousMan. It must be nice to have a girlfriend. Maybe a girlfriend would make NervousMan less nervous. But to have a girlfriend, he would have to talk to girls.
And doing that, made NervousMan nervous.
NervousMan didn't like to be nervous.
NervousMan passed another young lady who was jogging. In her hand was a leash for her dog which ran next to her. It looked like there was a red rubber band around the dog's mouth. "Probably to keep it from biting and snapping at people," thought NervousMan.
It seemed like negativity was reality to NervousMan. The only 'positivity' or humor seemed to come from the TV and movies and entertainment things, if anywhere at all.
But most of the time those things were negative too.
Walking along the street, looking at the smears in the sidewalk, NervousMan was suddenly caught by the deep blue of a storefront. He saw that he was standing in front of a Blockbuster Video store.
Having nothing else to do, he went inside.
Along the walls of the store were all sorts of shiny and colorful boxes for DVD's. But so many of the boxes seemed to be about scary things. Negative things. Chainsaws and killers and guns and whatnot.
NervousMan picked up one box which depicted a man holding a spear menacingly out at whoever happened to be looking at the box at the time. NervousMan looked at it. The man's face was a mean sneer. The title's lettering seemed to be in bright, smeared blood.
"How terrible", thought NervousMan. And frowned.
NervousMan watched a clerk putting boxes back on the shelf. The clerk smiled softly to himself, not noticing NervousMan.
How would it be to work at Blockbuster video, NervousMan thought. To be around the scary boxes all day long?
The thought of that made NervousMan nervous.
How could he escape such negative things?
Walking out of the store, NervousMan imagined himself in social situations, like parties, or at a job like at Blockbuster, or out in public. Places where NervousMan so-called 'had' to be positive. He found those situations to be extremely stressful.
Because even if NervousMan could 'pass' for being 'positive', he was afraid he would be afraid of, at any moment, opening his mouth, and saying something negative, and getting busted.
This prospect caused NervousMan to be quite nervous.
NervousMan walked past a bus stop and looked at the lined and dirty faces of the poor people waiting for the bus to arrive. The people frowned at NervousMan.
Walking on, NervousMan thought, "In social situations I will just stay quiet just in case I would say something negative, and just hope that no one would talk to me".
But, thought NervousMan, that wouldn't be very social.
NervousMan sighed. Why was everything so hard? What was wrong with NervousMan?
Lately, NervousMan noticed, he had been going around in black. Black shirt, black shoes, black coat, black hair, black sunglasses. Maybe some days NervousMan had even gone so far to have black socks and black underwear too.
NervousMan had been a little 'goth' lately.
No, he didn't go in for the black fingernails or eyeliner or whatever. NervousMan wasn't a 'joiner'.
A woman with bright red hair and a yellow dress smiled at NervousMan from in front of a Starbuck's. But NervousMan didn't notice.
NervousMan thought "my black clothes are all a reaction to certain people trying to 'positize' me". Yes, 'positize'.
Perhaps NervousMan had made a new word.
People trying to get NervousMan to 'cheer up' freaked NervousMan out.
NervousMan didn't want to freak out, and he never did. But NervousMan thought about freaking out.
NervousMan thought about everything.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
NervousMan Buys a Sandwich
NervousMan wanders out, head down.
He starts at the opening of the elevator doors.
Each time, there is the mental image of it being full of people in his head, laughing, and so on.
There is usually someone on the way down that NervousMan has to share the elevator with. He hates it when they laugh or when they talk to each other in a foreign tongue.
"I just want a pastrami sandwich," NervousMan thinks as he shuffles across the underground parking lot in his blue socks and sandals, light blue jacket, dark blue sweats, and blue shirt.
Blue, blue, blue…. always blue.
The sky is overcast, the air nippy. As he opens the door he is very aware of his eyes: dark and serious and slightly mad. He hopes no one looks into them, so he looks down.
NervousMan mutters, "I'm sorry.... I'm sorry" under his breath as he waits at the sandwich shop, to be called.
"It is hard to deal with people without looking at them," he thinks to himself, nervously. And waits.
Fortunately, this time, he has a male making his sandwich; otherwise he worries about the females thinking he is looking at their breasts when he is only trying not to look into their eyes and look down.
NervousMan eats his food methodically, alone, in the corner by the window. This time, they gave him extra napkins without his asking for them. They know him here now.
NervousMan suddenly remembers that he has to breathe.
He sips his Mountain Dew. Like a Russian revolver, he doesn't know if it will make him less 'blue' or make him more nervous.
NervousMan's nervousness and his 'blue'-ness dance a tango in his mind.
NervousMan looks intently at the black Formica of the table as he chews the contents of his sandwich.
Someone laughs on the other side of the restaurant.
Finishing, he scoops up the remnants of his sandwich, sweeping bits of lettuce, and onion onto his tray; he pops a stray piece of pink flesh into his mouth and carries the tray to the THANK YOU door.
NervousMan can still taste the mustard as he slips out the door of the sandwich shop, into the coldness of the outside and makes his way, head down, back to his cave.
He starts at the opening of the elevator doors.
Each time, there is the mental image of it being full of people in his head, laughing, and so on.
There is usually someone on the way down that NervousMan has to share the elevator with. He hates it when they laugh or when they talk to each other in a foreign tongue.
"I just want a pastrami sandwich," NervousMan thinks as he shuffles across the underground parking lot in his blue socks and sandals, light blue jacket, dark blue sweats, and blue shirt.
Blue, blue, blue…. always blue.
The sky is overcast, the air nippy. As he opens the door he is very aware of his eyes: dark and serious and slightly mad. He hopes no one looks into them, so he looks down.
NervousMan mutters, "I'm sorry.... I'm sorry" under his breath as he waits at the sandwich shop, to be called.
"It is hard to deal with people without looking at them," he thinks to himself, nervously. And waits.
Fortunately, this time, he has a male making his sandwich; otherwise he worries about the females thinking he is looking at their breasts when he is only trying not to look into their eyes and look down.
NervousMan eats his food methodically, alone, in the corner by the window. This time, they gave him extra napkins without his asking for them. They know him here now.
NervousMan suddenly remembers that he has to breathe.
He sips his Mountain Dew. Like a Russian revolver, he doesn't know if it will make him less 'blue' or make him more nervous.
NervousMan's nervousness and his 'blue'-ness dance a tango in his mind.
NervousMan looks intently at the black Formica of the table as he chews the contents of his sandwich.
Someone laughs on the other side of the restaurant.
Finishing, he scoops up the remnants of his sandwich, sweeping bits of lettuce, and onion onto his tray; he pops a stray piece of pink flesh into his mouth and carries the tray to the THANK YOU door.
NervousMan can still taste the mustard as he slips out the door of the sandwich shop, into the coldness of the outside and makes his way, head down, back to his cave.
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