marxism

Man. Where to even begin with this day?

A few highlights:

Let's begin with a table outside of the bakery around 2:30 p.m. when a girl asked me to apply to join her sorority.

"We're looking," she said, glancing at my ratty gray hoodie (hood up), bandanna, lack of makeup, and the charcoal dust stained into my fingers, "for diverse people."

I could not get out of bed this morning. I literally groaned as if in pain because it was painful. Waking up was going to kill me. I missed the bus I was supposed to be on and settled for the one I wasn't supposed to be on, the one that made me 10 minutes late to work, the one full of people who smelled like sleep -- the mushy, greasy-haired, grimy sheets, fug breath sleep smell. We practiced avoiding each others' eyes.

Skip to when I took the bus back from work around 4 p.m., stopping at the library and the grocery store. Pause to bewail how my current hippie grocery store of choice no longer carries Swedish Fish which I am completely addicted to. Picture me walking through the Eugene ghetto (such as it is) in my anonymous clothes, stooped a bit because I am tired, carrying a paper sack of groceries (quinoa! cherry tomatoes! eggs!). I, intrepid down the streets, avoiding the crazy people--my secret power is the ability to spot crazy from 20 feet. Using this mad skill, madness was avoided from 13th and O to 8th and Some-Cross-Street. And then I hit 5th and my powers were deflected, like Superman faced with lead-lanced buildings.

Hidden behind a facade of a straight-ahead gaze and walk that went heel toe, crazy came from the left side of the sidewalk, cradling a black dog.

"Halllllay-a," he said to me.

I thought he wanted a cigarette or directions, so I stopped.

"Huh?"

"Halllllayyyyy-aaa."

I did what you're supposed to do: smile, nod, walk by, assume it was meth.

He looked at me, brow furrowed and repeated adamantly: "Halllllaaaaaaayyyyyy-aaa."

As I kept walking my feet away, it all became clear. He was saying, "Hail Satan!" and was truly perplexed as to why I was cheerfully smiling and nodding and walking away instead of looking horrified and strewing garlic around in a frenzy.

He gave up on me.

"Satan keeps you beautiful!" he yelled.

Glanced over my shoulder back at him -- I imagine my face looked ridiculous at this point -- and hopped over a curb, took myself off through Death Park past the couple making out and the sleeping bags in the bushes.

I remembered again the main reason I am not a Communist or a Marxist or anyone else who thought people were a good plan all on their lonesome.

Now, today's happy reality: Cherry tomatoes, $2.02.

Goodnight.