One inch scope into my life.

Andréa Peters
Creative writing.

A faint yellow hue in colour, the mass is mostly flattened, but rising and bruised looking in a few dirt spotted areas. Damn you inconsiderate litterers, I growl under my breath, as I think about the potential for long-term damages. Seated precariously on the small two person kitchen table, I carefully take my flat off, and stare at the grotesque squatter in silence.

Persistent and clingy, it slowly stretches in long pieces of thick mild cheddar cheese string-like goo, right onto my Kleenex protected finger. Gross. Searching the room for something better to operate with, I settle on a butter knife and a hard spatula, just in case a back up is necessary to kill off this tenacious parasite.

In need of a firmer grip, I move to the floor where I draw my knees in to my chest, and cinch the victim between my thighs. I vigorously tug and scrape until I’m all out of breath, and suddenly guilt-ridden, it dawns on me that I probably would have better control on my breathing if I stopped botching the headstand pose every time I do yoga.

Frustrated, I stuff my shoe in the freezer and turn the radio on. Pretending like I’m really doing the reading that was due Friday, I can’t help but cast sharp, occasional glances at the refrigerator door. Who in their right mind abandons their gum right in the middle of the hallway like that, anyway? To think it must have all started with a ton of sugar being poured into giant silver pots, which produced a sweet aroma as they heated up… I don’t know if it’s the jet lag effect to get on store shelves here in Fredericton that rendered my enemy so bitter, but there’s definitely nothing sweet about it anymore. Frig this. I don’t even chew gum: you’re going down, buddy.

The clock on the oven ticks behind me, and I impatiently fidget, feeling like I’ve been sitting here forever. I finally stand up, and retrieve my shoe from its temporary morgue to inspect the results. Still soft, for Christ’s sake. It’s been in there for like…at least five minutes! How long does it take for a gum to freeze? Ugh. Spitting one’s saliva infused trash on the ground in a public area so ought to be qualified as legally prosecutable behaviour.

“Oh would you just relax,” I hear the relentless little voice in my head taunting. “You’re freshly out of a job-- what better than scraping a gum off your shoe do you have to do with your life, eh?” My legs tremble and I set the shoe down without taking my eyes off of it, as if I were trying to psych it out before our dual resumed. However, the only thoughts penetrating the vault of my brain are pulling the plug on the phone to silence my concerned mother’s incessant calls, and watching reruns of Friends while eating a lot of marshmallows.

Yes. Watching Friends reruns is what I need to do, I think to myself. As I make my way to my room, wafts of a sickly overripe peach-like scent flood my nostrils, and I gasp for air. Good God, what is this thing? A radioactive Juicy Fruit?! Pinching my nose with my non-gum contaminated hand, I decide that I can’t do this any longer. It has to go.

Back on the kitchen floor in a strange contortion, I hold my shoe at eye level. I must have zoned out, because I’m surprised to feel my eyeballs going all crooked in their sockets, as I start to see this monster in double vision. Now that I’m really looking at it, I notice it sort of has the shape of a beaver. It must be a sign from my landlord, or something. I knew I should have picked up that nickel I dropped on the bus… There’s no way I’ll have next month’s rent money in on time, now.

I hear the lock on the door turning, and my mother erupts into the kitchen. Frantic, she inquires in a high pitched voice as to why I haven’t picked up the phone all afternoon. “Busy”, I murmur. She takes a long look at the two days old dishes piled up in the sink, at my tousled hair and food stained shirt, and she extends her hand towards me. “Give me that shoe; you’re doing it all wrong. You need Goo-Gone, for that stuff. Bring me my purse.”

Overheard jewels of the week.

In Gender Studies Class: 1:00pm

Guy: Gahhhh. I’m so bored, this is retarded.

Girl: You probs shouldn’t use the word “retarded” as an adjective…It’s not politically correct, and if prof hears you, she’ll hide under a table over it and you’ll ruin class.

Guy: Not you too…. Courtney’s cutting me off sex until I stop using it completely, because her cousin’s “challenged”, and she doesn’t want a family feud to break out when I go to meet them all for the first time on Turkey Day. It’s really hard to stop, and you know how much I love sex! Arrgghhh…Fuck me…

Girl: No thank you… I’d rather leave that to your boo once you become socially acceptable…

Guy: (death look.)


At Timmies on Prospect: 5:30pm

Kid (maybe 10?): Mom, can I have another donut?

Mother: Have another one, if you want to end up looking like your fat-ass excuse of a Dad. Sure.

Kid (turning to his father): Dad? Will mom love me less is I get fat?

Dad: (silent).


From my room, overhearing my Mom skyping with my twin, 8:30pm

Dave: So Mom, what’s Andréa up to, today?

Ma: “Patching up her slipper comfy jeans”, she told me earlier. They ripped in the thigh area.

Dave: Wooooahh! The twin’s got thunder thighs! HA!

Ma: David Joseph Peters!! Your sister’s thighs aren’t thunderous!

Dave: Yeah whatever! Mom, tell her on my behalf: “Be brave, Sis.” I tore through two pairs of shorts this summer. “It’s part of life, when you’re half black and got more booty than you know what to do with.”

Ma: Um…David. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your support, but her thighs didn’t get big, she just took a fall.

Dave: Soon or later, when she’ll have gotten over her denial, tell her to give me a call if she needs to talk.


At the grocery store: 9:00am

Guy one: Alright. Let’s start with the meats section. We need meat, dude.

Guy two: Wait up, look, there’s a brick of tofu here on sale. That stuff is like, crazy intense protein for super cheap!

Guy one: Yeah. And it’s also as tasteless and rubbery feeling as my prosthetic finger. No thank you, let’s get some steaks.

Guy two: I should have foreseen you pulling the fake finger card on me again…(pauses and erupts with laughter) See what I did, there? Get it? I made a pun with pulling and your finger… Ha…ha..HA!!

Guy one: You’re so lame; you should just go back to living with your mother.


(p.s: I need to confess I actually bought the tofu on sale. It really was a great deal.)


At the Harvest Jazz Festival:

Girl one: Man, she blows!

Girl two: You’ll need to be a bit more specific, here. We’re at a jazz concert, and I don’t know if you’re speaking of blowing horns, cock, or just in the general sense of things.

“Virtuous” Advice for Just About Anyone

(A little bit of silliness to jump start the week-end. If you'd like to add, have at it in the comments section :D)


When in a bad mood, keep still and silent.
If someone is explosive in front of you,
be silent and walk away backwards.
If you feel explosive,
try not to projectile flip out at anyone. And remember punching a wall will hurt.
If anything, you're best off remaining still and silent here too.
Baggy jumpsuits do not suit you, nor do they look cute, “earthy”, or virile.
Ever.
When tired, you get in a lonely, yet antisocial mood:
If you hadn’t noticed, it’s a terrible combination. Rethink this one.
Difficulties are abundant, but often sporadic in occurrence--
Cheer-up while you can.
Listen to the echo of your own voice. Avoid being nasal or strident,
or you’ll annoy yourself too.
Ordinariness can be restful,
so stop trying to be “interesting”, every once in a while.
Get _really_ lost once, and the next time you’ll know your way!
If you only have $2 to spend in a grocery store, buy broccoli.
(Fine. Popeye would disagree here, but trust me, on this one).
Your mother will call you back ten more times throughout the day. Let it ring, and finish breakfast.
When was the last time you changed your shoe insoles or dusted the fan??
Yeah. That’s what I thought.
Have a day,
And try to make it a good one.
:)


A.

Time to do an oil change..

Hi all,

Where to start? First off, it's been way too long a time since I last posted here; and I must confess my summer plan to keep a paper log and to post it all once back from my 10 weeks in camp Argonaut, has became more and more of a black hole of guilt as the long sunny days stretched out and my farmer's tan worsened.

But now I'm back home again, and pleased to report I am gearing up for another school year at STU. Consequently, that means getting back into the motions of sharing the ton of words that are in my head and just ready to surface on here. In the end, I wish to make it up to you's for my long absence.

I'm mass-sending lots of love to anyone reading this, hoping it'll put a smile in your eyes and a sparkle in your heart. Take good care until next time.

A.

Random bits and pieces..

Hi folks,

Between the two jobs, 5 courses, cadets, sports, and the upcoming exams- I've lost the time I used to make to blog...It's been a rough patch. Nonetheless,I've been noting some stuff, so here are a few partial thoughts of mine...


* It is the nothingness of some things that make them what they are. If you mold a cup, you have to make it hollow: it’s the emptiness within that makes it useful. In a house or room, it is the empty spaces- the doors, the windows- that make it bearable and useful. They all use what they are made of to do what they do, but without their nothingness, they would be nothing. If we're quick to recognize the uses of hollowness in material objects, why is it that as a society we're too preoccupied with our own things to notice when this emptiness is foraging its depth-less hollowness in people too?

*Why do we say look, when we really mean- listen? They are not synonyms.

* What you can’t have you pretend you don’t want. What you long for, you scorn the most.

* Nothing is real until is imagined. We are what we imagine ourselves to be. Other people are what we imagine them to be, in accordance with what they want to be seen as...So what's the point of fussing over our physical images, if it's all in the head?

* I require nothing less then perfection of myself, first time.

* Tears are seashells of silence, in the form of a fluid canopy of desperation.

* Waiting is: a state of inactivity in readiness for further use.

* Cunt? Oh no thanks, it keeps me up at night…

* A piece of writing is stored energy. Reading is the transfer of that energy. The translation process to a reader, in a way that simply takes your head off. Maybe every 10th reader connects with the words, and has that same experience you did or intended when you wrote…Language is a part of the wild. Its own organic process. I am willing to take a chance at it.

Take care,

A.

Only a few more hurdles until March break!

Hey all,

Just a quick note to say I hope everything is good and joyful; and that I'll be posting new creative writing and other forms or musings after mid-terms!

Don't be shy to leave comments, ideas, suggestions, kudos and such in the "comments box"!

Take care, folks.

Andréa

Honey, you need a more secure career…

(Rewritten on January 17th 2010)

With my gymnast Barbie in one hand, and my grade two report card held firmly in the other, I run around the house in a sparkly spandex leotard, shouting “I’m ready! I’m ready! Where can I join the circus?” My mother, pressed flat against the living room wall to avoid a collision, promptly halts my bee-like circuit and says

“Andréa Lucie Peters, how many times do I have to tell you not to run inside? And take last year’s Halloween costume off right now, or next time I do the wash it’ll disappear for ever!”

Ouch. Not such a good start to the summer vacations. Immediately I stop in my tracks, and can tell that she awaits some sort of brilliant explanation from me. Judging by her raised eyebrows – it better come soon. I rack my brains for something clever to say, but my head is a whirl wind of useless snippets of ideas. Two minutes pass, and I can’t stand the silence anymore so I blurt out something like
“Mama, Mama! I got all A’s on my report card today so that means that I must really be getting smarter and Miss Carter my gym teacher said nobody does somersaults as well as me in all four of her classes! At recess I can stay hanging upside down from the monkey bars the longest and I go the fastest on the swings so will you drive me to a chief clown right now?!!”

I gasp for air, and from mom’s startled expression, I start to wonder if she noticed I forgot to say please… Another long silence goes by before she takes me by the hand, and says these five little words that are never good news “Andréa, we need to talk.”

Triple poop. That’s a definite No for the circus. Slumping in an armchair, I expect the usual introductory talks about how much of a “safety hazard” it is to leave my cow print rubber boots laying in the entryway, or why I should seriously stop watering her plants with orange juice because despite what I think, it does not help them grow. Instead, my mother cuts to the chase and begins throwing around big words like “life opportunities” and “retiring pension plans” in the conversation.

“There’s something you need to understand. Daddy and I work very hard to provide everything you and your brothers need. This means that even if the money we make isn’t that good, it’s at least enough to feed, clothe, and give you a home. We get an honest pay for an honest day of work, you know? But these circus people, they’re not our kind of people, okay?” I don’t really get it, but I think it best at the time to nod anyway while she goes on

“Honey, you need a more secure career. Wanting to join the circus was okay as long as I thought it was just in your imaginary world, but it’s starting to go too far, now. You really need to let that dream go and focus on doing well at school, so you can have a good job when you grow up. Something that’s more important than swinging off a trapeze, alright?”

Frantically, I try to interrupt this horrific talk and say “You don’t understand, Mama! I’m meant to be in the circus, it’s my destiny!” But she doesn’t look convinced.

“Andréa”, she warns, “I don’t want you to talk about joining the circus anymore. Do I make myself clear?” I nod again.
“How about becoming a doctor? Or a lawyer? Think about it, it wouldn’t even matter there that you’re so accident prone. Isn’t that great?!”

Unsure as to why I’m supposed to feel better by hearing this, I start tearing up. Mom pats me on the head and gives me a tissue, saying in a motherly tone how it’s not the end of the world because I won’t even remember it the day I get married; that it’s just a silly dream job anyway.

I hiccup and protest “But Mama, what I am gonna do with my life now, if I can’t join the circus?” She takes off towards the kitchen and says over her shoulder

“Well, you could certainly begin by putting away your rubber boots, don’t you think?”