Leaky Brainpan

I don’t know why, but I’ve had this one in my head for a few weeks. It is unimportant. I get into the elevator with this lady, in the morning. It’s the service elevator, the one they’ve put some sort of quilted but rough fabric on the walls of, to protect the walls from getting scratched up, I guess, though I bet the walls are dinged to hell. And I don’t know why, but she says something like, oh man, this elevator, ugh, you ever see that movie about the people in the elevator and they get stuck? I shake my head. She goes on. And one of the people in the elevator is the devil. And I don’t know if she realizes I might be thinking she’s calling me a devil. It’s a black lady. Am I a white devil? And then she starts to laugh because she realizes I’m looking at her funny and I might think she’s saying she’s the devil and the door dings and she backs out with a have a great day, her cackles caroming off the empty early morning hallway of her floor.

It was kinda funny to me, but I was also like, whatever.

Because I think things and most people think they are asshole or crazy things. But I want to get them out, even if they’re not necessarily being said into the air. Even though sometimes they are wrong. Sometimes, I just want to write stuff down because it amuses me or I want to remember this moment, or I like that I can write halfway decent and I want to flex those muscles because I don’t exercise. Also, I don’t want to lose that ability to write well, quickly, and with confidence. And I’ve definitely lost some of that juice. So, here I am. Making noise in a place no one will listen, but where I can look back.

I acknowledge a lot of this will be dumb, but at least it will be down.