Tuesday, December 13, 2016

My sky, my moon.

I got off work at about 10:18, and all day since about 5:30 I'd been itching and scratching to get away from there so I could go walking and listen to Bette Davis Eyes properly, with my headphones.

Ever since I posted that long griping rant about vocal fry I've been thinking about that song, and today at work, at about 5:00, I had the presence of mind to download an mp3 of it from YouTube. Listening to it on my little teensy crappity phone speaker at work just wasn't an option, and I didn't want to put on my headphones because I didn't want to have to be at work when I finally listened to that song that I haven't heard properly for ten years, so I had to wait.

When I'd finally gotten home, my phone battery was at 35%, so I had to power it down and let it charge for half an hour so that I wouldn't have to worry about that when I finally cast off my moorings and released the rigging. Then I was out the door and on my way, and I got to listen to my song properly. Walking east, I had just gotten to the top of that hill where Scripture meets Bryan. The song was just about to end, and I was right smack dab in the middle of a deep feeling of satisfaction, when suddenly and with zero warning my right ankle (the not-injured one) went:


One second I was mid-step and ankle down and about as content as I ever get inside of a single moment, and the next I'd crumpled like a rag doll and was rolling off of the sidewalk and into the street. Like RoboCop, in that scene where he was running wild through the rice paddies and they had to switch him off from the control room. That's exactly what it was like. 

You know, it truly is a fairly remarkable experience when you all of a sudden just go ass-over-teakettle. It's a shocking transition. Imagine it like this - you're some poor redshirt on the Enterprise. You've finally finished your shift and you're relaxing in the sonic shower, when right in the middle of a wide open, contented yawn, suddenly - GENERAL QUARTERS RED ALERT KLAXONS FLASHING RED LIGHTS AND... BOOM CRRUUUMP FWOOM! A KLINGON TORPEDO HAS JUST RIPPED A HOLE IN THE STARBOARD BULKHEAD AND RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF YOUR CONTENTED YAWN AND STRETCH YOU'VE BEEN SUCKED STARK NAKED FROM YOUR SHOWER AND CAST TUMBLING LIMBS AKIMBO INTO THE VACUUM OF OUTER SPACE!

That's what it's like, every time. Just like that.

Right before I came to a rolling stop in the middle of the street, I caught a glimpse, straight down the road, of a pair of headlights coming toward me. Then I was flat on my back and ready to start cussing up a storm, for two reasons -

1. I'd just went ass-over-teakettle,


2. I was possibly just about to get runned over, again.

But I wound up on my back, like I said, and my vision naturally went straight up, and when it did, and before any utterance could escape from my throat, I saw the sky, spread out up there above me, the obscene presence of it, right there in my face, so unexpected, so unlooked for, like a hard slap, like an insult even, in that it was such a surprise to see it. Like a happy birthday surprise. That kind of an insult. The kind that scares you and pisses you off just for a second, until you realize what it is. And the moon was right there, just right there, dead center, and glowing its silly ass off, directly above me. It was like the punchline to that little tumble I'd just taken. The big white round shiny ass of the moon, mooning me as I lay there in the big ass middle of the street, with the headlights coming up.

I sorta kinda noticed the headlights shift over and inch by, and after a second or two they sped away and left me alone there, in the middle of the street, with my sky and my moon.