People in my life in order of importance.

Let's say you had a hierarchical chart for the people in your life and their position is according to their importance. Who would you put where? How would you make your list? Who do put on top?

If the contact list in your cell phone wasn't alphabetical, but was based on this importance list, who would you call first? What would you text?

Close your eyes and make your list. Scratch it down on a piece of paper. Make your line-up, and change it. Move someone up, someone down, someone off. Give yourself a limit. Make people more important than others, cause aren't they? Be an asshole, well, aren't you? Don't you have to be? Sometimes?

So it seems. And even if we don't want it to be true, for many us, far too often we place ourselves of utmost. Those we love, of course, come in a close second. Friends, other family follow. But fuck, doesn't that leave a majority of people that just aren't important to us? Don't they fall off the list, and in our minds off the face of the earth. Is it me or are caring less, and letting our growing populationsuffer.

Comment here and I'll gladly add you, based on importance, to my life's list, which still seem incomplete.

Like yours, my life's a joke; punch line's the same.

when I refuse to do homework

Why do I search for anything at all to do to distract me from what I am supposed to do? I'll wait to the last minute. Make myself uncomfortable, almost on purpose, in order prolong, procrastinate, not do what's due till I'm sure I have no more time to do it. I promote myself to something bigger, better. On my mind lots, little, nothing, one thing. All at once, I'm looking at myself wondering why? how? now and then, it's a sure-fire sign, don't even know what that means, it just came to my mind, and now what, rhymning? This is getting fucking dumb.

I look across the room and see others. Some working, some wondering. Some wandering. I see myself in them. How I'm supposed to be here and nowhere else. I've got nowhere else to go. These fingers with nothing else to type but what comes to mind at this time. So I'll sit. Sloutch. Put pressure on my tailbone until it hurts and I have to get up. Stretch. I'll continue to push to the back of my mind what I'm here to do. But I'll think of you and if you'll even read this, have access, come across and see for a second what little bit it is I've published today.

And for a moment I think about my deadline. Then the dead.He says, "Good." A simple, encouraging word. Providing direction. Instruction to the next step with nods, and affrirming gaze. Pursed lips as the chin rises. Yes. Move one. Good move. Go head.

I saw you...

On the streetcar Wednesday afternoon. You were staring out the window and looked sort of tired. Didn't you sleep well enough, alone in your bed last night. Or are you just tired of it all. With your black computer bag, are you going to school or just pretending? Was it a real job that you came from or do you work for $8.78 and stuggle to make ends meet? I sure was willing to talk to you, just had a hard time grabbing your attention. Do you ever notice others? I don't think it's all that creepy to make eye contact on the street car, you should try it sometime. Maybe even smile. Find some feeling. Look up; talk more. I'm sure you have some sort of observation that I'd find humorous, or hadn't thought of, or was critically important to my day. The man in me: some girl on the streetcar you didn't notice, loves the woman in you: a sad-looking student with disheveled hair, in a well-worn brown sweatshirt, and dark circles under his eyes.


Airplanes aren't the trouble, airports are.

So, before my trip to New Mexico (I'm already back, WTF!?) I was cleaning the garage (R.I.P. Garage Dweller) and came upon a tiny knife -- no bigger than my pinky. Absentmindedly, I picked it up. It was just a piece of junk I found and discarded into the trash halfway house I call my pants' pocket. I forgot about it until I was standing in the security line at PDX. When I remembered it was too late. I was past the point of no return. And it wasn't like I could pull it out of my pocket and announce, "HEY! OOPS, I FORGOT, I'VE GOT AN EFFING KNIFE HERE!" So, instead, I slipped it into my laptop bag, thinking, 'They'll either see it or they won't.' If they do I've got some s'plaining to do, if they don't I've got a story to report. Well of course they find it -- Homeland Security at its finest. I must have been put on some sort of watch, though, because the next thing I know I'm being asked to check one of my carry-ons. "Uhh, OK," I said, shifting things from one bag to the other.

By the time I reached ABQ, well, it was 11 p.m. and I was tired as shit. Down by baggage claim I waited formy now two bags. They were the first to come out, both my bags were. First out the shoot. And together. Red Backpack came out alright. Zipped and marked, easy to spot. Green Tent Bag, my trusty Green Tent Bag wasn't quiet right, though. It's zipper was split, and I didn't remember checking a split-zippered bag. Nothing looked missing, however, and I was too tired to look for someone to complain to. I flung the bag of dirty clothes into my mom's car and that was the end of it.

I'm sure I'm being monitored because when back at PDX I sent my ride a text message. Now, it might not have been the best choice of words (I think that now that it's too late), but I was sure they were accurate. When a plane lands you can't immediately turn on your phone. You have to wait until the plane taxis. I did that. And that what I texted just happened: JUST TAXIED.

My ride must have been confused (stoned) when he read this because he fired something back. A, REALLY? Or, a, WHAT? Or, I COULD HAVE SWORN TWO HOURS AGO WHEN YOU CALLED I WAS PICKING YOU UP? But I couldn't get those messages, see? And didn't until much later. My phone was on, the signal strong, but messages weren't coming in. So I didn't bother to call to explain that JUST TAXIED, was a simple sentence with the implied subject of THE PLANE (just taxied), and not animplied subject of, I WENT AHEAD AND (just taxied). So much of implications.

That's the problem with text messaging: Your messages can get mis-interpreted. There may be touch tones, but no sarasstic tones. You can miss your ride (though he did come back the forty or so blocks), miss the point, force a state of confussion, delay. So I'm powering down more often and focusing on what's in front of me -- a quarter of graduate classes, where they suggest that I not bring a knife.