GRACE

She was very attractive, liked to wear makeup, and was always stylishly dressed. She had nice legs and looked good in high heels. She worked the bar late at night, was friendly, and popular with the regulars. She was very social and seemed to have a lot of friends. 

It was fitting that her name was Grace. I think she was originally from Modesto, or Fresno, or somewhere like that. I was told she was a good writer.

She got really sick, went into the hospital, and died. She was only forty-four. I'm not sure what the cause was. 

I didn't know her well. I think I would have liked to. 

THANKSGIVING

Today is Thanksgiving. In the late afternoon, I will go over to Ned's. It was nice that he invited me. I figure I'll stay a few hours, socialize, have a couple drinks, eat, and go home. That's the plan anyway.

I'm feeling a little on the edge. 

My hearing aid batteries wore out yesterday, and I failed to order replacements. At some point this morning I will have to brave Walgreens. I'm not sure if they are even open today. I hope my being deaf at work yesterday wasn't too noticeable, and annoying. 

I got my utility bill this morning. For some unexplained reason, the sewer charge shot up an extra hundred dollars. I've never understood why Portland charges so much for sewage, and why it would suddenly increase so much from one month to the next. I guess it's a wakeup call that I need to continue looking for a cheaper place to live. The property management here clearly doesn't want me getting too comfortable.

On top of that, the bump on my forehead is beginning to darken. I'm really hoping it's just a scab. 

MORNING COFFEE

I like to drink coffee. I do it religiously first thing each day. It's probably not healthy to drink on an empty stomach, but I do it anyway. 

I'm very particular about the coffee I drink. It has to be made just right. I like dark roast. I'm not a big fan of the lighter roasts people drink these days. My preference lately is Peet's pre-ground French Roast. I like it a bit on the strong side, but not too strong. I don't like it muddy, but at the same time, there's nothing worse than a weak cup of coffee. It's a delicate balance. I drink exactly twelve ounces out of the same yellow mug each day. I never drink more. I never drink less. It has to be hot with just a splash of half and half. I never add sugar. 

I like to sit at the table and look out the window when I drink it. It's very meditative, and I like to see what's going on in the world outside. The caffeine slowly creeps into my bloodstream and brings me to life. At a certain point, an inner monologue begins to develop in my head. I start processing things that are going on in my life. Sometimes I get ideas and inspiration. 

Then I head to the bathroom.  

ANOTHER DIRECTION AGAIN

Some managers were better at giving interviews than others. They often had a way of engaging that invited conversation. It was usually through the conversation that I would be able to open up and talk about my knowledge and experiences. This was not the case when interviewing with Ralph. 

Ralph would read a question, allow me to ramble, and never comment or engage me on anything I said. When I finally reached the point where I managed to exhaust my answer, he would stare at me, wide eyed, and move on to the next question. If somebody had told me he was a robot, I would not have found the notion to be that far-fetched. 

A few days after the interview, he would call me and say, "We have decided to go in another direction."

The people he hired kept leaving. Like a masochist, I continued to subject myself to more uncomfortable interviews with him to fill the available positions. I was systematically rejected.  

There was one time I competed for a position with my co-worker Lou. Lou and I worked well together for the most part. At the same time, Lou was a little sloppy, hot headed, unreliable, and at times downright unprofessional. I felt this put me at an advantage over him. Ralph did not see things my way and chose Lou over me. It had become very clear that Ralph had no intention of ever hiring me.

Lou lasted a year. When his position became available, I decided, against my best judgement, to apply once more. I figured I would give Ralph the opportunity to correct his mistake of hiring Lou over me.

Again, I subjected myself to the same awkward interview. This time, I tried to come up with clever and original answers that demonstrated how much I had advanced over the last year.

A few days after the interview, Ralph called and said, "We decided to go in another direction."

Again.

 

ANOTHER DREAM ABOUT FEET

Before my father died of a heart attack, he was having trouble with the circulation in his feet. The night he died, he was sitting on the couch, resting his bare feet up on the coffee table, and watching an old movie. 

After his death, my stepmother went to see a medium who apparently made contact with my father's spirit. The medium told her that my father was wandering around the backyard looking for his shoes.

In my dream last night, I was in a basement bar in Los Angeles. It seemed to be a familiar place in my dream life, but in my waking life, it was not a place I recall ever having been. 

My father was there. In my dreams, he often appears. Usually, he doesn't say much, but in this dream, we were having a conversation. I'm not sure everything we were saying, but whatever it was, seemed to involve our feet. 

At a certain point, I came to this embarrassing realization that my father was not actually there, and that I was sitting there talking to myself. I turned to a stranger that was sitting on the other side of me, and he confirmed that I was, in fact, talking to myself. Suddenly, I felt like I had lost my mind. I was sure that I saw him, and that he was there. I added that I often saw him. I told him that I saw him when I looked in the mirror. The stranger laughed and told me that I was crazy. He told me it was all in my head. 

When I woke up, it was just after 8 a.m. I felt crusty and groggy. I had a headache. I was having trouble with my sinuses. There was a man with a leaf blower going outside my window. I screamed at him to shut the fuck up. I was in a sour mood. 

NEW MOON on MONDAY DREAM

We were heading north on the 101. We were near the ocean just south of Santa Barbara. My mother was driving. My brother Ray was sitting in the passenger seat, resting on the door, and airing his smelly feet out the window. 

I was worried that the door would open, and he would fall out. That did not happen. Instead, he slowly began drifting out the window. When I realized he was going to fall, I shouted for my mother to slow down. For some mysterious reason, she was not able to. Ray slipped from the car and hit the asphalt hard. 

My mother finally managed to stop the car on the narrow shoulder. We got out and ran toward Ray. We both tried calling 911. I was having trouble with my phone. It kept dialing the numbers backwards. My mother was able to get a hold of someone but started complaining when they wanted to charge her $20. I screamed at her to accept the charges. She then wanted me to take the charges. 

Meanwhile, Ray was lying in a ditch on the side of the freeway. He was playing like he was fine but was struggling to stand. 

When I woke up from the dream it was 3:36 a.m. I had a hard time getting back to sleep. I was worried about my brother. 

THE MORNING SCRIBBLE

Welcome to The Morning Scribble. My name is Art Scribbler. I like to drink coffee and scribble words and phrases. My goal with this blog is to form scribbles that are well crafted, entertaining, innovative, somewhat honest, and leave my readers with something to chew on. That's the idea anyway.