At Least They're Committed

Oh, why not. I’d originally sneaked on here to document my observations of Tripping Raul while TR was raging because some person let her down. (Yawn) She caught me and pulled it off-line. Yet, since I have this date secured and titled, might as well play on this a bit.

I’ll only say it once this time: She doesn’t know I’m here. I can see her and she can’t see me. She’s sitting at her laptop ‘liking’ people’s Facebook stuff to try to make them feel good about themselves. She stops when she gets bored, looks around and yawns and wrings her hands together. She’s thinking that they feel a lot younger than they look . . . just like the rest of her. She pauses, picks at the price tag on her finger nail clippers and then returns her eyes to the laptop. She’s great at multitasking mainly because she’s so easily bored. She has to stop and jump into doing something else every few minutes just to stay fresh and rekindle her interest.

Tripping Raul is killing time waiting for D so they can update his resumé. She picks up the casing nail off the kitchen table and runs it from her palm down to her wrist, pressing only enough to leave a momentary indentation. She seldom takes her red, purple and black markers and draws crucifixion marks on her hands in silent protest anymore. That was more from her Rocky days. Still, sometimes I catch her staring at her wrists, as if an any second all her stress and doubt and frustration is going to bubble up beneath her flesh and erupt in a macabre mass of martyrdom.

She’s hungry. She can’t think. Maybe she’ll start dinner while waiting for D. She snaps the laptop shut, looks at her wrists, pauses and opens the door to the freezer. She wonders if he’ll bring wine.