Two Ceiling Fans

I have a lot on my plate emotionally right now, so today I took some time to just sit in the quiet without any noise– lounging in the quiet looking up at the ceiling fan.

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My eyes have never learned to track together. My brain chooses one eye and the other drifts. I am right-eye dominant, but there are some times when my field of vision has shifted and I have caused vehicular damage. I have brought shame on my people, because I am the stereotypical woman driver you love to hate. I have been the “oops, my bad” of my generation. I’m not proud of it, I drive like a grandma to avoid it most of the time, having gotten older and somewhat wiser. I relax to the music (She’s So Mean, Matchbox Twenty) and just stop thinking about how many people are passing me on the right. It is wonderful that I have an amazing inner landscape, because I am so lost in conversation with myself that I forget to have road rage. It isn’t worth the energy. I have better things to do. I would rather talk to Sarah, Rebecca, David, Daria, Gregory, Kermit, Keela, and someone you haven’t met, Det. Sage Mallory-Weiss. Sage is a bastard that verbally wrestles me to the mat until my arm is behind my back, but at least we go out for drinks afterward… and if you get that joke, go to the head of the class (Let me Google That For You).

Sage because he thinks he’s God. Mallory as a salute to Carol O’Connell, because Sage is much like Kathy Mallory. He leads charges into hell, but sometimes metaphorically forgets to bring the right shoes and falls ass over teakettle without even trying.

Sage is Rebecca’s across-the-street neighbor. The kind you invite over for tequila and Cards Against Humanity because you’ve run out of beer. He’s kind of a filler character, comic relief more than anything else, but in his gruff, funny-as-crap way, owns a large part of Rebecca’s heart. She’s grown up her whole life with people like that- Texas good ol’ boys who’d die before they’d let you know their pain. She’s been bred to act the same way- genteel and hilarious, vetted as “one of the boys,” comfortable in Doc Martens AND high heels. They’re connected at the brain, because even though Daria is clearly Rebecca’s hetero lifemate, Sage is the grandfatherly smartass that will flip you shit just ’cause.

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As I sat there burning Sage into my memory, my eyes started to drift toward each other so that I could see my nose in 3D, and in the backgroud, two ceiling fans turning like cogs in a watch. I thought about my non-fiction book, planned as the last one I want to write because I believe it is my magnum opus. Staring at Myself is the title of my autobiography, because I want to go on the journey toward stereo. With the work of Susan Barry, MD I have a shot at being well… being able to see through the spaces as well as pray on them.

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