They Lie

So you're walking into work and it's the usual: try to figure out stuff that can't be figured, try to solve unsolvable problems.

You skipped your meds for a day and had the most vivid dreams. Something about Jeopardy (which you can't watch anymore) and one competitor is this jackass who refuses to look forward at the game screens and so demands Alex Trebek stand in a row beside the contestants. This throws everybody off and he wins the game - also because he's loud and rude and answers every question. Somehow you're on the set as they're taping this episode, but you keep to yourself, avoiding the cameras (though they catch you a few times - you're wearing a baseball cap to hide your eyebrows). Later, you help teenagers move lumber off-stage. Then you're flying around a stockyard, pretty high, trying to slow down enough to land without killing yourself. And your mother is there and she thinks together you can swindle the world. Just fly home.

Or something.

There was an earlier one where you could swear you were crying in your sleep and for a moment you understood your parents' entire relationship, every year of it, though your Dad leaves her so soon because your junk is taking over each room of the house and there's no space for whatever it is he needs space for. He knocks it all over and gets in a crummy old Camaro and drives off in winter, leaving her with you kids. Now your stuff is buried in snowdrifts along the dirt road, everything you used to care about - teddy bears and love letters and awards you won in track and field, charm bracelets too. It's all frozen over, and muddy, and people are walking and driving on it. You want your Dad to come barreling back down this road in that stupid Camaro and have a car crash right in front of you. That would be better than this.

She's sitting in her 70s suede jacket, playing guitar in the corner, telling you that you're good kids and it wasn't your fault.

None of it was your fault.

Today.

You're sick of talking to yourself because you're not such a good listener. The clouds are bunched and bubbled like airborne grey matter (yeah, like somebody's brain - how's that?) but they're only threatening and their bark is way worse than their bite. Ain't no rain coming. Just flirting with you like always, sunny day/grey day. Wishing something would happen. Wishing it would all fall out.

It stays in.