Peel-Apart

Simple math is hard

Let me just preface this by saying I’m in college for early childhood education to be a teacher, hoping for kindergarten. I have a LOT of patience and a desire to help people understand things. While I’m in college I’m working at a gas station and have been for almost two years.
Anywho, a gentleman comes in and he wants stamps. We sell them in little packs of two for 1.49 each (no tax cause stamps). He buys two packs. Later, he comes back in and is mad because they are double sided and he can’t figure out how to peel them apart. I show him how and he demands his money back anyways. I get approval from my manager for the refund. Easy enough, right?
Except when I give him his money back he says I did not give him enough. I gave him exactly 2.98. This customer argues that 1.49 times 2 is NOT 2.98. I go into teacher mode, write it out on paper, explain it three different ways, even show him on my calculator on my phone. Eventually he gives up and says okay whatever I still don’t get it but the man argued with me for nearly 25 minutes that 1.49 plus 1.49 is not 2.98, but actually 3 something…. this man was in his mid 40s.

Monologue

From his mouth, my body encumbered by passion supped and slurped of his strained nourishment until I had just about rung him whole. What did it mean to him, to have his fine lips adhere its seal upon the damp redolent slits I splayed? What could it have meant that he fit inside me as if he or I had been cut away long ago from each other’s main organs and made complete upon union?

I cannot say. I never will know. Often, how one loves, though an outward expression prepared for display; often becomes a private irksome reconciliation or war within the soul.

Time is procedural. Love is a must circumstance. Life is a process and I am its slave.

As I bent before him, with my ass softly peeled apart by my eager fingers; did he think he was biting more than what he could chew—Or was it his soul I felt drape as a piano sonata upon my tingling spine; leading me to believe within him, he saw himself being home?

His body laden with arduous strength should have felt heavier, but contrary to expectation, he felt as a scarlet velvet robe upon my sunken back. Perfect. It was perfect.

Together, we were warm waters giggling and gushing—laps of salt water splashing between thighs, a hung sack and dew drop breasts.

I cannot say and never will know of him or his actual candor. Often, one grasps mindlessly at the fragile and the vulnerable without much appreciated awareness. We all believe ourselves to be stronger or weaker than we are, and when we encounter the tab left behind by a disappointment we engender; we clamor as small things in a burrow and wish to fall asleep to the world.

Could he have known even prior to inserting his beautiful thickly veined venom deep within my quavering walls that he was jeopardizing the health of the sanctum I was providing, by already barring me entry into his truth before I even poised questions? When did he fall asleep and why was it I never woke up?

Is it possible, when he thrust madly into me from behind that he gained insight as to how nascent vulnerability builds on passion; deriving forth a rigid monument that begs to be squeezed and tempted by the petals of loves nest—Did he not guess that in order for these fires felt to rage on, we needed more openness, not less?

Did he not want the animal in us to rise with a terrifying growl at the behest of the neck of freedom? Could he not have guessed that I would adore him feral like; religious like; eternally as he desired or did he feel a shock of pain strike his arteries as lightning cracking apart the sky when I said, I cannot do this?

When did it fall apart for him?

I cannot say and I will never know. We all love differently and in degrees of shades; and sometimes the difference in increments is as devastating as the earth rumbling and burying the house of love.

[monologue ends]

anonymous asked:

What is the solution to the Israeli Palestinian conflict?

From the mouth of one wiser than I:

“I GOT VERY UPSET,” said Uriel. “THAMIEL TRICKED ME INTO GETTING ANGRY, AND I FELL FOR IT. I USED THE ENERGY I WAS SUPPOSED TO USE TO SUSTAIN THE UNIVERSE TO MAKE EVERYONE GO AWAY. THEN I FELT VERY BAD AND I USED MORE OF IT TO SOLVE THE PROBLEM WITH ISRAEL SO PEOPLE WOULDN’T HATE ME.”

“Solve the problem with Israel?”

“I PEELED APART SPACE SO THAT TWO ISRAELS EXIST IN THE SAME SPOT. ONE OF THEM CONTAINS ONLY JEWS, THE OTHER CONTAINS ONLY PALESTINIANS. ANY JEWISH PERSON WHO ENTERS THE COUNTRY WILL FIND THEMSELVES IN THE JEWISH ONE. ANY MUSLIM PERSON WHO ENTERS THE COUNTRY WILL FIND THEMSELVES IN THE PALESTINIAN ONE. ANY CHRISTIAN OR ATHEIST OR SO ON WILL FIND THEMSELVES IN A SUPERPOSITION OF BOTH STATES. IT WILL PROBABLY BE VERY CONFUSING.”

Unsong, chapter 36

I like cooking fried fish, like salmon and tilapia, but I hate how it makes my apartment smell for DAYS afterward. I fried salmon steaks on Saturday night. Since then, I’ve steamed orange/grapefruit peels on the stove with cinnamon, lit my pine scented candle, and kept my windows open all day, but my place still smelled fishy when I came home from work today.

I went online and saw a suggestion to put a bowl of white vinegar out on the counter, because that would absorb the smell. I did that, wiped down my counters and stove again with lemon scented wipes, and re-steamed the citrus peels, and the apartment is finally smelling neutral again. I think. I’m really going to have to cut down on the amount of fish I eat, because deodorizing afterwards is a pain.