Eleven-sixteen

I walk to work. It’s only about 15 minutes, and yes, good exercise! fresh air! watch birds fly around and stuff! But mostly when I walk, I worry. I can’t help it! I’m not much of a worrier, but when I’m walking to or from work, something about the crispy air and the silence and my heart beating a little faster (I walk super fast for no reason) makes me want to bring my problems to the surface and…well, just think about them. That’s all. Most are problems I can’t actually solve, but I still feel productive thinking about them since I’m walking, moving, going somewhere.

This is the Pacific Northwest, so a lot of times there’s an angry little grey cloud above my walk to and from work, making sure it shares its rain with me. Rude! So I put my hood up and my head down and stare at the scenery of ground as I worry. I’ll head down the stairs of my work to go home for lunch, making sure I don’t get hit by a texting golf cart driver. Dan-ger-ous. I pass the shriveled worms that have died not so far from where they were squiggling around this morning (reminder to self: life is short. Also, don’t sun yourself on a sidewalk). The grass is wet and squeaky, and walking on the piles of crumpled leaf bits are more like sloshing on oatmeal. I walk through the stadium’s ocean of gravelly tailgater heaven full of moss, leaves, puddles, paint lines, bottle caps, and colorful glass shards that will never amount to anything like pretty sea glass because they’re hanging out in a jagged place like this.

I cross the street and I’m in my neighborhood of college kids, bikes, and crumpled plastic jello shot cups. I pass a couple of leaf tornadoes and because of this crazy November wind I also get pelted by acorns. I was pretty much reliving the Storm Chasers episode I had watched last night, where they finally chase down a good tornado and get pelted with huge hail stones (I may or may not have just described every Storm Chasers episode). Also, do you know how randomly funny it is to be walking along, minding your own business (read: worrying), and all of a sudden you get an acorn to your face?

And then I’m not worrying anymore. For each little atom I just sloughed off the soles of my cute work heels, a tiny unit of worry has left me. (I wanted to say a tiny bit of worry lifted off my soul, but then I realized that matched with shoe sole, and that is just TOO ridiculous.)

And then I’m home, Rory the pom bouncing and spinning around, telling me helloomgimissedyousomuch in her own style and giving me a look of “you are my whole world.” (She doesn’t get out much.)

Eleven-eleven

So we’re at a cute little cafe, Erik and I, ordering our favorite lemon and raspberry crepes—giant circles of sweet, crispy wonders…how can a circle taste so amazing?—and next to us is a sleepy, salt-and-pepper-haired guy having nose issues. It sounds like he tried the brain flossing trick for the first time and got the spaghetti noodle stuck halfway in his nose, and is now attempting to snort it back through. He also really wants to make sure he reminds everyone about this nose problem every few seconds, because that’s probably the friendly way of saying hello in his alternate universe.

This goes on the entire time we’re ordering, and I’m relieved to get our stuff and find a table. Where does Brain Flosser choose to sit, amongst all the empty tables? Right next to us and our feast, of course! He plays it low-key for a few minutes, and I text Erik under the table, “If he snorts while we eat, I will cut him.” I like to pretend to be tough and violent because hey, I have to compensate for my small size somehow.

As we start eating, right on cue, Noodle Nose starts snorting. About every 5 seconds, that’s how frequent it was. Believe it. And then Erik and I are snorting too, from stifling our laughter, and it turns into a whole snorting fiesta.

So, if you have nose problems, don’t go to cafes and snort it all out.

Right afterward, we headed to the grocery store next door for dinner fixins later. In the canned bean aisle, we met another person seemingly from an alternate universe. Looking back, I probably should’ve gotten an autograph or something, I mean, a whole ‘nother universe!

So we’re looking at some cans of beans, because ranch style or baked is a pretty serious decision for Erik, and this mod-clothed girl with thick black glasses decides she wants some beans too. She isn’t paying attention and bumps her cart into me a little bit and all I could think of to say was “Oh” and move down the aisle, because I don’t have a ready response for people who hit me with shopping carts. Erik’s still contemplating beans, but notices she wants to get past him in the narrow aisle so he moves forward, pressed up to the cans, to let her by. But of course she’s from a different universe so she stays right behind him to ponder her bean purchase, because that’s how things work, right?

She stood there trapping Erik for a good 3 or 4 minutes, and then DIDN’T BUY ANY CANNED BEANS.

Have you ever met a confused soul from an alternate universe?