24th November

So they say there's a chance we may get skin cancer from the X-Ray scanners in airports. Yet another hazard. Another reason to invest in more private jets.

If it wasn't for kids, snow, bells and silly jingles, I'd be under the impression it was still mid June, maybe even April. Seeing as I don't participate in any of the holidays, including my own birthday, which I find absurd celebrating the day you were born, my schedule is never definite and always prone to change at any given time or day. It's more like bad traffic at rush hour. You drive, stop, switch lanes, honk, drive, curse, flip someone off, spit, crash, drive, smoke, repeat. But not this week. The contracts seemed to come daily, and not in singles, but doubles, and recently, a whole damned group. Do I like to promote, publicize and portray my company? Yes I do, but not at will or my own doing. Through me, I work small wonders in making my company rank number 1 in the world. Or close to that. What do I really care? Maybe I do, but it rarely occurs to me given the circumstances. Forget not the fact that I do work two jobs at once, men can multi-task more efficiently than women, a point I've proven over and over again to many a co-worker.

Christmas decorations gave me quite a shock as I left my house this morning. They must've evaded my elusive attention for a week or two. More perhaps. I made a joke to the hot-dog stand owner, as I grabbed a chili dog before sprinting off like a coyote in pursuit of its prey; in my situation, being the bus, about how people in the city were a little too eager to celebrate something they didn't understand. Its not like the city's made up of Christians entirely. Every race and religion celebrates Christmas, a world wide known fact that has puzzled me for years. Hot-dog owner; his name is Ronny, looked at me funny, smiled and said : "It's the happiest time of the year!". For some, maybe, but the image of a monk singing Silent Night is comical and disturbing at best. No offense.

It worried me how the company crunched down on me for the details of every contract I closed, how smooth it went or if there were any problems I'd faced during the closure. Within a week, I'd received more contracts than I'd normally get in a month. No complaints on my part, but I would like to spend the rest of the year taking a normal bath in the hot sun, slugging down tons of margaritas, instead of showers at night, standing, washing off any remnants of the days work and mending the mess it came with. It exhausted parts of me that was vaguely intriguing while it lasted but something I'd rather not have as a norm.

Mandy knocked on the door as I was going through my paperwork, and I knew it wasn't because the washing machines were jammed again.....

14th November

When you're asleep, any kind of sound is like oncoming traffic. Its afar off, then it gets closer as your brain slowly starts to wake, all the tiny connections running up and down throughout the senses, rapidly distinguishing the sounds as they finally blast in your ear only to realize it's not really that loud at all.

The distant church bell clanged on, every now and then there would be a flutter of wings as the birds grew restless with each toll. I imagined the whole world as a pancake; buildings, people, dogs, money, and it resulted in a sudden craving for an immensely monstrous breakfast. I felt an unnerving urge to dance to something as I got up to make coffee, which is a daily plague, but there never is much of a chance to entertain it. Except on Sundays. I start a holy day with a small sin and confess about how stressful my job can get at times when the contracts don't come in. And to a fat priest that dozes off every 3 mins during a confession. Slimy bastard.

I told my notebook to cease its sleeper mode, it retorted with a start and apologized with its sweet smooth voice. We talked about the news and discussed the issue of a probable hurricane landing sometime in the night. Hurricanes are fun, in their own way, its peaceful to hear nature roar at you with most of its might. If it ever did wham you with all of it, it would be rather boring.

As I glanced through my contacts, something caught my eye. Thing is, these things do every now and then, it tickles me senseless and leaves me scrambling round the apartment in nothing but briefs gasping for precious oxygen. I grabbed the mug of blissful coffee as I read the updates. A smile crept from somewhere on my face and spread like wildfire. Soon enough I looked like a madmen on the loose and as the page on the monitor turned, I exploded.

Coffee spurted everywhere as I laughed my inner child into another dimension, sending my body into small convulsions. I miraculously stopped for a second, but the page again caught my eye and I was off again in another fit of laughter. No, it wasn't anything funny. Just the situation and the confidence of being in that one. People are silly, most if not all; excluding me, even more so.

Sundays were mostly the same, but they were always different in rhythm and depth. I made my way down to the chapel after cleaning up everything leaving Lucy alone and complaining. She didn't mind me, after all she wasn't real.

I parked the car and we looked up at the church. She didn't want to go in and I said it was fine, me neither. But someone had to do it, and she didn't have the means. Nor was she as quiet as me. Grunting as I turned the ignition off, I grabbed my black bag and wore my Sunday smile, smirking within as Margaret Rennard, the lady who made little Sunday cupcakes, gave me an approving nod.

13th November

When the first car was built, it had a speed of 15 km/h. People fainted, shocked. Now in the year 2010, there are cars capable of pushing 400 m/h and some other weird cars that do even more. Not to mention jets, space crafts and what not. Pretty soon, humans will be travelling at light or warp speed, then teleportation, molecular transfer and it goes on and on till we actually hit oblivion.

I'm still loyal to the Chevy. A car that I used to dream 'bout when I was little, it came as a surprise that one day i'd actually own it. And yes, she's a sly one.

Ghastly weather throughout the month, so far. Winds hot, cold. Rains cold, hot. Criminals are the headlines this morning. Tight, empty brained children running about performing acts of envious mystery, spewing out curses they didn't understand. And I don't understand why they use stone to pave the pathways. Don't they know it hurts my feet over time?

The grey resilient ink stained my feminine fingers as I lazily thumbed through the paper sitting extremely comfortably on a thick cushioned rattan chair situated in an extraordinarily perfected spot located at the back of Warm Sarah Cherri's cafe. Sarah called it the Moody chair, and it was always reserved for me. Sarah was a mute. If stories had it right, her father cut it out of her so she couldn't scream proper as he raped her day after day her entire childhood. I fascinated it was a lie, since she was too normal for a mute and she smiled plenty. People who get raped don't smile much. So I assume. Although sometimes the cafe name gave me the chills, sounded sick after it kept bouncing back and forth, the voices making it ring ever more gross.

So, she was a mute, friendly, and she made that coffee always right. A touch of cinnamon and lime. I pitied her a bit every now and then, sent her flowers if I could on the way back from work, gave her some of the family recipes I still kept over the years and sometimes, when I felt the warm slosh of emotion in my tummy, i'd make her flush crimson by saying out loud how gorgeous she was as I said farewell.

Streets are soaked, people clatter about not looking up from under their umbrellas, occasionally exchanging flesh and cloth particles with another similarly clumsy and rushed person. I flipped up the hood, stood looking up at the rain for a good 5 minutes.

I loved them both but I wasn't sure if she did.