the daily dub

best. weekend. ever.

photos to come.

All of the sudden, I started feeling really sensitive tonight.

Maybe it was the comment that I should wear more sunscreen when I go skiing from someone I consider a friend when I was just trying to say “hi.”

Me: “hey, how are you?”
Anon: “good… You should wear more sunscreen when you go skiing. Something with zinc or titanium oxide.”

Uhm, wow. What’s up with that? Thanks for pointing out my faults during casual conversation?!?

Or perhaps me thinking that I overheard someone talking about how my last relationship ended. When I was at the same damn table.

Or maybe all of the above, plus feeling a bit out of place, and being completely sober.

Either way, that feeling tonight came out of left field and I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling out of place with my friends. God knows, I hope this is the last of it.

Hours later, he trudges to his car. God damnit, he thinks, I’m already tired again. And fucking starving. Looks like rain too…

Rather than go home, he drops his bag in the back seat, locks the doors, and turns around. He passes back through his building like a specter, heading for the pub opposite his building. The first drops of rain kiss his face just as he reaches the door.

Once inside, he heads straight for the bar and finds an empty seat amongst the haze. The patrons are all stiff as gargoyles, plastered to their stools, staring through the smoke. Sometimes, one would shift in his seat – if you weren’t watching closely, you’d miss it. Despite the energetic patronage, the local pub made the best fish’n'chips in the world. London had nothing on this place.

“The usual, John,” he said to the barkeep.

to be continued…

It’s noon, and the heat and smells of spring drift in through his open window. Outside, the neighbor’s kids are playing. Their laughter gently rouses him. Rolling over, he thinks back to his childhood: careening down the hill on his bike, climbing trees, and playing capture the flag on the hills behind his house. Those days are gone now. Gone, but not lost.

What interesting dreams, he thinks. He’d seen the girl before, though he couldn’t quite place her. That smile – something in that smile. Yawning, he stretches and places his feet on the rug.

Before he can rub the sleep from his eyes, his phone rings. He drifts to the living room in a haze, finds his phone and absentmindedly glances at the number – it’s work.

Sighing, he picks up. He half-expected this.

“Yea,” he says into the receiver. “Sure thing. Just let me grab some food and I’ll be right over.”

Fucking “on-call.” He’d never heard of a software developer being on-call. He specifically passed up med school to avoid being on call. Life’s not without a sense of irony.

Might as well wear a fucking lab coat.

Twenty minutes pass: he’s showered, dressed, had his eggs and coffee – black, french-pressed with a touch of mint. Grabbing his keys, he pauses at the door, lost in the memory of that smile – a smile that would haunt him all day.

to be continued…

Morning pours through the cracks in the blinds, warming her face as she sleeps. Her face feels the familiar fuzz of her purple couch as she blinks awake. What strange dreams, she thinks to herself. Standing up, she rubs the sleep from her eyes and begins the search for a pen and paper. She wants to write it all down before she forgets. There’s a strange power in dreams, she thinks, as if the universe is giving us a peek of what life could be if we only asked.

Tripping over her shoes from the night before, she stumbles to her bedroom, and finds her journal and a pen in the night stand. Opening to a fresh page, she stares at the lines, and in a flash it all goes blank.

Damnit! I just lost it. It was the most enchanting thing, too…

What she didn’t know is that this dream would return regularly, and he as well.

to be continued…