Kiki, you gem, this one’s for you.
Chickens and Challenges
I can’t open the door fast enough even if I tried. Slam-dunking the keys into the bowl in the hall, I follow it with a lingering “wooo” and make my way to the living room to grab a wool throw blanket. I drape the blanket over my shoulders and haste my steps en route to the kitchen.
I don’t care what they say, nothing beats a steaming bowl of ramen. Nothing! Whoever invented ramen takeout leftovers that taste better a day later is a true genius and I’m a massive fan.
I’m famished like only a person who works her body as much as I do can be. Side note, I’m not a sex worker (not that there is anything wrong with that, your body do with it whatever you want). I’m just saying, let a girl inhale some food first. I type in my laptop password while happily slurping a juicy noodle, waiting for my inbox to synch. I spoon up some seaweed and mushrooms and ungracefully shove the heaped spoon into my mouth. I moan with delight and send my tongue out to lick off the soup making its way down my chin. The beauty of eating solo – you can pig out like no one’s watching. Being single is not all that bad, I tell ya. I let out an amused snort when an earlier chat group with my friends pops into my mind.
Victoria to CHICKENS: Morning chickens, it’s the first Monday of the month, you know what’s coming.. . . . Monthly challenge! Chickens, this week you need to reply, KINDLY, to whatever’s sent your way. Lovely week!
Kayla to CHICKENS: I know I’m sort of new around here, not sure I have enough seniority to say this, but can someone be blocked from sending cheerful messages ON A MONDAY before noon?
Victoria to CHICKENS: Kayla Morning Drummergirl, may this beautiful MONDAY bestow love and positive energy upon you.
Kayla to CHICKENS: I don’t do emojis so just imagine a gun to head.
Pandora to CHICKENS: Victoria, elaborate, we need to answer what? Oh, and top of the morning to you too, Drummergirl. Keep spreading them unicorns and rainbows to the universe.
Victoria to CHICKENS: Emails, messages, calls (yes, some people STILL do that) or if someone approaches you, you answer, kindly. No ignoring, no ghosting, no screening. Namaste, chickens!
Anna to CHICKENS: Guys I have 2 open slots for the 80’s Aerobics class tonight at seven, who’s coming?
Victoria: Me!
Pandora: Yay! So much yes, only if I’m paying.
Anna: Panda, buy me a tea later and we’ll call it even. Praise be.
I laugh to myself and focus my attention back to the device on my lap. I hum along to the indie acoustic covers playlist playing in the background, mentally cataloguing the emails.
Later.
Later.
Later. The kind that really means never. Which due to the monthly challenge, I probably will answer.
Later.
Bills.
Where did HE get my email from? Report spam.
Later.
A frown settles between my brows as I notice the next email. Squinting my eyes, I search my head for the odd email address. Typically, I would probably open an email from an unfamiliar address last, if at all. But something about the subject caught my attention, not to mention my sister’s brilliant little monthly challenge. She knew what she was doing, the wicked hen. Also, the email subject – such poetry is a rare occurrence in this day and age.
Hey wanker, got your new email address from the flamingo…
How can someone really resist this? My soup coated, oily lips stretch into an animated smile as I click on the email.
It’s been a while, man. I met Heather the other day and she gave me your new contact. Getting hacked is a huge bummer.
Heard you guys were seeing each other. Who would have thought, ah? Took you only about a decade to get your head out of your ass and realize that the Flamingo was your destiny, after all? She said that you’re leaving in a few days. Africa, man. I’m playing with the idea too. We might end up “serving” together again. Safe travels and keep in touch, you little shit.
Ps. Look what I found the other day, the good ol’ days.
I let out a little chuckle after reading the content. Feels a bit nosy, inappropriate and much stalker-ish reading a message that was intended for someone else, but well, it did land in my inbox. But then again, given I’m already invested I might as well have a peek at the attachment, get a sense of how the “good ol’ days” looked. I unload another spoonful of soup into my mouth, waiting for the image to upload.
Oh hi.
I give the photo a thorough scan, the tipping of my lips comes as a reflex. It’s an image of two guys in their late twenties, at a guess. They’re posing in the casual photo-bro-hug stance. Both fit and tall. Both sporting a white t-shirt with “Modern Day Slave” in black letters boasted on the front. The guy on the right is of the tall, dark, and handsome variety; the one on the left looks like the boy next door who’s grown into a fine-looking gentleman. They couldn’t look more different, yet both are more than easy on the eye, and that’s an understatement.
I’m not sure who this Flamingo person is, but respect, sister, for knowing these two. Not to mention dating one of them.
Okay then. The right thing to do as per common curtesy and monthly challenge protocol, is to let Mr. . . I narrow my eyes at the screen and frown. Who doesn’t sign their emails? Ok, time to let anonymous know that his email missed its destination.
Hi there, anonymous person who doesn’t sign his emails,
There must have been some mix-up and I got this email. By mistake, FYI. And I guess we don’t want Little Shit to miss this message, do we?
Beautiful day,
Anna
“The distance between your dreams and reality is called action.”
I shoot off the email, put the bowl in the dishwasher, and fill up the bath. After four advanced Pilates classes in a row, and aerobics, my muscles could really use some bath-soaking indulgence.
Tolkien and Hippies
Sonofabitch! I jerk back to check who just slapped me on the back. I dart Ronan, a fellow resident, a frown as I shrug on a shirt.
“You’re going for a run now? You kidding me? Go home, get some sleep, man.” Ronan shakes his head, eyeing me as I tie my worn-out running shoes. He slides his hands into his white coat pockets. “It’s been what? A thirty hour shift? It’s unhealthy. Go home and rest.” He tugs at his stethoscope, “Doctor’s orders.”
I hang my own stethoscope in the locker. “Well, this doctor says you’ve got to live a little.” I close the locker and head to refill my water bottle. Ronan follows me to the water fountain. I throw him a side glance. “You know what’s unhealthy? A work, sleep, work cycle.” “I managed to grab some sleep in-between,” I tell him, holding the bottle under the fountain. The cold spreads as the bottle fills up, sending a chill down the tips of my fingers.
He gives me an objecting smile-grimace hybrid, knowing full-well what my so-called sleep really means. A couple of sleep cycles of somewhere between twenty minutes to an hour, if you’re lucky. I could go home and rest like my colleague suggests and practically let my life, at least for the foreseeable future, pass me by as I grind myself to the bones. But I believe that sports and entertainment aren’t any less crucial for a healthy life/mind.