the sun and the moon and the shade

March 13, 2012

I fill my cup at the drinking fountain twice a day. Twice a day, every day. I can measure the hours by its depth like my thumb plunged into the tide, like the moon's relative distance from the surface of the water and the feeding pattern of the otters nearby.

I fill my cup, at the drinking fountain, twice a day, in the hall. Twice a day, in the hall, because the water in the break room tastes like metal tuna. I won't touch it and neither should you.

I smile at people walking by, while I stand at the drinking fountain, in the hall, twice a day.

Filling filling filling filling.

As they approach I watch their eyes lock on to my cup and flit to the break room door, steps away, where presumably it would be "more appropriate" to fill a giant cup with metallic fish water, and yet I stand firm in my commitment to water sans trout, twice a day, in the hall. So should you.

I smile at people walking by, with my eyes, while my hands fill my cup as aggressively as possible, which is not very aggressively because no matter how hard you turn the knob at the drinking fountain the most it can do is impotently plop into the cup from slightly higher arc. It can be very threatening, that arc. Or so I hear. Twice a day.

I can hear footsteps in the hall and as they round the corner I steel myself for what I imagine they're clacking, with their accusing eyes, always looking at my cup. "There she is again, standing there filling that cup in the hall. Bizarre. Horrible. Is she from a desert? How did she get here? And who left all this sand on the floor?"

And who are they, to so rudely interlope into my solitude? I think towards the people walking by, while I stand at the drinking fountain, in the hall, twice a day, to the delicate chorus of drinking fountain cadence which all the while falls more heavily into my cup. Thanks gravity. You're always my friend.

More likely they're thinking, "Oh. Hey Jamie." because they have no idea about the metal tuna that lurks in the dark waters. I have no idea how any other human could not know about the metal tuna, assuming they have any sensible sort of senses at all, which can only lead me to the obvious conclusion that they are robots.



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