Get a Grip

Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick. I'm convinced that this is the official sound for blinkers in all Enterprise Rentals. I would know. Dodge, Chevy, Ford. They all make this same sharp and precise ticking. Same rhythm, beat, tone. I drummed my fingers along, silently counting. I despise the smell of rentals. This one smells like plastic, devoid of personality, of belonging. After a minute, 40 ticks or so, I decided that I like the sound these blinkers make. Soothing. If nothing else, they had a consistency that I found comforting.

I need a signal. Left: Things are going to get better from now on, life is going to stop flinging shit in her direction. Right: "Finish her." I don't care which one. I just cannot return to normal, drab, dreary. Life at this point is snowballing, rolling down the hill growing ever so large, collecting more and more speed. I find it irrational that I am sitting at the bottom of the hill, quietly listening, waiting, watching. I should be screaming my head off, running to meet it, running the fuck away. I flip on the left turn signal, wait exactly a minute, then flip on the right. I do this as I wait for Ann to come downstairs. The minute she opens the door, that's how I'll make up my own fate.

No this game makes no sense, but it's fun. I can't seem to rationalize anything anymore. I pose questions all the time, and I'm the only one responding. That game also makes no sense, and it's no fun. Flick left, flick right. I'm dumbing life down to a coin toss. Here comes Ann.