My story, “This Weekend” that was published in Fanzine, was chosen to be in Best Microfiction 2019 by Dan Chaon. This feel very good. It feels nice and also, pleasant. I feel “seen.” Thank you, Mr. Chaon.
In other news, that isn’t so good, nice or pleasant, the other day, about a week or two weeks ago, I got poo on my hand. It was my own poo, so, that’s fine. I mean, it’s better than getting someone else’s poo on your hand, right? Well, I washed my hand to get the poo off of it, but I neglected to get the ‘hidden poo’ that was on the top of my finger (I’m guessing it was hiding underneath my fingernail) and I touched my eye with my poo finger, not knowing it was a poo finger and so I got poo in my eye. So, then I was standing in the kitchen, or on the sofa, or in Starbucks with poo in my eye AND on my finger and I was in a mild panic about all of it. I could smell and see the poo, and it was burning slightly, and I was in a bit of a conundrum about how to handle it all. I was in the world with both a poo finger AND a poo eye. It was overwhelming, but I eventually sorted myself out and removed the poo from both my eye and my finger. (whew!) But then, in like three months, my poo eye fell out. It fell out into the bowl of ramen I was eating. Looking back, I think all the steam from the oh-so-hot ramen, loosened it from its socket. I should mention that in the years leading up to my poo eye falling into my ramen, it had developed a mean infection. A yellow-orange crust had formed around it that I had to chip off every morning, and later the crust was joined by a creamy puss that leaked from each corner like milky tears. The poo eye bulged out more and more until I was told by my manager I had to wear an eyepatch because it was disturbing the customers. (This, I had already surmised, because my lap dance requests had dwindled to ‘few and far between” shall we say…) The funny part was that my lap dances considerably increased after I started wearing the eye patch. Go figure. In any case, I retrieved the swollen, rotting eyeball from my ramen using that long, white, oblong spoon they give you whenever you eat ramen. I held it above the bowl and now the poo eye was steaming from being submerged in the broth. It looked back at me in a “giving up” fashion. I started back, sympathetically, contemplated eating it, but then thought better of it, thinking, perhaps, I’d get a “poo stomach” or worse. Instead, I apologized to it. “Sorry, I put poo in you and you got infected and fell out of my face.” I took my eyepatch out of my purse, put it on, set the eyeball next to my bowl and finished my meal. When I was done, I wrapped the eyeball in a few napkins and left it on the table with my empty bowl of ramen. I’m sad about my eye, but glad that I make more money now with all the eyepatch lap dances. I will wash my hands more thoroughly whenever I accidentally get poo on them. I hope this story of overcoming hardships is an inspiration to those who may need it. Thank you for reading.