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Vacuum

Yesterday morning I took Cricket for a long walk. This was good for her because she has more energy than a small dog can reasonably use in a day and good for me because I have plenty of energy stored in the form of thighs and belly and butt than a short woman should reasonably have to carry around. When I take the time, I particularly like to walk down to the beach and back. There is something about seeing the water that opens my perspective like a deep breath opens my chest.

And there are things out there in the world that are unexpected and weird and sometimes beautiful.

In a parking lot, I saw a suicidal vacuum cleaner slumped over the drain. It couldn’t suck it up anymore. It had no more power. With its last gasps, it had dragged itself to the drain so that when it could no longer contain all the grime and pet hair and dead flies and pennies and cracker crumbs it would not leave a mess for some other unfortunate cleaning being to deal with.

Maybe it was my vacuum cleaner, despondent because I have spent years trying to avoid ever seeing it. I slowly stripped it of its usefulness, having found that I prefer the bare floors to carpet and even rugs. Then I gave it away. If it was my vacuum, depression changed it to the point it was unrecognizable. It was no longer upright. It had turned red in a fruitless bid for attention. Its hoses drooped and it had lost track of all its attachments.

See what happens when I leave home?

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jan_can_too
jan_can_too

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