so i wound up
with a case of
the hiccups a
few hours ago.
here’s when
they started,
if not how they
started: from
a coffee mug
that says i ♥
my job (i cur
rently don’t
have one and
haven’t in too
long of a while),
i drank a heat
ed can of chick
en noodle soup,
condensed, with
very little added
water, and this
was very satisfy
ing, but then i
opened up a bag
of crinkle-cut ket
tle chips (sea salt
and vinegar) and
put one chip in my
mouth – i was talk
ing with my boyfri
end at the time and
i attempted to say
something or other
(it was a pretty ser
ious conversation)
while i was also eat
ing the potato chip,
crunching dryly in
my mouth, and be
fore i could swallow
what i had crunched,
before i could finish
whatever i was say
ing as i was trying
to turn this dry and
crispy and vinegary
chip into something
which i could swallow,
there came the first
of the set of hiccups.
this went on for the
hour or so that i kept
my boyfriend on the
phone, engaged in
something of a ser
ious conversation.
he said it was karma.
i said karma doesn’t
exist. and this became
a bit of a running joke
through the rest of the
serious conversation.
after we finished talk
ing, i made some pasta
alfredo – i filled my
pot half full of water,
put in a pinch of salt,
waited a while, until
i heard the water be
gin to make noises in
the pot, then i got up
and snipped the top
of the plastic package
and put in all of the
spaghetti, tried to
get the pasta into
the simmering wa
ter (i have a hot
plate, not a true
stove) without
breaking the
spaghetti in
half, which
seemed a bit
more difficult
to do than it
normally is,
came back
to bed, where
i spend most
of my time,
and began
to write a
quick poem
to post for
the day. a
reasonable
amount of
time later,
i came to
check on and
to stir the pasta,
and it was still
in the same
twisted curve
in a clump at
the bottom of
water in a pot
that sat on top
of my hot plate,
which i’d turned
up to high like
usual, and there
was also no steam
when i lifted the lid
and when i tried to
stir the spaghetti
it was clearly too
stiff to have been
sitting in boiling
(or, due to this
hot plate for a
stove, simmer
ing) water.
that’s when i
noticed that i
had somehow
unplugged the
hot plate, pre
sumably as i put
in the pasta about
fifteen or twenty
minutes previous.
in goes the plug,
the hot plate lights
up like normal, i
come back to bed,
finish writing the
poem draft, and
go back to more
officially stir the
now slightly al
dente spaghetti.
around ten min
utes after that
i was eating my
spaghetti alfredo,
posting my poem
up to the blog
where i’ve been
doing this now
most days for
nearly seven
teen years.
that’s when
the fire alarm
goes off. and
it’s a loud alarm.
not the little alarm
in my apartment,
which i think needs
a new battery (note
to self?), but the
alarm for the entire
apartment building
in which i have re
sided for three years
and about a week now.
i put on some present
able attire and walk
out then down then
out of the building
in case there’s an
actual fire of some
sort – there was a
pretty newsworthy
fire in the building
directly across the
street from mine
less than a week
ago, along with a
rash of activity in
the neighborhood
that has been a bit
more suspect than
usual the past coup
le of weeks. so my
luck being what it
is, and has been, for
about a lucky seven
years now, haha, i
was a bit extra quick
and cautious, but it
turned out to be, as
usual, a false alarm.
so then i took the
stairs up to the fourth
floor, where i live, of
course, and tried to
catch up a bit on the
even more horrifying
news than usual, as
presented in late night
comedy monologues
for the most part, in
evitably flipped the
lamp off, grabbed
my phone, making
sure it was plugged
in to its charger, and
got in a prone position,
ready for sleep. not
before i did my little
tried and usually true
trick to get rid of the
damned hiccups. which
worked. at least until i
was just about asleep,
i think, after a long bout
of nighttime silence (well,
white noise – which i like,
because i have a fan run
ning, even on this nice
cool night, and over atop
the refrigerator, upon
which the hot plate
also sits, there is what
is around a three year
old air purifier that de
finitely does not purify
at all anymore, but
does do its fair share
of stirring the air, and
noisily enough to sat
isfy my white noise
cravings), rousing
me from what had
been a pleasant mo
ment clearly headed
in a rather swift dir
ection toward a pro
per slumber (and
at normal sleeping
hours, too; some
thing i seem to have
way too much trouble
keeping in my current
state of unemployment,
for which i blame gene
tics. but that’s a story
for another time), out
comes a really loud
hiccup and the body
spasm that goes along
with such things. so
here i am now offering
you the story of my
night in a sort of po
etic(-looking, at least?)
format, the story of
my rather ordinary
and yet slightly ex
traordinary evening
in several “pages”
of quatrains, which
are a bit too chunky
to metaphorically be
the hiccups which
have become the run
ning theme of this oth
erwise pleasant and
not-so-routine evening.
