I Don't Even Know What A "Reciprocity" Is

I've been lucky enough in the past couple days to feel fairly good about myself (it's my nature to not do this, I maintain that it's justified). Yesterday was a rare Sunday that I actually spent doing contructive, which is, of course, gratifying. I never do anything on Sundays (because I'm lazy), and recently I havn't done anything at all because the Man is still making me go to school even though I've long since stopped caring.

Today I got to feel all intellectual, despite not attending any classes and potentially spelling "intellectual" wrong. See, I had some time to kill in the early evening and another creative writing assignment hanging over my head, so I decided to scoot down to a local park and get in touch with my muse. The sky was blue (well, violet technicaly speaking, but whatever) and the woods were exceedingly green and springy (go figure), both conditions ideal for my muse. Intoxication might be another one, but I havn't tried it yet. Check back with me shortly after -but not too shortly after- graduation. Anyways, I turned my radio on and lay on the hood of my car with Stephen Dunn's "Riffs and Reciporcities", a book of prose pairs, for inspiration. (I could write a whole post on the connection between different parts of my car -and I don't mean the carborator- and self esteem, but I won't).

At some point the bugs starting...irking me and I'd finished the poem I wanted to get done, so I left and drove around aimlessly for a while wondering if the radio is has ESP and finds songs that match the stuff I'm thinking about in weird ways. When I finaly got out, it shocked me. My car, bless its soul, has taken to giving me a nasty static shock every time I close the door for reasons I can't understand. I don't think it does this to anyone else, nor do I think I'm wearing particularly static-inducing pants (who would even make those?). Because I talk to inanimate things when I'm in weird moods (I blame my muse), this exchange followed:

Me: "Ow, fuck! Why always with the shocking?"
(At this point I get shocked again as I close the trunk)
Me: "Fuck! Why do you keep doing this?"
(silence)
Me: "Seriously, I don't abuse you. I like you. Why do you have to keep doing that? Ow!" (there was really no reason to say this considering I managed to walk across the parking lot without hurting myself, apparently I was reliving the ordeal)
(no response from the car)
Me: "Fucker" (apparently I was also quite mad)