BitterSweet

Sweet Musings with a Bitterly Sharp Wit


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Weaponized Watermelon

I hit a man with a watermelon today.

Swinging like a pendulum from the shopping bag slung low on my shoulder, it connected solidly with his knee, startling a low grunt of discomfort from deep within his subconscious. Too embarrassed to make proper eye contact, I can’t say for certain whether he was in genuine pain or just surprised by the melon’s breach of personal space, but I felt the acute pain of social misconduct.

“So-orry!” The words tumbled out as awkwardly as my unstable footing, lurching forward unsteadily as the bus accelerated at random, up and down the precipitous hills of San Francisco. Still wrestling to gain full control of the wayward watermelon, the weight of it grew more burdensome with every passing city block, threatening to rip lose from the threadbare gussets already straining to contain its girth. Soon it began lashing out at other innocent bystanders, swinging wildly like a mace, threatening to enter full wrecking ball mode if only it could work up the momentum.

Even after muscling into a vacant seat, wedging the bag firmly between my feet, the little round demon still rolled about with abandon, seeking a quick getaway. Clearly, it had dreams of flying freely across the floor, bowling down anything in its path. Fighting for its life as though it understood the fate that lay ahead, it was as inconsolable as it was uncontrollable.

Mercifully, before the melon could detonate in an explosive, sticky blowout or cause further bodily harm, the doors swung open to the sweltering street, dumping us unceremoniously at our destination. Though the encounter may not have ended well for that innocent man on the receiving end of my watermelon’s wrath, his pain was not in vain; successfully taming the beast was a sweet relief, indeed.

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3 AM

No one willingly starts the day at 3am. Insomniacs toss and turn, searching for that elusive moment of respite from the waking world that seems only a myth. New parents bolt upright at the siren of a newborn’s shrill cry, sounding like an alarm in the night. Bakers and bus drivers and newscasters alike pound the snooze button on the alarm clock for just 5 more minutes before accepting their fates, duty bound to begin the daily hustle. 3am is an hour foreign to blissful sleepers comfortably immersed in a sea of dreams, swaddled in blankets, and fully unaware of the progression of time. It’s a blessing to never see those numbers glowing from the digital readout, one often taken for granted by the waking world.

4am turns greater numbers out of warm beds, thrust into consciousness with similar discord. Business begins to grind forward, travelers hustle to catch early flights, students lace up sneakers and set off on long commutes to class.

By the time 5am rolls around, life is in full swing. The sky begins to warm with the first signs of color, blushing red and pink before blossoming brightly to greet the commotion below. Coffee rouses millions more slumbering souls, perhaps more gently and easily now, convincing the sleep-starved that a few drops of caffeine might help make up. the difference.

It’s a new day by 6am. Those torn from comfort hours ago face the rapidly advancing clock with weariness; a weathered understanding that there’s still so much more time left to fill, even after so much had already come to pass. Turning to the sky, the sweetness of that sunrise, the one they watched grow from a pure black void, tastes far more satisfying than any breakfast could. Sometimes that’s the only morsel that continues to propel them forward.