Flipping Pencils

The Useless Satisfaction of Venting

Dear Diary:

I had a good, sharp question to ask.

My hand shot up three times seeking recognition by the chairperson of the meeting. The small room was crowded and seething with angry neighborhood residents like me.

Finally—on the fourth upward thrusting and wagging of my hand—she called on me.

Witness to a Squirrel Road Killing

Dear Diary:

Driving back from the airport on city streets one morning recently, I witnessed a sudden, gripping mini-drama. My attention had been divided murkily between navigation and a haze of almost-thoughts not related to traffic flow. The driver's side window was open. Early fall leaves were falling. And then…a squirrel shot into the road.

The front right wheel of the car ahead of me hit the squirrel. The squirrel, which narrowly escaped being smushed by the back wheels of the car, started to head back toward the curb from which it came.