"Now, Rachel...that's a Biblical name," he said, twitching slightly.
"Yep, it sure is," I replied, sticking a thermometer in his ear.
"Yeah, Rachel and Leah. Do you know that story?" He asked
"Yes, I do. Very well."
"Rachel married-?"
"Jacob."
"Yes, and how many years did he work for her?" I felt like I was in Sunday school again, back in the Holiday Inn in Fort Collins, peering from the 7th floor window.
"He worked seven years," I told Russ.
"Ah, yes. Seven years. Not many men would do that nowadays, would they? Do you think any men would do that nowadays?" He asked me, squinting one eye, his foot falling off the bed consistently in his fever-state.
I thought about his question for a minute before I answered. I pretended I was charting some stuff, and I sighed. That's an interesting question for me, because I know so many good boys who will probably go to great lengths to "woo" their future wives. And my girls deserve it more than any other girls I know. But seven years. Sometimes I have no faith left in all that.
I closed my eyes for a second.
"No, I don't think they would, Russ."
"Hmmm..." the 71-year-old lawyer pondered. "Seven years is a long time."
I felt bad for a little bit that I told him no. I wondered what his real whole story was, and we talked about that for a little while. He told me about going to Chile and Argentina, and being fluent in Spanish. I think, sometimes, that I am so privileged to work with old people. Because they have the real stories. They worked hard. No matter how cool our generation is, most of the time, I enjoy sitting down and having a talk with guys like Russ, because I've heard most of the rock-star stories by now.
Maybe, maybe not.


I've been thinking about loopholes tonight. Whole websites dedicated to Redbox codes, so you don't have to ever pay for new rentals. Loopholes at my work, like, say you get put on call at 5am, and Chelsey calls in at 5:30 saying she's sick, I get paid time and a half just to work a shift I was scheduled for anyway.

I got a tetanus shot, and my arm feels like it got chopped with a butcher knife. In case you needed a visual.

"the sweet turning sour and untouchable"
-natalie merchant

I spend all my time on Flickr now, to tell you the truth. Quitting MySpace has addicted me to other people's photography on the other side of the world. Oh man.

johanna's face

johanna's face
Originally uploaded by missjennypenny

I'm pretty pleased with myself that my parents' phone has wrung four times in the last two hours, and I have answered it none of them. Each ring tends to grind my flesh, and I sit there smacking my head til the ringing stops, and inevitably, nobody was calling because nobody leaves a message. I feel very little guilt, sipping my cup of coffee at 7:49, because if it were important, they would leave a message.

Recent nice things: ( a list for old times' sake)
- I got to help in a sterile procedure to put a PICC line in a patient today. The sort of stuff that made me want to be a nurse in the first place. A PICC line deserves a lengthy explanation, but this is a list, dang it.
- Yesterday I made cookies with Lauren and walked Oscar for an hour. We played funny board games made out of pigs, and Dax gave me a whole bunch of watercolor paper. (very nice,
Gina)
- listening to new bands and old bands
- eating junk food
- reading and writing

I'm actually sort of looking forward to this fall semester, which is new for me.

"Every day spent with you is like having a cesarean section."
-Me talk pretty one day, David Sedaris

Initially, I was quite a bit sad when they removed the arm. The left arm. They wanted me to still be able to write, so they took the left one.

I always was fond of it though. The elbow, the fingernails. One is often fond of their own left arm. Even, sometimes, they are fond of other people's left arms.

The doctor stood with his hands in his pockets, like he was prone to. He told me that, there would be the fantom pains, and of course, the prosthetic to get used to. I nodded solemnly and turned the volume down on the t.v.

"We took some pictures, of your arm, even. In case you'd want to remember," he told me. I shivered slightly.

"I already have pictures of me with my old arm. A lot."

"Well, you know. These ones are the last."

"I think that they would hurt more than help, at this point, Dr. Roberts," I told him. To this, he nodded solemnly. Then he pretended like he was getting paged, and took his leave.

I stared down at where I once had an arm, and I felt something of a mourning for it. More importantly though, how would I look without an arm? How would I do dishes? Text messaging? Tree climbing?

This would all have to be thought through. Yes. This was the beginning of my evil plan.

Only the beginning.

she never would be, the places she oughtta

she said she was in love with dying. the very thought of a vacation
said she was never so poetic
as the moment wore on.
she was quiet like fire
Her face was a mess and she screamed out "God I'm tired of thinking," because she forgot that I was near. Her feelings were a shot gun that she would try out and her face was a language she wanted to learn but couldn't bring herself to look in the mirror.
"Maybe I'm just damn scared," she thought and told me that she fell in love like she was comitted
to accidents and weather, and
she couldn't tell me why or how or what she was exactly trying to say. I didn't catch her name but she was in a state of perplexion like her hair was brown and
her stance was
unsettled.

"She never was, the places she oughtta, but that doesn't stop her."
-Spoon


I carry flashcards to remember who I am.

I was on my way to Holladay, but I stopped to drop my sister off at the Roberts, and of course Jeremy popped his head out the door and yelled, "Hey, do you have like five minutes?" and I said yes, knowing that it wouldn't be five minutes, and I'd probably end up standing in their hall way where he would ask me something like, "Does this watch make me look fat?"

But when I walked in the door, he was on the computer, jamming to Van Halen for reasons unknown, and Aimee was on her computer, smiling at me. Jeremy never gets to the point before he offers you a drink and possibly something to eat. (I think that is a really good characteristic to have) And even after you have a drink, he probably still won't get to the point for a good forty five minutes. And so we sat around listening to music until Aimee finally got to the point for him. She needed some help picking music for her slide show for Ladies' Night, and help finding pictures. So we worked on that for a bit, and ate popcorn, and just had fun like we did in the old days when we had subtle parties. Noah waltzed through the room wearing a prom dress with Sophie, and then five minutes later was walking up the stairs wearing only underpants. Bowl of icecream in his hands. The small things in life.
"It's really good to see you," Aimee told me, and it was really genuine. And I realized, after these few days of reminiscing, that even when you leave your old life behind, its always waiting for you with open arms if it was any good in the first place.

Well, I didn't solve any problems this week. I may have even regressed.

I didn't get the job at Chase, which is God, I guess.
"I've been praying that you won't get that job," Alex joked to me at lunch today. She didn't really pray. But maybe even God just wants me to stay for her. That would be a weird thought since I can tell that she sometimes thinks my faith is a huge joke. I feel liked I've failed her, in some ways, by not being a better example. The truth is, my faith doesn't just make me feel good. I don't just show up to work happy everyday because Jesus lives in my heart. I have a small amount of joy that hasn't died yet, and that sustains me day to day. It keeps me smiling when I see Alex, even if I have nothing to smile about.
But it sucks, because I was really looking forward to maybe working at the bank. To trying something new. And that makes it even harder to go back to work on Friday, knowing that I have to stay there longer.

I wish Jesus would just come back RIGHT NOW.
I want to breathe that fire again.

tell me your oldest answers
the ones that hurt me most
your phrases that make me feel inferior.
cut that and put it at the end.
end of the poem.
alarm goes off upstairs.
tell me I shouldn't have my phone on so loud
the echo scares you
scars on my chin
the floor cracks
still.awake.now.
the door always was locked when I came home
but I didn't get lost
walked in the back door quietly and never let you
hear me.
did you think that I would change when I came back around?
it's more than true that this has been the worst year of my life, but I've never learned so much. So much about faith
hope
trust
and what it means to yell at God.
cold dark rooms have become familiar
haunting and realistic
they were the places that I met my Creator in despair
and it still shapes me.

tell me your oldest answers
FIRST

just enough to be strong, in the broken places

That's an amazing song by Jars of Clay. My copy is really scratched though. It's a crime.
But God really is just enough sometimes. With these small decisions that add up. On the freeway, coming home, I realized I really wasn't going to buy a motorcycle. Scooter. Whatever. The truth is, I really don't need one, even though I want one. I think that, you know, there are the major life decisions, and God will sometimes give you those answers a lot slower. But He'll stop you from making a major mistake in the morning. What was I saying? I think that the weird gut feeling, instinct, is a tiny gift from God. It's not weird to get a vibe.
I don't know where I'm going with this.
What I'm saying is, I walked in the door at eleven, and my father was snoring, and my mom was reading with her book light, and I just stood there and told her I wasn't going to do it, and she said okay. And my dad woke up for a second, and I could hear him thinking, "Yeah, I knew it." And so here I am.
One small problem out of three hundred: solved.

299 weeks to go.

"I’m trying to take my own advice about love and hope
and the hope of love and the love of hope. "
-Dave Smallen

Days off are better than they used to be.
I sure appreciated actually sleeping last night, and having no nightmares, which is a change from the last six days. I got up late, did dishes and listened to good oldies from early highschool days. I ate mashed potatos for breakfast, and drank coffee with a big scoop of ice cream in it. I mean, why not? And then pulled laundry off the line, read a book, and watched a movie that made me glad I'm not wasting my life on drugs or alcohol. Took a walk in the heat of the afternoon, to pick up some prints that got way screwed up. I'm not happy about it, but I'll get over it. It's been a nice day to rest my mind from thinking. As Steele would say, I'm happy enough for me.

Patty Hearst heard the burst of Roland's thompson gun and bought it

Yeah, I do still think about Patty Hearst every once in a while. And Warren Zevon. Usually not at the same time, though. If you wannagetspecific.

Work= blood + guts
Library= new CDs
Home= nap
Night= Kelsea x Laundry / (Sandy)


"I hate Suiki."
"I know, and that's why I think I've always loved her."

when it was just about dreaming,
or maybe we'd just lost our glasses.

either way, we rode motorcycles.

I watched her.
"I'll save you," she had so frivolously thought sometimes. But there are always those selfish ways we forget the details of each other. And it was in those quiet subtleties that he got lost, and eventually vanished, like his brother had to the drugs and the alcohol. He left her with the silent walls. She'd often stare at the ceilings, and wonder why it was he died. And was there life after that? She'd ask me, and we'd sit out on the back porch. And I said, yes. Someday, there is. And she would nod, but she didn't believe me.

you should be in no one's way... in that part of the house

I saw my old math teacher on the freeway. First I recognized his unique nickname on the license plate, and as I peered through the dark into his car, I knew it was him, and I felt this sort of familiar comfortable feeling of being back in math class, and my hatred for him. I think we love what we hate sometimes. I think I have run-on sentences at night.