"You can't roast a twinkie too fast...that's a basic."
-Kim

some more real true love

Yesterday, my boss just up and left. He walked out. I think he told his assistant manager that he was quitting and not coming back, and just got in his car and left. The stress got to him, I believe, and he didn't say goodbye to us. Our branch has had three new managers in three months. Two of them quit, (Jeff and the guy before him. Jeff was only manager a month, but the guy before him was only manager a couple weeks). It was a slow day at work, and so I sat looking out the drive through most of the day. I watched the construction workers building a house, slowly. It's coming along. I feel like they're my friends. I feel like I bring them coffee in the morning, and maybe I will hang sheetrock with them once they're done framing. And then I snap out of it, and realize I'm a shmuck working in the air conditioning. I sit and think that maybe it was me that pushed my boss over the edge. Maybe It was because I thought his name was Jeb when he answered the phone. Maybe it was the chaotic process of getting me hired that broke the camel's back. Maybe I didn't smile enough at him when I came into work. But of course, it wasn't. It was money. Money will do it to 'em every time. Missing $40000 checks, or not enough sales...whatever. The last guy was having heart problems from the stress.


Today, I turn 19. I usually don't write on my birthday. But here I am.
I was trying to think about what I thought about my life.
I am glad to be 19. I'm still a teenager, and I'm still aloud to have fun. I am still living at home, because this last year has been drastic and I don't want to try to stress out this year about making rent or whatever and going to school. I am happy enough being single, because I have amazing friends that I spend all my time with, but I have hope that one day I will find that rockstar boy who will skip work with me and drink beer at noon on Tuesdays. I have hope that I'll graduate and know what I want to do with my life, but I really am happy right now working at the bank, watching movies, and writing short stories on the side.
I think I'm going to take a nap now.

get your hands dirty, Love

Collin and I hung drywall together tonight, in Provo. We are officially hardcore. Getting filthy and working hard for Jesus gets me stoked every time.

Then we all went out to get gelato. It's so good, every time. I talked to Steele, and I might be in a band now. I talked to Dan, and he might build me an amp. Lauren and Dax bought me coffee.
And I've finally started doing some real work at my job.

Everything is good.

"Every once in a while, I take these three minute naps standing up at work. Usually, I think I've been out for like an hour, so I go check my email."
-Dax

this is our way to live, and this is my way to die

Every month, when the moon comes back around, I get so happy. Like I'm seeing my old friend again, even though he goes away from me for so long. And then he disappoints me when he leaves again. Again, and again.

I've really hit rock bottom in my bowling career. Maybe I'll just quit. I don't have the guts anymore to face it. Plus, the music there has gotten sucky.

I want to finish one single friggin story.


"You're fighting God's battles, no wonder you're tired."
-Rick Whitney

it will be the same when I leave

i never need the other pair of arms. I always do, I mean. What I mean to say is, I'm scared of the trainwreck I am. Scared of someone seeing it.
i brace myself nightly for a hundred years of what it's like to be alone. alone with my hair. alone with your looks killing me when you're not even here. alone with my truths. that life means death. that music means heartache. that the boy is never honest, whichever one he is.



I'm just a little spooked, more or less. My grandma's best friend died in her sleep this morning, while I was waking up angry and choking down coffee. Brandon is getting married, which means he is fixed, which means his memory cannot stay the same. Our conversations will become cloudy and hazy in my mind, until he's gone completely. And I think I just got stung by a bee.

I just want to go bowling. I want to be left alone. I want to take an effing bath.

the cops and the crooks will team up just to hurt me

a) I really like my job so far
b) I really love bowling now (111 tonight, I'm getting better, it's just been two nights so far) I'm going to have to quit drinking coffee because at $6 a night twice a week...
c) I really love life. Yeah, it's me, Rache. I love life, and I'm okay.

don't get me confused with someone else - I've walked these streets, and I've slammed those doors

It's funny when, maybe you are just sharing a really good dessert with someone, or driving around downtown with them, and you realize when you look into their eyes, that you are totally in love with the person that they are. That just the air around you feels so much easier to breathe, just being around them. (you know who you are.)

On a sidenote, I've listened to the new Spoon CD relentlessly. Over and over it fills me with goodness and peace towards mankind. And purely raw love.

I rolled over because my phone kept going off. Kaylene wasn't next to me anymore. The dog was snoring.
"So this is what it feels like to wake up in a rich person's bed early afternoon on a Tuesday," I thought to myself, smiling. "Yes...."
Once Kelsea and I realized we were still in the same house, she let me hear some music, and tried to make coffee, which spilled all over the floor, since she didn't put a coffee pot underneath it. Somewhere after that, Matt Miller came over to the rich-house and made us huge pancakes.

After I walked outside and realized it was indeed daytime, I went downtown to meet Lauren, and we made cupcakes and watched ridiculous comedians. We drank more coffee.
Then came 50 minutes of traffic on the way home, although I did listen to Between Earth and Sky by the Colour for the 16th time this week. (Go buy that CD, it will make you unbelievably happy).
I ate enchiladas with the fam, then had band, and then went bowling.

Yes, I do lead a charmed life.

"Okay, I feel like I've got an honest answer from you, Rachel, because you have your mother's common sense, and your father's cynicism."
-Jeremy

the upswing

I was telling Zach this morning (well, one o clock...hey, I enjoy my weekends) that I think that things must be on the upswing, because the really hard stuff is over. I had what felt like a heart attack last night, at church, doing rock recordings, having hurried band meetings, and having a friend come to church that I'm not sure how to talk to, but this morning, I feel very much at peace.

Kelsea and I sat out on the gate of my truck for probably an hour last night, catching up after five weeks of not having any sort of real conversation. The street was completely dead, and the rich-neighborhood had a street light for practically every million dollar house. It was eery, like night and day at the same time. Somehow, things will work out.

I woke up late and did dishes, listening to Neko Case. I don't love her as much as Jenny Lewis, but she is pretty amazing. Listening to her Fox Confessor put me in a really good mood. I even cleaned my room. And here I am.

I saw Nick today at the bank. He's buying a motorcycle.
He explained to Sara that he had one three years ago, and I closed my eyes. Has it really been three years since I've talked to him? Since we were all friends in Chemistry class. Since he stole the car and drove to St. George and lived on a couch for three months, at the age of 16.
Since Justin Wilson didn't know what hydrogen was. Since Jess Braiker became my subconscious and Brandon didn't know where he was when we were walking down the hall together.
Since pink hair, since Trevor barking orders at me, since after-school-time at Brian's museum. Since "Mrs.-how-many-of-you-get-this!?". Since Alison and our nightmares, and our good dreams.

It doesn't seem like that long ago that everyday was an adventure.
Maybe it's the rising temperatures.

something familiar
here's a follow up on my studio ramblings








respectively: the view from the studio, Collin's silhouette and the door that must remain open, and Kelsea in the glass box.

Life is very good today.

"Why does the door need to stay open?" I asked.
"Wait..." Kim holds up a finger, looking at Jonathan. "Wait for Jonathan's answer..."
He spins his chair around. "Have you ever blown into a coke bottle....? Well that's kind of the way this studio works...."

Recording at the studio is fun. It's like our yearly band roadtrip. We don't go anywhere, but we get a lot done, and we eat snacks, Steele dances a lot, and we really enjoy each other. And coffee.
I got this idea from Billy to make a mockumentary of us over the next few months, until we break up. It could be really funny. In fact, I think it would be hilarious, and I really want to do it. I just have to get everyone else to think it's a good idea too.

I met Lauren at Cafe Niche and had some amazing talk, and amazing Gazpacho.

I've been remembering this weird obsession with pain that I used to have three or four years ago, when I first started reading Hamlet. Through the months of feeling numb, I could almost find myself wanting the pain. Just wanting to feel something, so I could get it out and write it down. I figured the only well written pieces I'd ever read were built from pain. I figured that if anything had ever been done right, it was probably painful getting there.
I still don't know if that's true though.
I'm having a hard time believing truth lately. And the migraines make me want to chop my own head off. So, goodnight.

The neighbors are yelling at each other outside. I'm yelling at myself, inside. It's six thirty p.m.

Things seem a little bit out of control. Let it die let it die let it die let it die. Walk away. God's got it. All the bloody people who just keep coming around. They keep asking me for blood. I can't always handle it.
Someone funny. Someone angry. Someone playing the drums in the room. Someone playing her guitar in a glass box. Pieces of paint peeling off the wall, and you, you lovely, always shaking. I'm here holding the door, letting the cold air out. STOP STARING AT ME ACROSS THE ROOM. I don't have the guts to deal with that. Seven deadly sins. Several hours ago we were drinking coffee feeling fine. And now we're heartless. None. More.

"I've been very less anti soshe than I've been."
(That's Nanes for "I've been hanging out more lately.")

I wish I were a robot. Food never sounds good and sleep hasn't even been a possibility lately. If I were a kung fu ninja robot with a headband on, that'd be cool.

We remembered the steaks at the exact same time. I know, because he left the room to go get them from the grill, without a word. Sometimes we just stand in the kitchen for a lot of moments without words, he'd be washing dishes and I'd be texting, both of us just agreeing to listen to NPR without conversing. We'd laugh at the story, and he'd clue me in on what I'd missed when I was zoning out, and always I'd be drinking Pepsi, even though my love relationship with it has long been over.
At least we're eating again.

I'm bored of time off, I think. And I'm bored from keeping out of trouble. If I don't put my energy into something important, it'll get me right back into the fire that I just extinguished.

"when do you say it's up for grabs, and that you're on your way down, where does the good go?"
- tegan and sara

sipping shakespeare, reading coffee

Coffee cup number two. Does coffee make my room a little humid?
I met the beautiful Alison for breakfast, got my fingerprints taken by a grumpy lady policeofficer, and now I'm listening to Mary Ann meets the Gravediggers and other short stories by Regina Spektor. I'm not sure if I'm lucid. I might go back to bed. I've lost track of my sleep quota/bank. I thought I was sleeping in, but sleeping in isn't sleeping in anymore if you're out til three each morning.

"He was perfect, except for the fact that he was an engineer..."
-Regina Spektor

And here comes shallow admission number nine of my lifetime.

#9 - I would be pissed if my hair were this short when I died.

So I better not die tomorrow, yo.

Today though, I'm a business woman. Dressing in business outfits, driving downtown for business meetings. Taking drug tests, doing background checks. I've entered the world of the briefcase and tie, and I've left the world of wiping poopie butts. And I'm scared, but I'm excited.

"I never gain an ounce, you see, my anxiety works like aerobics. I never have to exercise."
-Woody Allen

I am a tired girl. I shouldn't even be up. I've been up close to twenty four hours hopping planes and band practices, and impromptu cake parties.

This morning, on my first flight (to Chicago), I got really excited. I love flying. Especially take off. I love the high speed rattling charge toward the end of the runway. Just like I always wonder if Elizabeth really will get together with Mr. Darcy, I always think we're not going to make it. How in the world do those things get off the ground? I like to pretend that we're not going to make it. I like to smile and picture us crashing into a million pieces. At the risk of sounding too Roald Dahl, it sounds like a sensational way to go. And then I look around and see the small children, and middle aged men who have families, and the fantasy slips away.
Whatev.
I like flying above the clouds, pretending it's the arctic. Every thing seems like a joke, seems like a fake from up there. Petty. Our little lives seem insignificant. But there is somehow this huge enourmous God that sees everything. The tiny specks make sense to Him, and they have souls.
Weird.

Band practice today was amazing. Yesterday I got really excited to play rock and roll again. I treasure even the practices now, because we have so few left.
No. I'm not turning into a sap. Not tonight.

The point is, life feels alive again. From the back of the boat, with wind blowing through my hair, life suddenly became alive to me again. And I'm going to hold onto that as long as I can.