a grievance or two

A) why the hell do you put up a stink when I ask you to take your effing ID out of your effing wallet. You think I can see the license number and the expiration date, and see your picture through that filthy piece of plastic enough to type it into the computer?
B) I need your ID in the first place because I don't know who you are, stupid
C) Why do you think its okay to park your car in my drive through and make four other people wait for you to add all your checks, and OH! You don't even have a deposit slip, and OH WAIT, can I get you a pen too, and give suckers to your kids while their are FOUR OTHER PEOPLE waiting to make deposits behind you.
D) I am not a human being. It is okay if you do not respond to my 'hello' or my 'have a good day'. And also if you could boss me around a little and have me staple stuff for you and give you your balance and give you a print out and call your mom and dry clean your shirts and count your $700 in ones. It's okay. It's cool, dude.


Sorry. Just putting it out there. I don't know how much I love this job anymore.

selfish admission of the week:

I just want to be happy.
That temporary happiness that leaves you and buries you and smothers you and enlightens you. Happiness like cupcakes and swimming and painted portraits and a brand new CD, and a hair cut, and a boyfriend who was named Tim (slightly metro, with framed glasses, you know?), smoking when it's not chilly outside, and seeing the stars in a recognizable constellation.

when they pin this thing on you- I'll tell them the truth, that you were made out of sugar and had it coming/that you leaped across distances and should have used a tight rope. That you spilled coffee on your pants, and never bothered to change them. That you were a hero, but I don't think I ever would have loved you for it. That you lived alone and would never admit it. That you were dramatic when you could have gotten your point across in quieter ways. That you're a conARTIST (but that I am mostly the same, I won't tell them that) That you have the best poison I've ever tasted and the longest story that's ever kept my attention.
That when you are far away, you are near.
And that I'll still take your advice any day.

things I have finished on my 20 year old list so far

-go back to Colorado
-see the ocean
-ride a roller coaster
-see Magnolia
-do something nice for somebody else

I'd like to finish a few things before the end of the year, also, such as

-learn Spanish
-write another story
-get out of debt

And then there are the things that I'd like to check off my list more frequently, like
-going to Mrs. Backer's to eat a french pastry
-have tea with Ashley at the Beehive Tea room
-go on music fasts, or eating fasts to spend more time praying
-hang out with my family and enjoy their company
-write letters to Celisse and send them in the mail
-run.

I'm getting more and more tired of my job, but I want to stay at least as long as Tanya. We'll see, I guess.

I am realizing that no matter how much people get what they want, they're still never happy. I think everyone has to realize that for themselves, and it's something I learn over and over as I watch the people I love get what they want, and God just wants them to burn for him.

He leaves us with a hole, because he loves us and wants us to seek him.

It's still hard to remember. When Bill talks about money at church, I always think exactly what he says..."No way, if someone gave me a million dollars, I'd do exactly the right things with it." But I know that when everything was said and done, it would just teach me how to get in more credit debt than I already am. So I'm happy being poor and not seeing the end of this tunnel quite yet.

And as for my heart, I am trying to brainwash myself a little. Trying to love being single (which is sometimes very easy and sometimes excruciating) enough that I could maybe stop smiling at Kevin, who comes through my drive-thru every day and would love to make my life any kind of hell he chose. Funny how easy it is to see through a fast car and cocky grin sometimes.

Sunday: shaky and coffee and lovely and unsatisfactory.

I was wearing my glasses tonight, and staring in the mirror I was just remembering you-- the way you used to wear your glasses more often. We both did. When we were younger. Or you weren't that young, but I was just a kid and learning.
Thinking my hair was long or short, and you loved me either way.
Thinking you loved me when I smoked. We smoked.
Thinking you loved me when I drank and swore and when I hated you and I loved you. Thinking you remember what the inside of my heart looks like, and you remember the TV shows I used to like, and what music I can't stand, and you remember that way I like my name written on paper in your handwriting, how it makes me warm, and it makes me feel pretty.

I was thinking I should call you more often, thinking I read your letters so much, but they don't say anything to me when I'm trying to choke down coffee in the morning. Wondering if I'm hearing from you, or really just guessing what you would say if you had the type of smooth voice coming across the table to me. That maybe you'd sound like Tom Hanks? I hope you sound like Tom Hanks.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, where did you go, and who is the cheap person I replace you with from moment to moment. The lovely people who are not you.
I guess I mean that I adore you.
In a round about way. Could you come back?

-Rache

"Do you think God has a bachelors of science degree?"
-Billy

Dear Jordan,
I'm just wondering where you are, and if some girl made you fall in love with her yet. And if she did, was it because her hair was long?
That's all for tonight.

Love,
Ampa

"I'm going to beat the maximum hardness of aliens."
-Nick D. on Halo, age 22

Science of Sleep made me sad at the end, even though it ends so happily and they're smiling. You still really don't know...

Sundays are always usually a little bit sad, and a little hit happy. I wake up alone and decide whether or not I'm really trying to quit coffee. Undecided, I drink half a cup and pop in a movie, around noon. My family is still gone somewhere so I eat a bowl of cereal around 2, finish the movie, and go for a run.
Feel lightheaded, lay on the floor with my dog for a minute, and then decide to shower. Perhaps catch up with my friends later and still haven't had a conversation with my parents in over a week.
Repeat, more or less for the next 52 Sundays til this one rolls around next year.
The weekend is not a reflection, I believe, on the substance of my life.