Personally, I really don't know what's going on.
That's why I haven't been writing anything.
My heart isn't saying anything, and my head is just saying "I love Jesus, I love America, I love Starbucks."
And maybe the last two things are foolish to admit somedays, but there is grace for that. Also, I may be brainwashed from getting up at 3:45am to brew coffee for crazy men.
So here are some quotes.
"It's weird but, when I lean over like this, I can feel it squishing my baby. (long pause....) So maybe I shouldn't be doing that anymore."
-pregnant Elaine
"Dalmatians always die of cancer. I guarantee every single one of the 101 dalmatians died of cancer."
-Philip
"Run hard good and faithful servant! Just kidding. Go burn some calories."
-Ken
Showing posts with label Groundhog's Day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Groundhog's Day. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Tuesday, November 06, 2012
on repeat
Maybe it's the election, or getting my cavities filled (and old ones replaced...am I age 50?) that is really reminding me that I am not experiencing everything for the first time anymore. I am watching LOST and getting to the last episode (again) and finding myself calculating that if I watch one episode a week starting January 1st, I won't have to watch Sun and Jin die again until late 2014.
Maybe it was Radio West. This guy was telling Doug Fabrizio today about these moments while he was out hunting that surpassed those moments that only get to happen once in your life, better than putting a ring on someone else's finger in your own wedding ceremony, or graduating college, or any of those moments that you already know what the picture will look like. He was talking about those moments that you don't expect, and you are wide awake for the whole thing, and think, "This is really happening, and it will never happen again," and he was talking about caribou. But I was thinking about my own moments that I get to have, like that.
Whether it is sitting across from Celisse in her car, and hearing her admit a secret that she really didn't have to tell me.
Whether it was that night, two weeks ago, that I was driving home from a closing shift and all my friends were doing something way cooler, but I slowed down my Jetta and watched people launch chinese lanterns across the park, and across the sky.
Whether it is meeting the love of your life, and having your breath catch in your lungs as you realized that he really understood you--like only in the way that a family member or your very personal God knows your soul--only to watch him slip away after 7-Eleven dates into the blue abyss of hipster/atheistic/rockstar territory.
Or watching your father cry, and finding out that he really loves you crazy.
What I have to look forward to are those moments. For the next 40 years, or whatever.
So I've got that.
There's that.
Maybe it was Radio West. This guy was telling Doug Fabrizio today about these moments while he was out hunting that surpassed those moments that only get to happen once in your life, better than putting a ring on someone else's finger in your own wedding ceremony, or graduating college, or any of those moments that you already know what the picture will look like. He was talking about those moments that you don't expect, and you are wide awake for the whole thing, and think, "This is really happening, and it will never happen again," and he was talking about caribou. But I was thinking about my own moments that I get to have, like that.
Whether it is sitting across from Celisse in her car, and hearing her admit a secret that she really didn't have to tell me.
Whether it was that night, two weeks ago, that I was driving home from a closing shift and all my friends were doing something way cooler, but I slowed down my Jetta and watched people launch chinese lanterns across the park, and across the sky.
Whether it is meeting the love of your life, and having your breath catch in your lungs as you realized that he really understood you--like only in the way that a family member or your very personal God knows your soul--only to watch him slip away after 7-Eleven dates into the blue abyss of hipster/atheistic/rockstar territory.
Or watching your father cry, and finding out that he really loves you crazy.
What I have to look forward to are those moments. For the next 40 years, or whatever.
So I've got that.
There's that.
Friday, June 08, 2012
Starbucks Days
Eat Raisin Bran, groggy.
Hope car starts.
Say hello to the same customer as yesterday, and wonder if you already saw them this morning.
Grind, brew, repeat.
Grind, brew, repeat.
Fake a smile to a mean guy.
Fake happy attitude to rude rich woman who smells wonderful, and has glorious hair volume, and when she goes anywhere, men line up to buy her a salad. Buy her a sugar-free anything. Buy her a piece of celery coated with self-loathing, and watch these business people flood the lobby with business meetings and hear them suck up all the internet until it moves like a whale from the router to the patio.
Open pastry case, smell the Maple scones, and know that autumn will come back for you, in approximately 86 days.
Grande iced hazlenut americano. Receive wink, feel heart flood with patriotism and another rogue emotion that you should probably guillotine with the bagel cutter next to the oven.
Get your heart back to business.
Eat a bucket of Spaghettios.
Worry that your boss knows all your sins. Worry about that thing of getting fired.
Recall 2am nightmare and decide to stay awake forever. Realize your liability for the television medicine you've been living on.
"I'm going to marry your brother," Emily says, the way she said yesterday, and the day before, but with different hairstyles, and varying quietude in her voice.
And you compose a letter to your brother.
Dear Philip,
I realize with gravity, the way we are never supposed to express familial fondness, and although this has been charged of us in austerity, I secede.
I miss you knowing my jokes. I miss the way you would work the 7am to 3:30pm shift, and the way this enabled me to sleep in and work the evening shifts, and never feel the desperate eyes of the automobile salesmen.
I miss your computer being around, and my music that you took with you on your computer.
Our coworkers miss you because they'd like to get rid of me back to night shift, as I am quite louder than you are and sing more songs than you do.
Mostly I miss the thing about the jokes.
Love, or just even just like,
Rachel
Hope car starts.
Say hello to the same customer as yesterday, and wonder if you already saw them this morning.
Grind, brew, repeat.
Grind, brew, repeat.
Fake a smile to a mean guy.
Fake happy attitude to rude rich woman who smells wonderful, and has glorious hair volume, and when she goes anywhere, men line up to buy her a salad. Buy her a sugar-free anything. Buy her a piece of celery coated with self-loathing, and watch these business people flood the lobby with business meetings and hear them suck up all the internet until it moves like a whale from the router to the patio.
Open pastry case, smell the Maple scones, and know that autumn will come back for you, in approximately 86 days.
Grande iced hazlenut americano. Receive wink, feel heart flood with patriotism and another rogue emotion that you should probably guillotine with the bagel cutter next to the oven.
Get your heart back to business.
Eat a bucket of Spaghettios.
Worry that your boss knows all your sins. Worry about that thing of getting fired.
Recall 2am nightmare and decide to stay awake forever. Realize your liability for the television medicine you've been living on.
"I'm going to marry your brother," Emily says, the way she said yesterday, and the day before, but with different hairstyles, and varying quietude in her voice.
And you compose a letter to your brother.
Dear Philip,
I realize with gravity, the way we are never supposed to express familial fondness, and although this has been charged of us in austerity, I secede.
I miss you knowing my jokes. I miss the way you would work the 7am to 3:30pm shift, and the way this enabled me to sleep in and work the evening shifts, and never feel the desperate eyes of the automobile salesmen.
I miss your computer being around, and my music that you took with you on your computer.
Our coworkers miss you because they'd like to get rid of me back to night shift, as I am quite louder than you are and sing more songs than you do.
Mostly I miss the thing about the jokes.
Love, or just even just like,
Rachel
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