"Well," she said, twisting some grass around in her hand, "Do you suppose that you can work those sort of things out?"
"What things?" I asked her.
"You know, like the little things that annoy me about him. The little things that annoy him about
me. Do you make it work, even when there are those things?"
"I think yeah. I think you can, but I don't know. I've never gotten that far," I admitted to this
wide-eyed girl in front of me. She looked away and took another drag of her cigarette.
I fell back, onto the grass. We were sitting out in the middle of a field, in the night. But the moon
illuminated everything. When I looked at her, I could see every sin of mine reflecting back at me. The lessons I've learned. I could see the last year of my life cut into strange sections, since I'd last seen her. I ignore her, some of the time, I think. Which is horrible, I thought, when she was being honest with me. Well, she gauges how much she can trust me after I've spilled the beans on my own life. I always go first with those truths, I think.
The moonlight.
"People have to work those things out," I said, finally. "Because if you love him, it's not going to
matter. You're going to love him for the good things."
"I hope so."

"Oh, goodmorning. Did you wear your bathing suit to bed too?"
-Johnny, slightly shocked that someone else does that

Why is making the right choice so much harder than just doing whatever the hell you feel like.

Come with me, says
a longhaired boy
shorthaired boy
a boy with a shag
he will always have tattoos
but one day his heart will
not be black
in nature
he is calm, hopeful
and genuine with me
come with me, he says
and forget your truths
you won't need to know the
truth where we are going
and as always
I don't answer him
Yes, Loser. Take me to the
very bottom of our
existence and let us hate
ourselves. I do this every week
with someone else.

What I learned today:
-paint stripper will melt a plastic dixie cup
-paint stripper is not what you use to get oil paints out of your paint brush.
-pain stripper will knock you out if you inhale the fumes.

I'm having a good time. The people here sure are nice, but my life is falling apart from 2500 miles away, and I've still got a week to go. But I trust that God is good. I'm looking at a 50% chance of being completely unemployed when I get home, which is scary, but because I've saved so much money this year (not having health insurance, we call that risky investing), I might be able to slide until something opens up.
I don't know. It makes me so nervous my stomach hurts, sometimes. But then I remember I'm on vacation. I should be enjoying myself. So I do.

I'm catching up on pilates, and painting. Two of my faves.

she's been here too few years
to take it all in stride

We were sitting on the cold floor, in the dark. I was eating beef-a-roni and watching her eat her goldfish, and we were hiding from Michael.
"If he sees us, he'll tell us it's not in the budget," she says, and I know it's true.
I know that it's over. And I know what it tastes like. We only have a few weeks left.

No, it's not really that bad. We've got the revolution medicine, and it's so strong. It's just hard.

I'm packing up, and the road has never looked so good. I'm just starting to feel amazing, so it's sad to leave, but this time I'm not going to come back a stranger.

Sleeping pills to sleep, waking pills to wake
Actually, tonight you should just read this.
It's good.
I didn't write it, and I don't agree with every single thing he says, but it always inspires me. And maybe you will see why I love this man?


Destroy your body at your own pace
by Dave Smallen

Our heartbeats are the tick of the death bomb's clock.
Living is a synonym for aging.
Each year we are stamped with a new number
to define our expectations, our capabilities, our desires.
Are we on par with all of our numeral-brethren?
Do we think, laugh, cry, walk, fuck, feel, breath, eat, shit, worry, sleep, love... all at the same rate as them?
Destroy your body at your own pace.
Are 27 well enjoyed years worth more than 72 cautious years?
Does it matter who knows your name?
The fundamentals don't change.
A lot who care a little are worth less
than a few who care unconditionally.
Sterilize. We are unfit for paternity.
(My head hurts)
Sleeping pills to sleep, waking pills to wake.
I want a red flannel shirt dyed with the blood of Kurdt Cobain.
My mind is not where my body is.
My mind itches.
We are slander written across the
entire inhabitable western tapestry.
Clichés are mostly true.
Nothing is concrete but everything is NOT relative.
Listen to others or don't, but don't listen to me.
Don't be a burden, don't burden yourself.
Many things can't be expressed with words,
- Listen to your gut.
(hear your father and mother)
Stop clenching your teeth. Never try not to think.
You'll always want more.
There is only such thing as self-education
- you learn what you want.
(Who remembers how to solve for x???).
Know the consequences to your actions!!!
Dance outside the bathroom door
- you owe nothing to the dance floor
you aren't a dancer. Its ok to be sad, sadness is clarity.
Be old in soul and young in heart.
Respect and listen.
Drive aimlessly.
Get drunk, get high, see a movie.
(the actor didn't write what he said).
Escape!!
Believe in perfection, accept imperfection.
Don't call back if you don't want to.
Don't string people along.
Singing heals.
Have nervous breakdowns.
Break nervously down.
Don't stop! Don't stop! Don't stop!
Be picky.
Be a hypocrite.
Forget who Paris Hilton and Thomas Jefferson are.
Kiss beneath monuments (fucking make out beneath monuments!!).
If you don't like where you live
- leave.
Don't tie yourself down,
Break ties.
Save your money,
sleep in your car,
stay up all night,
get out, get away!
Rationalize. Be irrational.
Explode.
Laugh!!!!
Trick yourself
- Smile!!!!!

This is where I went and met God tonight.

Got my head all cleared out. Breathed the clean air.
I do feel clean, in general.
I feel like there is nothing mucky in my life, and I feel like I'm moving on, I'm going forward, and nothing can stop me. I feel God's power and forgiveness.
I feel my new life all over again, sometimes.
Especially lying on warm concrete at night, staring up at the stars, and just being honest about things with my friends. I'd forgotten what honesty was, these past couple weeks, or months. I've been bottling it up and telling lies to get by.
But not now. I've got only so much time, and I'm gonna use it for what needs to be done.

no more second guessing

"Na na na na," I was singing, like a three year old, pouring cranberry juice in the kitchen when Dr. Furious walks by. He is moving fast, but he has just enough time to give me a glare that's so cold it makes my bones ache. A four second memory of him yelling at me creeps up...
And then I laughed. He's just a stupid doctor, with his head inflated so big that he has to yell at nurses and CNAs to feel powerful.

I have an interview Thursday. I'm listening to Golden Shoulders. And an hour long phone call might have just saved my life.
Yes, life is good.

And

T-minus 5 days til I get myself out of here and back on the road.

I'm gonna get me a little oblivion, Baby

Today I drove for the first time, and it's a very sobering thing.
I registered for classes, which is exciting, I guess.
But I got a migraine, again. The headaches are back.
Sometimes I think I love Amerge more than anything. It's expensive, but worth it, in some ways. While it has never let me down, it does have weird side effects like really low blood pressure (can't feel my hands and feet), and nose bleeds.
But it's worth it, when you're thinking about chopping off your own head. ANYTHING is worth it, at that point.

I feel like I'm made out of a pool. Goodnight.

"No, pork chops are good for you."
"Really? I thought all parts of the pig were bad."
"Well, ham is not so good."
"And bacon. And sausage."
"Ah yes, sausage. The presentation there is awful."

-Natalie said that last part. In her Honduran accent.

my thoughts on eating dirt

A lot of bad things have happened the past couple of days, but I guess that you just gotta keep waking up every morning and you still need to brush your teeth four times a day.
My fantasy life has gone from time spent with rockstars to wondering what exactly is still in the back of my truck's cab. Wondering what clothes are back there, and if a purple man with a really huge lip has been rummaging through bungie cords and old photographs I tried to forget.
I didn't sleep last night.
I won't sleep tonight.
And I must go on standing, with my smug smile. I'm reciting memorized lines to get me through the hours of daylight.



"You have very small hands, Alex."
"Well, I guess I'm just a really small girl."

poker face

I found a whole family of quail living in my bushes out front. I got really excited, and much to the momma quail's chagrine, I picked up one of the babies and just about ate it, it was so cute. I thought about keeping it, but I felt bad. I knew it would miss it's family, so I let it go and walked away.

My heart started beating really hard again. I thought that it had mostly stopped in November, but I lie in bed some nights and feel it pounding against my skin. My heart is a bass drum. How fitting.

Today I took a man with one leg out to smoke. Sometimes I get really ticked off at patients who have to smoke. I grind my teeth as we're waltzing down the hall and think that, if these people are going to be in the hospital, it's a good time to quit smoking. (tangent number nine: it's also a good idea to stop being picky about water. If you can't be happy with tap water, Dasani can be good enough. My lord, you can't be picky about what type of bottled water you're drinking when you are in the hospital with appendicitus).
But usually by the time I get to the elevator I've mellowed out a little bit, and I realize that when you're going through something that is bad enough to put you in the hospital, maybe you deserve to get out and have a smoke now and then. Even though it's hugely out of the way for us.
So I took this one-legged man out for a smoke. He smoked two different kind of cigarettes, and we talked about different states, and where we'd traveled. I told him I was born in Iowa.
"I would like to go to Iowa," he said, narrowing his eyes and staring off into the distance. I almost burst into laughter. Good. Good for you, Mister.
A whitebread couple and their whiny son walked past us. They wouldn't look us in the eyes. And for a minute I got all defensive of my one legged patient who smelled like a firepit. "Just because he's smoking, and he's dirty, and he's wearing a combat jacket doesn't mean you shouldn't say hi!" I thought. And then I realized I was a complete hypocrite.
Like usual.

I spent 8 hours today babysitting an alcoholic that didn't need supervision that much. We watched the same episode of The Starter Wife three times, because we kept missing parts of it, and we were bored. But I still don't even understand the plot. Ah well. I got paid to watch t.v. all day with someone I didn't have to speak to. And that's pretty good, if you ask me.

take it easy (love nothing)

"and it isn't so hard to get close to me,
there'll be no arguments, we'll always agree.
And I'll try to be kind, when I ask you to leave,
we'll both take it easy."
-Bright Eyes


Sometimes, I think during or after the "persevering through trials" phase, I revert to my workaholic self. By tomorrow afternoon, I will have worked 46 hours this week, and picked up two shifts that I wasn't scheduled for. It's nice, sometimes, to just pour into all that, to take my mind off of things, but I become somewhat mechanical. Work, sleep, video games, Scrubs, Bible, coffee. A machine. I've turned into a machine. The only person I ever talk to anymore is girl-Alex, my brother, and dog-Jack. I crack jokes that only I'm laughing at, and dreamily look at pictures of places I will never go.
But I'm happy enough for me. I'll see Lauren today, give blood, and go to Hayden's party. And it's really okay.
One day, I'll take all this money, and I'll go somewhere.
Away from the things of man.

"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.

Every day, I tell the website to remember me. I always click the little checkmark into place in the "remember me" box, and it never does. I get my hopes up everytime, but it still doesn't remember me like it promises to.

Taking naps at 3:30 in the afternoon can sometimes be confused as leaving your mind. I had completely bizarre dreams that were mostly black (I was driving around blind in the snow for a little while) and when I woke up, my arms were completely asleep, and my fingers were white.

I got up as soon as my arms would allow, and made a black cup of coffee and ate left over stirfry.
Then I read some more David Sedaris in a completely filthy living room. This is my routine now. School is almost completely over, and I read a. lot. now. Now I read a lot.
I sit and think about how my dream home (the one that only I live in) has no furniture, but it is practically sterile, and when I come home from work, I lie straight on the hardwood floor, because there is no dog hair. And in my dream world, I usually fall asleep there, but my arms work when I wake up.

In other news, I'm semi dehydrated, and feeling a little old.

I sat, with my feet up, at 6:39 a.m., alone in my kitchen. With one light on and a crappy cup of coffee I leaned my chair back on two legs and could just see some pink coming over the mountains. I watched it the entire time. That halo of pink. It last for two minutes, and then gradually faded into the blue sky. And I felt like no one but God knew about it, either.
I think a lot of people miss the sunrise.
Sometimes it's better that way.

another happy thought

And I realized, as Brandi said that she was done with Utah, with the whole North and West, and that she was moving to Tenessee or somewhere where she could drink, that the whole thing really was about moving forward. I let her teach me what she could. Even if it was all MLA and citations and thinking for myself. Even if she rubbed me the wrong way sometimes, I still wanted to tell her, "Good luck exploring the infinite abyss," (always my favorite line from Garden State). I realized, second of all, as I bounced out of class, handed her my last paper, and walked in sunshine to my house, that it was all just one big adventure. As my mom keeps cleaning our house to get it ready to move out of, that I am more than just a little excited that the end of this adventure is near, and the start of a new, HORRIBLE, wonderful adventure is just about to unfold. With gore, blood, guts, romance, fencing, fighting, new life, music (oh man-the music), leaving, coming and going, shouting, the hypocrisy and the hope, my hope....
Yes, it is beautiful, and it makes me shutter and smile.

Take your places on the battlefield. Damn the torpedos full speed ahead.

"Look, it's a penguin," he said.
"No, Noah, it's an egg," I answered him.
"No, it's a penguin, and it's French," he said, completely ignoring me as usual.

Its a funny thing that I got to sleep in til 7:47 this morning, and I thought I was going crazy. I figured that for sure, when I looked at my phone, it was going to say 11 o' clock in the afternoon.
I'm a bona fide worker now.
On the next schedule, she has me working full time for a couple weeks of it. That should be a nice cushion, I would imagine.
I signed up for the inVision retreat on Monday, having faith that God would somehow work it out with Debbie that I wouldn't have to work that Saturday. And either, they communicated really well, or she was just going to give it to me anyway. But I get to go! And I'm excited because the last inVision retreat got me really pumped up about what was going on in the church, and made me feel so unified with the other believers. So yeah. Win-win situation, there.

Side note: I'm almost completely sure by now that my parents are moving to Provo. They keep finding houses, and my dad has three job interviews. Something tells me that if none of these jobs work out, he'll just keep applying for more. This is Salt Lake and Fort Collins all over again. Except I'm older now, and them moving means I'll be out on my own.
And I think
I feel like
bring it on.

something similar to what we know already

My mind is being blown RIGHT NOW by the following things:
-a great pair of earphones
(I can hear everything and nothing at the same time. I can't hear the dogs barking, can't hear the doors slamming)
-A Doll House by Henrik Ibsen
(I sat on the edge of my seat the whole time I read it, and the twist at the end of the play ripped my heart out)
-Fiona Apple
-God
-photography

your parents were anxious, your cool was contagious

Suddenly I went from partying every night til 2 a.m. to being some sort of person who goes to bed early and gets up early and works for the man and has a schedule. Like I used to.

"Then followed a year of lonely convalescence that set him on a path of self-sufficiency that made him comfortable in a world largely populated by himself and his thoughts."
-Tom Smart Alex Colville Return

Sometimes I read that quote (I wrote it down a couple years ago from a book on how to paint water colors. ???) And I think that I live in a world largely populated by myself and my thoughts. Under my hair, speaking to mostly God. Especially on the days that I am working, and Alex isn't there, and nobody texts me because they are working. (Funny how that goes) I often find myself leaning over to plug in a vitals machine, or in a closet disinfecting IV poles with painfully potent alcohol wipes and entering into a conversation with God right off the bat, mid sentence, like we'd never stopped talking. Even when he is barely whispering answers to my questions.
"God, do I go to Provo..."
"God, is it wrong for me to give up the band?"
"God, what in the world am I doing?"
And then suddenly I am interrupted by a nurse who reminds me of a bird.
"DID YOU GET THAT BLOOD SUGAR IN 39!" He seems to be squawking at me. And then I am left midsentence again, to finish this conversation later.

Makes me wonder how other people spend the time in their head.

He holds Suiki down in the grass, and kisses her over and over to try to make up for hitting her on the back with a bat only a few minutes before, and I have to laugh. Then she squirrels away and he chases her again.
Ridiculous, like always.

Today was a much better day, simply because I woke up and went and met Lauren at Niche Cafe, which was wonderful. We talked for 2 hours, which is a lot longer than we usually do. But she fixed me, like she usually does.
Then, when I got home, there were three CD's waiting for me on the porch, and an empty house. And an empty house was never more appealing. I got a lot of homework done and listened to music.
All this running is doing me good, I think. It's been good for my back, and in general I feel stronger and feel like I sleep sounder at night. I haven't even had any bad dreams...

But I am reading too much Hamlet.
It hits me all over again. Every time.

For three or four minutes, today, time stood still.
It was the end of our shift, and I was at the front nurses' station instead of the back, talking to Alex, and they called the med-team to 2126.
So we walked to the back to see what was going on. It seemed like everyone from all over the hospital were there. The phlebotomist, the respiratory therapist, the pharmacist, nurses and doctors. They all crowded into the tiny little room. They told Ashley to call the code and Rebekah started doing CPR. Rebekah, who I talk to at lunch. A normal woman.
Colleen the charge nurse came out holding the hand of 26's son. Her voice was cracking.
Alex and I just stared into the room. I felt like this whole thing was a joke. This whole job, of working at a hospital. War is hell, they say. A hospital is also hell, I think.
"2:54," the doctor says, and walks out of the room. The med team leaves.
2:54. Does he mean time of death?

Friday night, I came into work, and I was actually really happy to be there. To take my mind off of things. I had a few really grumpy patients, but I also had 2126. I helped him to the bathroom. I laughed at his jokes, and I teased him back when he was teasing me. I sat on the edge of the counter, and he was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"I told my grandson, the best part of being in this hospital is that beautiful women take me to the bathroom," he said, and I laughed and blushed, "And then I told him that the worst part of being in this hospital is that beautiful women are taking me to the bathroom." Then I laughed again. I sat with him and talked, even though my vitals were going to be late, maybe. John and Lisa wouldn't notice.
"It's people like you that make this bearable," he told me when I walked out of his room that night. I told him he was going to be fine. I would say that 95% of people leave the hospital alive. Maybe even 99% by the time they are discharged from Acute Care. So the odds were that he would be fine.

"What happened Rebekah?" Alex asked.
"He died," she said. Easily. While she was rubbing her hands with hand sanitizer. Her face was red. I could never tell what Rebekah was thinking. She always looked the same. "Now wasn't that exciting?" She said picking up her clip board. But this time, I gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed she was being sarcastic.
The only thing I could think was that I wished I'd talked to him about Jesus that night. I wished I'd stayed for five more minutes, and asked him what he thought about life after death.
"Today is a good day to die," Don said, referring to the sunny weather, making toast in the kitchen. At first I was mad at him when he said it, but it reminded me of that Dave Matthews song where he says that every day should be a good day to die.

Life is short, and there's one thing you can't do in Heaven. I hope I do it here.

Been reading a lot of E.E. Cummings lately. I skipped literature class the other day, but felt better by indulging in my own exploration of his poetry.
The first time I ever read it, I was very offended ("She being Brand", very offensive to me) but then I realized that he wrote a lot like I write my poems, when I feel like expressing myself in poetry.

I like to read it out loud, and delight in how vulgar but refined he is. Can I have that? Vulgar and refined? Can he be that?

I like to drink coke with ice out of a cup. But not a glass. And not the can.
Those are my conditions, I guess.

Last night Ben showed me some music videos on youtube that had been filmed and then run backwards. They were really cool to watch, because I thought the whole time about how hard it would be to choreograph it and have it look cool. It made me think, what if we lived our lives backwards? What if we'd seen the parts before, and knew they were coming up? Would that be less stressful? Even if you had to live through them, and you knew they were going to be bad, would it make it easier knowing the outcome, and slowly becoming younger instead of older? A hopeful life, maybe. You'd start with a broken body and wind up fixed by the end of it.

Heaven. I think about Heaven, a lot.

only what you can manage sometimes,
in the hardcore silence
they always whisper
"I thought we still had a bird? don't know that noise, where it comes from maybe."
could you answer
in
shorter
sentences
please.

kept in mind that at least we were always young
maybe we weren't
maybe we were old
maybe hearing the Bible through the wall isn't good enough
he said.
he said while he was sleeping.
he didn't know he said it
because he sleeps so hard for 8 hours
with a mohawk. when did that happen?
pretending a couple times.
we did that

So I woke up and made a cup of coffee and stared at my pictures for a minute. I read Dave Smallen's blog and it made me wish I were out on the road again. He always does that to me. Makes me want to drive across Wyoming at 2 a.m. stopping at creepy gas stations. Drive across Nebraska, mid-afternoon, humming along to Bob Dylan while everyone's asleep.
I took a shower, and cleaned up my room a bit since my grandparents are coming, and I'm the only one with my own room so....
I'll be sleeping on the couch. I don't really mind so much. I'm just thinking it feels good to be in a normal life. To not be sleeping all day on Saturday because I worked a grave, you know? To be doing normal chores and talking to my parents like we used to. To run errands with my windows down.

"Suppose I kept on singing love songs,
just to break my own fall...
just to break my fall."
-Regina Spektor

i'm wide awake its morning

Watched Children of Men with Ben, Eric, and a snoring Niels. It feels nice after pauses to be with who you are good at being with. wthi. whit. Eating marshmallow popcorn and sourpatch anything-in-general. Nice nice nice.

Before that, I walked over to the Nicklecade and played video games and gambled with the RockU boys and Britt and Philip. I put a nickle in the jukebox and got it to play Zombie by the Cranberries and the Saga Begins by Weird Al, and Mr. Jones by Counting Crows. Brittni won the jackpot and we stared at the fake pretzels in the fake box to keep them warm. ???

And its four in the morning again, and I'm awake again. Dangit Gina.
But oh. well.

Listening to "The Animals Were Gone" by Damien Rice makes me want to die. But it's so good. I'm torn.

I'm drinking 32% decent coffee at 3:38 a.m. even though I'm going to sleep in five hours. It's hard to tell when it's going to keep me up or not.

I spent 2 hours before work playing around with pictures on my computer. I try to tell myself that I really do have hobbies. That I really don't spend all my time working or hanging out with friends or scrambling to get my homework done for school. Sometimes I feel like I am counterproductive, so I have this stuff to try to make me feel balanced. To show my parents? Look Mom, I do stuff. Look, Dad, I don't just dissapear into outerspace. But they're not asking, I'm just telling.

Oh, Damien. Why are you making me drink this coffee?

"Sometimes I listen to French music while I'm getting ready and about 5 minutes after leaving my apartment I realize I'm dressed like a French prostitute."
-Alison

Which is funny because I don't think Alison could ever dress immodest at all.

Mmmm. I love new phone batteries.

It was a Friday the night his lung collapsed. I remember because my dad and I were at a Friday Night Live. I had my hair all done up, and I had a scarf on, which is something I usually didn't do, but my hair was pretty long (for me) and I felt like wearing a scarf for some reason.
My aunt came over to my dad, and they were quietly talking, and I had a headache. I also had a hard time standing, and I should have been home in bed. I didn't really know what was supposed to happen after your lung collapses. Does the other one keep working on its own? How long can you live that way?
When I woke up the next morning, I was in so much abdominal pain that I could barely get out of bed. I walked up to the living room to tell my parents I had to go to the doctor, and they were all sitting around staring at the floor.
Then they told me that he died. I don't even remember if I cried. I think the crying was later on. I even went to church that night, because everything was completely surreal. I did powerpoint and maybe that was when I cried.
Then, that Sunday, we took off in an airplane and its a funny thing to look down on the clouds and wonder about God, and where He is. Is He in outerspace?
That week was a blur of hotels and freezing cold, my grandmother crying, absense of music, of me taking pills and crying a lot, and sitting on the couch, expecting him to come through the door at anytime. To tell us it was all just a joke. To just be home from work, or to just come home from the grocery store with ice cream sandwiches.
Because the last time I saw him, he was strong. He was standing at the door with my grandma, waving goodbye, and nothing was that wrong. Drugs can mask anything for a while.

I don't know what's brought on all the memories. Maybe it's this headache.

thoughts as one would pull onto the 500 south on-ramp when they were facing west into the sunset, with the window down slightly at 59 miles per hour:
life is perfect
he smiles slightly when she talks about the revolution, can't stop himself, doesn't catch himself
God is beautiful
life is perfect
need to find an amp
miss coffee with Ashley
the sunset is beautiful and the weather is perfect
its always the little things
pray pray pray
every little thing about his smell and his face
"it's the wrong kind of place"
life is perfect because
God is perfect
iced coffee in the sun and my pants rolled up and no sweater on
"is that alright with you? put my gun away when it's loaded"
righteous by faith
grasping at straws sometimes made
life perfect.
and always, it is beautiful.

"I think I am getting love, Rachel."
"You are falling in love?"
"Yes. I am getting in love."
-Ana (my Brazilian coworker) to me

Ana is the single mother of three children, one of whom is as old as I am. We often eat together, and even though she is twice my age, we get along really well. I'll miss her, if I go.
Huh.

"I could use a really good cup of coffee right about now, Joe."

Twelve hours is a long time to work. A really long time.

Wish I was far away, somewhere really warm, under a tree, and that it was day time, and that I was listening to Rilo Kiley, and that I was wearing a tank top and eating a popsicle and that all my troubles were far behind me. And suddenly there was no such thing as work or school.
Oh man. I am tired, officially.

Another
nightmare.

Do they ever go away, when you're trying. Things.