"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.

"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.