It's Friday night, and I watched TV with my family. But we had icecream, and my dad is funny, and I ate someone else's chinese food, so I'm sure it's okay.

Work is JUST GREAT. I'M DOING JUST FINE. But I took this job so I could walk away at the end of the day, and not care. So that's what I'm going to do, I'm just not going to care.
But both of my favorite coworkers are leaving. Bleh.

I could eat an entire cake, I think right now.
But more, I am looking forward to just drinking coffee in the morning, and maybe I'll go get a donut, and then go to the aquarium.
Back to my roots.

I have a little bit of a horrible confession to make.
It's not that I don't love my brothers and sisters in Christ. It's not that I don't love my pastors. It's not that I think if I went somewhere else I'd be "happy".
But...
(I really don't want to go to church anymore).

I think part of me is just really tired of trying to keep up with my own convictions. I've been crushed and humbled so much in one week that I don't sometimes think I can keep handling it. (God, why are you smooshing me?) And another part says that if I quit going to church, I wouldn't get hurt by the people I love anymore. I could be with people who don't love me, and we will be just fine. Fine. As in, not good or bad, just fine. Like lithium or something.

This isn't because I'm reading feminist literature.

If you've never checked out Noah Kalina's photography before, you really have to.

http://flickr.com/photos/noahkalina

It's crazy how good he is. I wanna be where he is, and meet the people he meets.

for Kendra:

my writing professor is Christine Marshall. She's pretty. She wears dresses and skirts, and has a really good voice for reading poetry. I have a teacher-crush on her.
And I haven't tried Dazbog coffee yet, but I want to. I saw the picture of the Dazbog t-shirts on your blog, and I really want one, ha ha.
And I want to come out to Fort Collins more than ever. Maybe I could make a trip out there this fall?

It's starting to cool down out here. Last night, I even felt like putting a jacket on.
I went to a show at the Avalon with Tony and Shannon. I guess the Avalon is supposedly a "church" so the owner doesn't have to pay taxes, which is pretty screwy to me. He even got shut down and didn't open back up until he put in "pews". But other than that, it's a cool venue. The place was packed. I sat with Raychel while she did merch for Paxtin. It was a good show. I did see a lot of girls from high school that made me feel crumby. I hate that part. But Tony offered to punch them for me, which made me feel better. We went to the Pie afterwards and everything tasted so good, and everyone made me laugh so hard. Afterwards we hung out at Nick's til two in the morning. Why can't every night just be like that? It was such a good night to end the first week of school.

But I left my camera at church two weeks ago, and I haven't been back to see if I can find it yet. I really hope its still there...

I guess I'm a pretty stable person. I mean, I think I am. And I like that. My impulsive moments have only gotten me into trouble in the past anyway, so I guess it's good, no matter how boring things get, that I'm not in trouble... right?

I don't kiss boys. I don't go on trips. I don't do drugs. I don't take work off. I don't call in sick (much). I don't take chances. I don't break the speed limit (much). I don't go snowboarding because I might break something. And I don't fall in love.

My heart beats in its cage.

"I've been to hell and back so many times I must admit you kinda bore me.."
Ray LaMontagne

I kinda like school. I've got painting with Alison, which is a miracle from the Lord. I'm stoked about that. And today I went to my creative writing class, and I like it too. Originally I was going to get it switched for English 3600, but I love the teacher, and I really just want to write anyway, so why would I change that? I get to sit around in a circle with kids who dress like me, and like the same stuff I do, and I get to write; why would someone just throw that away? Not gonna do it. So that was great.

Today was amazing. I woke up at noon, after a night of making brownies with Shannon and playing Mafia with hillbilly rockstars from North Carolina. I made myself some french toast, only to find we had no syrup, so I went grocery shopping immediately. I came home, finished my breakfast, got some mail from China, and went to school. (I'm going in rewind for you, you see). Then, after school I met Ashley and we had really good adventures like we did in the old days when we were both very single. And as much as I love Billy for her, I really wish I could have those days back. All the time.

Then I ended the night with bowling and really good music, and eating spaghetti in my underpants. You can't really beat that. I've tried.

i see minutes turn into more minutes
and still my heart is beating fine
not a machine
but not a breakdown either
fine it's beating fine

if you take the picture, and you cut it in half, and there is still me, where'd you go? why're you evaporating?
if you take a breath, and you cut yourself in half, which part is still me, and which part is still you?
and when we are cold upon waking in separate beds,
do you ever pray for the minutes to go away before you see me again..
I wanna know if you're even there with your eyes closed behind your glasses, and your coffee sitting cold in it's cup.

"He tells me that when I wake him up, speaking Russian, that I am still asleep."
"You mean he doesn't know Russian?"
"No."
"And how long have you been together?"
"Four years."
"And he never learned any Russian?"
"No. I think he knows maybe three words," Tanya told me.

I think it's funny, that you would be with someone that long and not even bother to try to learn their language. Especially when they are living together. They say that the best way to learn a language is to have a lover that speaks that language. And hell, if I had a Russian lover, I would learn Russian.

where does the good go

Every day is a little bit the same now, but it doesn't scare me as much as it used to. Developing a routine has established some sanity, and I would not be scared to keep living the way I am living now for a long while.
But it will change.

I don't feel like growing older, but I feel like I want to be comfortable in this skin. I want it to fit me, and I want to be happy. As temporary as happy is.

HEAD. Ache.

are you living the dream, or are you sleeping it

I'm sorry that I've obviously been a catastrophe of moods lately. I think for several weeks now I've gone from really high highs to very low consistently, all day long, every few minutes or so. I've been fighting my flesh.

my flesh is a very bad person. I wage war with it everyday. One part of it says that I need to have the new experiences, that having what I want is just fine. I'm saved by Grace. And then the reasonable part says that living for Christ and dying to the flesh is always the better choice, and will always be what I come back around to anyway.
So why waste time?
why?

could you just find a new way to kill me that you haven't tried before?
is that
so much to ask?

spare OH GOD in mercy

I threw away a lot of the letters. Ones from Keith I'd never even opened. From Katrina. From Jackie.
I felt very little shame.
I vacuumed the floor, even.
My room and my heart is clean for a moment.

Our words get more and more strained every day, until we will not speak one day? Until we learn our new languages.

I do not want to go back to college.

"Hi, I'm Icarus, I'm falling. Man for judgment must prepare me..."

"Rachel, I wish you wouldn't do this again," Erica said. But it wasn't to me. It was to crazy Rachel. Little crazy Rachel who was throwing a fit on the way out the door. I admire and love crazy Rachel because she is everything I wish I could be. Little, completely and genuinely passionate and creative, independent, and compulsive. But I already have the crazy part, I think. Or at least, I am very good at breaking nervously down.
I was having one of those times after work, lying in bed, trying to take a nap. The dogs were barking unceasingly, and no one was stopping them, even though the house was full of people. I opened my door and screamed "STOP BARKING" at the top of my lungs, and burst into tears and went back to bed. My throat hurt after.
A very nice person made me stop having a pity party and in a roundabout way made me get up. Impulsively, I decided to go to the Living Aquarium, here.
I was astounded.
I mean, I've always loved aquariums, but it made me feel so peaceful, and it made me believe that God is good again. And that he is colorful, even in the bottom of the ocean. The seahorses. Oh man. And I stuck my hands in the sting ray tank with all these little kids. I smiled like a little kid and laughed for the first time all day.

I am tired. But I've got the joy and the peace and the love. I must go on standing.

open up more

We never use to say the F-word in high school. At least, not much anyway, and usually not out loud. Maybe I'm kidding myself. I can imagine that maybe we did during senior year, when we were really grouchy. But certainly not by the end of my senior year, where I was taking my education into my own hands, going to CNA class, and living an army sort of lifestyle where I was waking up early each morning, drinking coffee, getting headaches, and learning about how to take care of people.

Braiker said the F-word once, in highschool, that I can remember. When we were wheeling yearbooks down the hall, and the exceedingly heavy cart rolled over her foot. She wore flip flops all year long.
"You can say it if you want, Jess."
"FUCK!" She said, and I blushed a little bit, even though I told her to say it. Somehow, I thought it was going to come out as "shit".
"Good job, Jess."

I don't know what my point is, right now. I still don't swear very much, and never at home or work, which limits my sin, to some extent. I'm just trying to remember if there ever really was a more innocent time for us. I guess.

"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