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writer craze

I am hanging on to strands of beauty. It’s winter, or it’s almost winter.. I’m not sure but I know it’s cold. In Spanish class they say November is still Fall, and they’re probably right.

There’s just nothing doing it for me this year. I run from my car to buildings, from buildings to my car.  My skin comes in contact with the freezing air for a few minutes and it is miserable. Yesterday it was raining, and that wasn’t beautiful at all. This morning it was raining. It was gray. A boy from my class said time seemed to be standing still as we walked outside to help our professor move things from one office to another. The incentive was having to write one less paper. Time is standing still. I am always reborn in the Spring, but I don’t think I’ve ever died so early on in the season. Dead. I am not dead but I am going stir crazy.

My mind is content, discontent, sensical, insane. One minute to the next. I am not content, but when are we content? Oh talk of content or travel. Fuck it. I’ve fed up to the imaginary HERE with that kind of talk. I could be very content here. And most days I am. Or, most parts of most days I am content.

But it’s cold and dying outside. And I feel the cold straight to my core. And I am not warmed by much, other than select few memories and some words I talk outloud to myself. I am warmed by sleep, by Thanksgiving break. I do nothing as of late really. Nothing beautiful.

Talk to me. Someone. I am closed off. I am unguarded. I am vulnerable to the World, and I think that if I just cleaned my room and read a little I would feel beautiful again.


My Uncle Larry was married to Rhonda who had two daughters, Aubrey and Chelsey, from another marriage. Larry and Rhonda divorced, eventually Larry killed himself, and we haven’t heard from Aubrey Chelsey or Larry and Rhonda’s daughter Melanie in years.

Aubrey added me on facebook and I was looking at her pictures. She lives in Portland. She has a cute baby girl and a husband now. They do things like walk on the shore when its cloudy and ride a bike with two seats and pick flowers.

I want to go West too.. without a baby or a husband.. but with friends or someone I love and I  want to pick flowers and go to the shore and walk around and ride silly bikes. But I don’t want to get married and have to bbq a turkey on the grill and be a whole country’s worth of distance away from my mom. At least not forever.

one day… I’ll say it again oneday… as I’ve said it before oneday… always oneday.

The Good Life

I hurt myself at work today pretty badly. I smashed my finger in the metal sliding doors of the mug cooler. When was the last time you really hurt yourself? I mean earlier this week I walked into the purse hook in the bathroom and that hurt. I have an impressive bruise from it. But this was like no pain I’ve encountered in a long time. I started crying and wrapped it, but as the minutes passed it became evident that I had to go home. It hurt so bad I actually felt like I was going to faint. My managers  eventually became worried and my manager Lauren bartended and sent me home. For this I am grateful. My finger isn’t broken (thank God) but it is really jacked. Pain killers did nothing. Eventual oxycottin took the pain level to a bearable amount, and made me feel weird.

But the main point of this story is my friends.At work I kept trying to bartend but would, in complete agony, have to step outside. My bar guests had a crying bartender. How awkward for them. But Alana stood by me, venturing behind the bar for the first time to try and greet my guests, ignoring the fact that she was useless if they needed a drink. She helped wrap my immediately swollen and purple finger. Zara saw my icepack and got me a newer, colder one. Maureen wiped my tears away with her shirt. Everyone was just so nice and comforting. Nic agreed to come in early so I could go to the hospital. I know this is all over a finger! and can be looked at as ridiculous. But I was in incredible pain, and everyone cared. Later Alana would be telling the story and would say, “She just kept saying ‘I just want my mom'”, which would prompt Maureen to become teary-eyed.

Later, as I lay in bed throbbing, Nic and Kari would text me, checking up on me. Maureen would speak to Matt and he would call me to see how I was. Britt and Moe would call me. Maureen would stop by later with PF Changs. And my mom, my amazing mom, would go to Chilis to see me only to hear I was in the hospital (I wasn’t). She would come home and take such good care of me. She would make me two dinners (because she didnt want me to wait while the other one cooked), she would eat dinner with me in my bed and lay with me, and rub my back and arms. Mick would give me painkillers, and when they didn’t work, offered me better ones. He is in chronic pain constantly, but still cared enough to give me medicine that he relies on in order to live as normally as possible.

I am just grateful for everyone. I am thankful. I love them all.

And yes, my finger is still killing me. Like seriously… its ridiculous how badly that hurt. But beautiful that no one dismissed my tears as silly. They all helped me, just because they really do care. It touched me.

Tomorrow is my dad’s birthday. He’s 52.

I can do anyyyyyyything.


I’m doing really well lately. Not necessarily outstanding in any one aspect, but all together, pretty well. And the advice I give to Rachel always turns into advice for myself. And sometimes I really listen to it. And other times it actually sticks. She’s coming to visit very very soon and I can’t wait. She’s the Ben to my Jerry’s.