So here I am. sitting in my bedroom drinking coffee. it's funny how I'll suddenly--like in a matter of a few seconds--develop a mad craving for the stuff. and that's just what happened a few minutes ago. one second, I was happily listening to music while cleaning--yes, cleaning--my room, and the next second I was making a mad dash for the stairs in an effort to get a pot brewing.
Oh man, this stuff is good. it's dark. really, really dark. Pretty much only Jim and I drink coffee this black. Sometimes Jim and I stay awake all night long, playing the wii and drinking insanely dark coffee. most of the time I humor my family and make it regular. but if I was to be perfectly truthful, I'd have to admit that this overly strong stuff that I'm drinking now is my favorite.
It's cold in the house, making the coffee taste even better. it seems Dad has won the battle over the air conditioner this evening, at least until Mom realizes that it's 60 degrees in the house and quickly adjusts it to 90. that's one thing about my house, it's either extremely warm or extremely cold. if my parents would just leave the air conditioner alone and let me have my way, we could all enjoy a much needed balance. but for some reason, if I turn it to something in-between, they both have conniptions. oh well. I try.
I tried to make Rachel take a taste of coffee earlier today. Rachel hates coffee. I tried to explain to her that when I was her age, I hated coffee too. Oh, I drank it alright. I drank it because my dad drank it and spoke so highly of it, and I didn't want to disappoint him. he said--jokingly--that if I didn't like coffee I wasn't a true Trexel. I laugh now, but to a child of a mere eight years, that's a serious thing. so I cringed inside and drank the bitter drink. I don't really know what happened. over a period of years, I grew to tolerate it more and more until I couldn't get enough of the stuff. now, well, you see what's happened. anyways. I was trying to make Rachel understand that if she would just tolerate the coffee for a few short years, she would thank me in the end. so she took a sip--if you could call it that--and immediately began coughing and gaging like she was dying or something. maybe she's too far gone?
Drinking this strong coffee takes me back to my Scooters days. every day I'd go in there between classes and order a large dark coffee. it cost exactly $1.98 and it was big enough to last me until I had to go to class. I miss that place. it was the only time I was ever considered a "regular". it was always the same guy working there and he would always come talk to me and give me free drinks and stuff. it was awesome.
Oooh...blast. see, this is one thing I hate about coffee. headaches. if I don't drink it, I'll get a headache. if I do drink it, I still get a headache! madness! tylenol is a good weapon, but it really only serves to put my headache to sleep for a few hours, and when it wakes up it's usually more irate than before. the mom of one of my childhood friends once told me that when I had a headache, I should lie down on my back with my eyes closed and think of a quiet lake. I tried it once, and managed to lie still for nearly thirty seconds before getting bored and thinking, "This is lame."
Anyway. the coffee--my second large mug of it--is gone now. my head still pounds like a madman with a jackhammer was let loose inside it, and I think it would be a good idea if I stopped looking at this computer screen. maybe I'll go pop some painkillers, if only to incapacitate the jackhammer-wielding madman for a few precious hours. Later, everybody.
"Fix You" --Coldplay.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Don't Take Me Away
I wrote this as I was riding in the back seat of my car. we had been in Colorado for almost a week in the beautiful Rocky Mountains, and were on our way home. The mountains were beginning to fade into the distance and I was pretty sad, to say the least. I always seem to fall into a sort of mild depression after leaving the Rockies, and this poem is the outcome.
The moment that I saw you there
Majesty touching the sky
A place where beauty stands unmarred
Splendor money cannot buy
The moment that I saw you there
Majesty touching the sky
A place where beauty stands unmarred
Splendor money cannot buy
I knew I’d found my hearts desire
My hometown was no more
I had a new land to call my love
A new home to explore
But now you're tearing me in two
Separating body from soul
How can one half live alone
Both alive but neither whole
The battle inside me is raging
I fight every step of the way
But each moment means another mile
You’re taking me away
And I look back toward the fading scene
And try to capture the sight
To remember when I’m trapped by buildings
To appease me in the night
There you stand, my mountains
In breathtaking design
Dark, mysterious, your proud peaks gleam
High above timberline
The waterfall giving the stream its life
The sun shining through the trees
The familiar smell of pine and sap
Silent laughter in the cool breeze
The eagle flying over his land
The Columbine reaching for the sun
The deer and moose are content to roam
Free to live and run
My mountains, my
They call me back for more
More wonder, more adventure
To make my spirit soar
But against my will I’m going back
Whatever the price, I’ll pay
I’m begging, I’ll do anything
Just don’t take me away.
"Rocky Mountain High" --John Denver. appropriate, don't you think?
Saturday, July 26, 2008
The Bad Day That Wasn't
So there I was. rushing--frantically--around the house in a gallant effort to get to work on time. I had woken up at 7:30 a.m. and I didn't have to be to work until 9:00. Happily I turned off the alarm and burrowed deeper into my blankets. I didn't have to be up for a few minutes yet...I had plenty of time. my eyes slowly drifted closed.
Deep, deep down in the blackened depths of my slumbering mind, something was making my sleep uneasy. strange how, even in the deepest of sleeps, some part of the mind is still awake enough to remind you of things. things like, "Um, you're about to be late for work, Stupid!" annoyed with whatever was disrupting my sweet slumber, I scraped and clawed my way out of that deep hole of sleep, into the realm of consciousness. once there, I cracked an eye open, to see what could be poking at my brain so persistently.
The moment my eyes landed on the clock, I was immediately switched from "Asleep" to "Panic". It was a quarter to nine!! EEK! I threw on my work clothes and ran down the stairs in a frenzy. my mom poked her head around the corner and said something to me, but I didn't have time to talk. besides, I knew (for a fact) that if I stuck around, my mom would be trying to make me eat breakfast or take some coffee in a travel mug...things I simply did not have time for just then. so I call a hasty farewell and dash out the door, still blinking my contacts into my eyes.
As I sped to work, I switched from "Panic" into "Angry". I was angry at everything. angry at myself for not getting up to my alarm. angry at the weather for being so hot and humid. angry at my manager, who would expect me to be happy and helpful (which is my job, yes I know). angry angry angry. I was sure--absolutely positive--that my day was going to be a disaster. it had certainly gotten off to a horrible start.
Sometimes I wish I worked at Wal Mart. Nothing at all against Wal Mart people, but at least their slogan isn't "a helpful smile in every aisle". so I sort of decided I would not be happy at work. a bad thing to decide, I know, but I couldn't help myself. I was sad and angry and having a terrible day.
And my day went like that for about three hours. until a nice old man (somewhere between 70 and 80 years old) came through my line. he smiled and asked me how I was. "Pretty good." I answered. (I never go anything below "pretty good" because the last thing I want is for somebody to inquire about my melancholy). I politely return the question, to which he responds, "I'm having a great day. if you don't, it's your own fault." He smiled.
To an ordinary person, it would've been an almost rude thing to say. luckily for him (and me), he had happened into the lane of a cashier who was having a very gloomy day indeed. after he went on his merry way and I was left to myself to ponder, I decided the old man was right. and then I decided my day would be a good one. at break time, I listened to "beautiful day" by sanctus real, and to my surprise, when I decided to have a good day, I actually did! the humidity wasn't as suffocating, the customers seemed more friendly, time seemed to go faster, and I began to get excited about my upcoming road trip to Colorado.
On my drive home, I listened to "Walking On Sunshine" and y'know, the day--which I was so sure would be a terrible one--actually turned out quite nicely. Older people really should talk more. I'm grateful to that old man. he made my day a good one, in one gentle rebuke.
So. from now on, when I can, I'll have good days. I know they can't all be good, but at least now I understand that whether a day is good or not is no longer totally at the mercy of chance. :)
P.S. Just wanted to say bye! I'm off to Colorado tomorrow morning. I'm super excited! see all you blokes when I get back. oh, and for those of you who were curious, yes, I DID get to work on time!! and with one minute to spare, even. yeah. I'm that good. I was like...The Roadrunner on steroids.
"Oh Shenandoah" --James Galway. a really pretty old song. nobody really know what the words are talking about, but in spite of (or maybe because of) that, I find the song intriguing and quite lovely.
Deep, deep down in the blackened depths of my slumbering mind, something was making my sleep uneasy. strange how, even in the deepest of sleeps, some part of the mind is still awake enough to remind you of things. things like, "Um, you're about to be late for work, Stupid!" annoyed with whatever was disrupting my sweet slumber, I scraped and clawed my way out of that deep hole of sleep, into the realm of consciousness. once there, I cracked an eye open, to see what could be poking at my brain so persistently.
The moment my eyes landed on the clock, I was immediately switched from "Asleep" to "Panic". It was a quarter to nine!! EEK! I threw on my work clothes and ran down the stairs in a frenzy. my mom poked her head around the corner and said something to me, but I didn't have time to talk. besides, I knew (for a fact) that if I stuck around, my mom would be trying to make me eat breakfast or take some coffee in a travel mug...things I simply did not have time for just then. so I call a hasty farewell and dash out the door, still blinking my contacts into my eyes.
As I sped to work, I switched from "Panic" into "Angry". I was angry at everything. angry at myself for not getting up to my alarm. angry at the weather for being so hot and humid. angry at my manager, who would expect me to be happy and helpful (which is my job, yes I know). angry angry angry. I was sure--absolutely positive--that my day was going to be a disaster. it had certainly gotten off to a horrible start.
Sometimes I wish I worked at Wal Mart. Nothing at all against Wal Mart people, but at least their slogan isn't "a helpful smile in every aisle". so I sort of decided I would not be happy at work. a bad thing to decide, I know, but I couldn't help myself. I was sad and angry and having a terrible day.
And my day went like that for about three hours. until a nice old man (somewhere between 70 and 80 years old) came through my line. he smiled and asked me how I was. "Pretty good." I answered. (I never go anything below "pretty good" because the last thing I want is for somebody to inquire about my melancholy). I politely return the question, to which he responds, "I'm having a great day. if you don't, it's your own fault." He smiled.
To an ordinary person, it would've been an almost rude thing to say. luckily for him (and me), he had happened into the lane of a cashier who was having a very gloomy day indeed. after he went on his merry way and I was left to myself to ponder, I decided the old man was right. and then I decided my day would be a good one. at break time, I listened to "beautiful day" by sanctus real, and to my surprise, when I decided to have a good day, I actually did! the humidity wasn't as suffocating, the customers seemed more friendly, time seemed to go faster, and I began to get excited about my upcoming road trip to Colorado.
On my drive home, I listened to "Walking On Sunshine" and y'know, the day--which I was so sure would be a terrible one--actually turned out quite nicely. Older people really should talk more. I'm grateful to that old man. he made my day a good one, in one gentle rebuke.
So. from now on, when I can, I'll have good days. I know they can't all be good, but at least now I understand that whether a day is good or not is no longer totally at the mercy of chance. :)
P.S. Just wanted to say bye! I'm off to Colorado tomorrow morning. I'm super excited! see all you blokes when I get back. oh, and for those of you who were curious, yes, I DID get to work on time!! and with one minute to spare, even. yeah. I'm that good. I was like...The Roadrunner on steroids.
"Oh Shenandoah" --James Galway. a really pretty old song. nobody really know what the words are talking about, but in spite of (or maybe because of) that, I find the song intriguing and quite lovely.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Yeah, That's My Name
I like my name. Johanna. kinda pretty. I'm named after my great-grandma, too, so it also holds sentimental value. then again, I can find sentimental value in just about anything, from broken balloons to wadded up tinfoil to sand. (those three examples are totally not made up and also totally beside the point). the name Johanna isn't all that common, I know. in fact, I am hereby declaring it a rarity. but in spite of this, I think people ought to be able to say it correctly.
But apparently, 95% of all the people I see from day to day have never passed 3rd grade phonics, because my name is hardly ever pronounced right. I've stopped correcting people about it. it's not their fault they can't read. oh wait, yes it is! in fact (this is how bad it is) if somebody does say it right, I immediately assume I know the person from somewhere.
It's sometimes kinda nice when people ask how to pronounce it. if they knew how to sound out words they could do it themselves, but at least it's better than trying to do it yourself and butchering it.
When people say, "Hi, Jo-anna" I just wanna grab their shirt and pull 'em close and say, "Look here, pal. see the name tag? see that little "h" there in the middle of the word? now think way, way back to preschool when you were supposed to learn to read. remember what sound an "h" makes? if I were you, it would probably be pretty safe to assume it was put there for a reason. now I'm gonna let it slide this time since you obviously haven't had your morning coffee, putting you a bit behind as far as thinking is concerned, but just be glad I've had mine, or I might not be in such a good mood, so consider yourself lucky. say it right from now on, got it?"
Okay, maybe I only feel like doing that when I'm feeling especially cranky. but really, come on. in spanish, "h"s are never pronounced, but we speak English here. the people at my workplace make fun of me, because they all know I hate when people say my name wrong. so, of course, they go out of their way to "accidentally" say it wrong all the time. grr.
So like I said, I've stopped correcting people who say my name without the "h" or say the "j" like a "y" (who does that?!?!). it's no use. it's like trying to manipulate the weather. you can yell and threaten and bribe and cry and throw stuff, but in the end, it's gonna rain on your birthday party, like it or not. so in the end I just have to suck it up and smile politely and say, "Yeah, that's my name."
Maybe there just need to be more famous Johannas in the world. there's Johanna Spyri (the lady who wrote "Heidi", and yes, I knew that without looking it up), but she's the only famous Johanna that I know of.
Let's see what happens when we Google me, shall we? hmm, interesting. most famous Johannas are writers. there's a town in Minnesota called Lake Johanna Township. population 150. wow. lemme see...que mas? there's a song called "Johanna, Shut Up." lol! that's awesome.
Other than those little tidbits, there aren't many Johhanas to be found. maybe the simplest way to make people say my name right is just to...become famous! what better way is there? you never hear people saying Johanna Spyri's name wrong. no, everybody in the world knows how to say her name right. yeah, becoming famous is definitely the way to go. or in the words of Bob, "It's so simple! yet so brilliant."
Oh, get this! just tonight, I was at St. Elizabeth hospital to shadow a CNA for my class, and the guy I was shadowing asked my name, and I told him, and he says, "Johanna, hu? I'm gonna call you Joanna." no joke! that's what he said! I was like, wh...what? where do you get off calling me that??? jerk!! luckily I got put with another girl instead who just...didn't say my name at all. I was okay with that. if I hadn't been working, I might've picked a fight with the dude. and it probably wouldn't have ended well; he was like, the King Kong of CNAs. then again, I was pretty ticked. who knows.
The End.
Useless Tidbit Of The Night: my brother Jim and I just brewed a pot of coffee (Jim's the best, cause he's always willing to drink coffee with me late at night). and we made it so, so strong, it was like drinking a coffee bean. awesome. now I've got a headache big as the Goodyear Blimp. I thought it was supposed to work the other way around, dangit! and pain meds are all the way upstairs, so until I decide I want to go to bed, I'll just live with it.
"Johanna, Shut Up" --Crazy Loop. it's a weird, kinda creepy song. and the singer sings badly. I don't recommend it. but it's my only claim to fame, so I'll take it.
But apparently, 95% of all the people I see from day to day have never passed 3rd grade phonics, because my name is hardly ever pronounced right. I've stopped correcting people about it. it's not their fault they can't read. oh wait, yes it is! in fact (this is how bad it is) if somebody does say it right, I immediately assume I know the person from somewhere.
It's sometimes kinda nice when people ask how to pronounce it. if they knew how to sound out words they could do it themselves, but at least it's better than trying to do it yourself and butchering it.
When people say, "Hi, Jo-anna" I just wanna grab their shirt and pull 'em close and say, "Look here, pal. see the name tag? see that little "h" there in the middle of the word? now think way, way back to preschool when you were supposed to learn to read. remember what sound an "h" makes? if I were you, it would probably be pretty safe to assume it was put there for a reason. now I'm gonna let it slide this time since you obviously haven't had your morning coffee, putting you a bit behind as far as thinking is concerned, but just be glad I've had mine, or I might not be in such a good mood, so consider yourself lucky. say it right from now on, got it?"
Okay, maybe I only feel like doing that when I'm feeling especially cranky. but really, come on. in spanish, "h"s are never pronounced, but we speak English here. the people at my workplace make fun of me, because they all know I hate when people say my name wrong. so, of course, they go out of their way to "accidentally" say it wrong all the time. grr.
So like I said, I've stopped correcting people who say my name without the "h" or say the "j" like a "y" (who does that?!?!). it's no use. it's like trying to manipulate the weather. you can yell and threaten and bribe and cry and throw stuff, but in the end, it's gonna rain on your birthday party, like it or not. so in the end I just have to suck it up and smile politely and say, "Yeah, that's my name."
Maybe there just need to be more famous Johannas in the world. there's Johanna Spyri (the lady who wrote "Heidi", and yes, I knew that without looking it up), but she's the only famous Johanna that I know of.
Let's see what happens when we Google me, shall we? hmm, interesting. most famous Johannas are writers. there's a town in Minnesota called Lake Johanna Township. population 150. wow. lemme see...que mas? there's a song called "Johanna, Shut Up." lol! that's awesome.
Other than those little tidbits, there aren't many Johhanas to be found. maybe the simplest way to make people say my name right is just to...become famous! what better way is there? you never hear people saying Johanna Spyri's name wrong. no, everybody in the world knows how to say her name right. yeah, becoming famous is definitely the way to go. or in the words of Bob, "It's so simple! yet so brilliant."
Oh, get this! just tonight, I was at St. Elizabeth hospital to shadow a CNA for my class, and the guy I was shadowing asked my name, and I told him, and he says, "Johanna, hu? I'm gonna call you Joanna." no joke! that's what he said! I was like, wh...what? where do you get off calling me that??? jerk!! luckily I got put with another girl instead who just...didn't say my name at all. I was okay with that. if I hadn't been working, I might've picked a fight with the dude. and it probably wouldn't have ended well; he was like, the King Kong of CNAs. then again, I was pretty ticked. who knows.
The End.
Useless Tidbit Of The Night: my brother Jim and I just brewed a pot of coffee (Jim's the best, cause he's always willing to drink coffee with me late at night). and we made it so, so strong, it was like drinking a coffee bean. awesome. now I've got a headache big as the Goodyear Blimp. I thought it was supposed to work the other way around, dangit! and pain meds are all the way upstairs, so until I decide I want to go to bed, I'll just live with it.
"Johanna, Shut Up" --Crazy Loop. it's a weird, kinda creepy song. and the singer sings badly. I don't recommend it. but it's my only claim to fame, so I'll take it.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
My Little Buddy, Al
So there I was. it was just after 11:00 at night and, exhausted from a long day at work, I wearily trudged out to my lonely little car. as I reached to open the door, I noticed a small little moth attached to the driver's side window. it was completely white and terribly cute. I touched it with my finger, expecting it to happily fly on its merry way. so I was a little surprised when it gave a feeble cough (or at least I imagined it did) and simply fell onto the pavement on its back and lay still. I peered closer. surely, I hadn't killed it? I touched it again, and was rewarded with nothing more than a slight leg movement. the moth was obviously sick. maybe dying. was I really going to leave a sick creature laying in an abandoned parking lot to die, alone and afraid? Not even I am that heartless. (unless I'm sitting in a deer stand in Nowhere Minnesota, and then, well, that's different. entirely.)
I wondered what to do. since I was anxious to be getting home and out of the dark parking lot, I simply scooped him up and took him along. I would decide what to do with him on the way. setting him on the seat next to me, I gave him another curious glance, trying to give an accurate diagnosis. it appeared to me that the moth had fainted. heat stroke, maybe. how long he had been clinging to my window, I didn't know. might've been five minutes, might've been all day. I tried to maneuver him onto his legs thinking maybe that would make him more comfortable, but he seemed content enough to lay on his back, so I left him like that.
I started my car and turned on the music--something happy and upbeat, to drown out the unpleasant workday. I don't remember what exactly I was listening to, and it doesn't really matter, does it? I mean, I'm sure it was awesome, whatever it was, otherwise I wouldn't be listening to it, would I? :)
Anyways, as I drove home, I wondered what I would do with my new little buddy when I arrived. without thinking any more about it, I turned up my music and decided to take a detour on my way home so I could listen to it a little longer.
I had just passed a street light, and chanced a look at Little Buddy, when I noticed a change in him. he was no longer on his back. in fact, he was on all fours--err, all sixes--and was looking perky and alert. I smiled. "Little Buddy, if anything had the power to cure you, it was surely the music." Little Buddy seemed to agree. he has good taste.
So after I stop the car in front of my house, I debate what to do with him. he's still there on the passenger seat, watching me, waiting for my verdict. I decide to let him loose outside, where he could be happy and free. So I try to get him to climb onto my key so I can carry him to freedom. he starts to climb aboard, and then seems to have second thoughts. he darts a few inches away, then stops again, wanting to trust me deep down but unsure of my intentions.
"C'mon, Little Buddy," I call softly. "I'm just going to take you outside." but again, he runs away, this time underneath the passenger seat and out of sight. I sighed. well, if he really loves my car--and my music--that much, then he's welcome to it, I guess. it's his life. I'm down with it as long as he doesn't fly around in my face while I drive.
I get out of my car and close the door. he still has not reappeared. I smile and start to go inside, but realize that if he's going to live in my car I ought to give him a proper name. none that I think of seem to fit him, though. eventually, because he is an albino moth, I named him Al. "Goodnight, Al. sweet dreams."
It's been quite a few days. Al has not reappeared. I don't even know if he's still in the car. possibly, he flew outside while I was driving along with my windows open. possibly, he climbed out that one time when I accidentally left the window down all morning. possibly, he's still alive and rocking out with my tunes every time I climb into the car. possibly, he was even more sick than I thought and crawled under the seat and died.
In any case, Little Buddy Al had the best taste in music of any other moth I've ever met. Rock on, dude. rock on.
"If You're Gonna Play In Texas" --Alabama
I wondered what to do. since I was anxious to be getting home and out of the dark parking lot, I simply scooped him up and took him along. I would decide what to do with him on the way. setting him on the seat next to me, I gave him another curious glance, trying to give an accurate diagnosis. it appeared to me that the moth had fainted. heat stroke, maybe. how long he had been clinging to my window, I didn't know. might've been five minutes, might've been all day. I tried to maneuver him onto his legs thinking maybe that would make him more comfortable, but he seemed content enough to lay on his back, so I left him like that.
I started my car and turned on the music--something happy and upbeat, to drown out the unpleasant workday. I don't remember what exactly I was listening to, and it doesn't really matter, does it? I mean, I'm sure it was awesome, whatever it was, otherwise I wouldn't be listening to it, would I? :)
Anyways, as I drove home, I wondered what I would do with my new little buddy when I arrived. without thinking any more about it, I turned up my music and decided to take a detour on my way home so I could listen to it a little longer.
I had just passed a street light, and chanced a look at Little Buddy, when I noticed a change in him. he was no longer on his back. in fact, he was on all fours--err, all sixes--and was looking perky and alert. I smiled. "Little Buddy, if anything had the power to cure you, it was surely the music." Little Buddy seemed to agree. he has good taste.
So after I stop the car in front of my house, I debate what to do with him. he's still there on the passenger seat, watching me, waiting for my verdict. I decide to let him loose outside, where he could be happy and free. So I try to get him to climb onto my key so I can carry him to freedom. he starts to climb aboard, and then seems to have second thoughts. he darts a few inches away, then stops again, wanting to trust me deep down but unsure of my intentions.
"C'mon, Little Buddy," I call softly. "I'm just going to take you outside." but again, he runs away, this time underneath the passenger seat and out of sight. I sighed. well, if he really loves my car--and my music--that much, then he's welcome to it, I guess. it's his life. I'm down with it as long as he doesn't fly around in my face while I drive.
I get out of my car and close the door. he still has not reappeared. I smile and start to go inside, but realize that if he's going to live in my car I ought to give him a proper name. none that I think of seem to fit him, though. eventually, because he is an albino moth, I named him Al. "Goodnight, Al. sweet dreams."
It's been quite a few days. Al has not reappeared. I don't even know if he's still in the car. possibly, he flew outside while I was driving along with my windows open. possibly, he climbed out that one time when I accidentally left the window down all morning. possibly, he's still alive and rocking out with my tunes every time I climb into the car. possibly, he was even more sick than I thought and crawled under the seat and died.
In any case, Little Buddy Al had the best taste in music of any other moth I've ever met. Rock on, dude. rock on.
"If You're Gonna Play In Texas" --Alabama
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I Am SO Going To Regret This...
Although I've gotten into the very bad habit of going to bed in the wee morning hours every night, last night, because I had to work at 8:00 the following morning, I was bidding the family goodnight at only midnight. so I was going upstairs to my bedroom like a good little girl, fully intending to go to bed at once, really I was.
Suddenly I remembered that I needed to do a load of laundry--clothes that I needed for work in the morning. so I take my small bundle of clothes down into the laundry room, past Nikki, Jim and Josh watching random TV. when I leave the laundry room several minutes later, the channel they had been watching had been changed. I ask what they're watching. The Fugitive, they answer.
What! wh...what...how could...who do they think they are?!?! they're really going to watch one of the best movies of all time without me?? I bite my lip in indecision. I have to get up at 6:30...the movie doesn't get over until 2:30. that's only three to four hours of sleep before working for eight hours. dare I?
Well...after all...my clothes are in the washer. I need to wait around, just long enough to throw them in the dryer, then I'll go to bed. yeah, that's it. So I stay up and watch the movie with them. yes, I threw my clothes in the dryer, and yes, I continued watching The Fugitive after that. couldn't see that one coming.
The whole time I'm sitting there, despite the fact that the movie was incredible and I hadn't seen it in FOREVER, that little annoying part of my brain that trickles out a constant stream of practical thoughts kept saying, "You're going to regret this tomorrow...you're going to regret this tomorrow...you're going to regret this tomorrow..." and the big part of my brain that constantly flows a riptide rush of sarcastic, impractical thoughts would reply, "Yeah, I know I am. now shut up and watch the movie." and so, when I laid down in my bed at 2:45 a.m., all was right with the world and there was a smile on my face as I lapsed into a deep sleep. "You're going to regret this tomorrow..."
*Tomorrow...which is actually today now*
So to be perfectly honest, I don't really remember too much of this morning. I do remember crawling out of bed at 6:15 feeling like road kill that had been scraped off the side of the road. I sort of remember getting ready and talking with dad for a while, though I have no recollection whatsoever of what we talked about. I remember drinking coffee and staring at the kitchen table. I don't remember if I ate breakfast or not. I remember telling mom how tired I was. she didn't give me much sympathy. rightfully so, I'm afraid. I had nobody to blame but myself.
I remember getting to work and there being no customers for a long long time, leaving me nothing to do but stand there pondering how exhausted I was. I remember wondering if I regretted watching The Fugitive with my brothers and sister. it had been sweet staying up with them, but here I was, tired tired tired. did I regret it? I wasn't sure. I decided to wait until I was not half asleep to make up my mind.
I remember wanting coffee very badly as I stood obediently at my register. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be to have a white chocolate mocha from Nu Vibe with two (count 'em, TWO) extra shots of espresso (notice, there is NO "x" in espresso). I would've just walked the coupla blocks to Nu Vibe on my break and gotten the stupid thing myself, but unfortunately, I was not allowed to stray farther than the Hy Vee parking lot. curses.
I remember scheming...conniving...concocting a way to get a white chocolate mocha. I needed something, that was certain. I couldn't survive the rest of the day at the rate I was going. so, when I was released to take my break, I wasted no time. I grabbed my phone and frantically dialed the only person in the world who would lend a sympathetic ear to my problems. "Hi...Mom? it's me..."
I'm not sure why, but my mother was much, much more willing to help me out this time than she was in the morning before I left for work. she listened quietly to my plea for a white chocolate mocha (and some company on my break) and acquiesced, much to my delight and relief.
So, after waiting patiently in my car for a few minutes, my mother climbs in beside me and hands me a white chocolate mocha, assuring me that yes, it has two extra espresso shots in it. it's as amazing as I dreamed it would be.
That was pretty much the best break ever. my mom and I, drinking coffee in my car, listening to music and talking like old pals. it was fun. I think our playlist consisted of Simon and Garfunkel, Journey, Johnny Cash and Van Halen. :)
So, I finish my mocha, say goodbye and thank you to my mother, and head back inside to work the last four hours of my shift. at last, I felt I was thinking clearly enough to make a decision about whether or not I regret staying up last night.
Let's see. I was no longer tired (the mocha took good care of that problem). I watched a sweet movie with sweet peeps. I got to spend my break with my awesome mom. I got a free white chocolate mocha. Regrets? no way! I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
*Note. from now on, I'm going to put what I'm listening to at the end of my posts. no reason for it. I just want to, and I can. :) so there.*
"I Walk The Line" --Johnny Cash
Suddenly I remembered that I needed to do a load of laundry--clothes that I needed for work in the morning. so I take my small bundle of clothes down into the laundry room, past Nikki, Jim and Josh watching random TV. when I leave the laundry room several minutes later, the channel they had been watching had been changed. I ask what they're watching. The Fugitive, they answer.
What! wh...what...how could...who do they think they are?!?! they're really going to watch one of the best movies of all time without me?? I bite my lip in indecision. I have to get up at 6:30...the movie doesn't get over until 2:30. that's only three to four hours of sleep before working for eight hours. dare I?
Well...after all...my clothes are in the washer. I need to wait around, just long enough to throw them in the dryer, then I'll go to bed. yeah, that's it. So I stay up and watch the movie with them. yes, I threw my clothes in the dryer, and yes, I continued watching The Fugitive after that. couldn't see that one coming.
The whole time I'm sitting there, despite the fact that the movie was incredible and I hadn't seen it in FOREVER, that little annoying part of my brain that trickles out a constant stream of practical thoughts kept saying, "You're going to regret this tomorrow...you're going to regret this tomorrow...you're going to regret this tomorrow..." and the big part of my brain that constantly flows a riptide rush of sarcastic, impractical thoughts would reply, "Yeah, I know I am. now shut up and watch the movie." and so, when I laid down in my bed at 2:45 a.m., all was right with the world and there was a smile on my face as I lapsed into a deep sleep. "You're going to regret this tomorrow..."
*Tomorrow...which is actually today now*
So to be perfectly honest, I don't really remember too much of this morning. I do remember crawling out of bed at 6:15 feeling like road kill that had been scraped off the side of the road. I sort of remember getting ready and talking with dad for a while, though I have no recollection whatsoever of what we talked about. I remember drinking coffee and staring at the kitchen table. I don't remember if I ate breakfast or not. I remember telling mom how tired I was. she didn't give me much sympathy. rightfully so, I'm afraid. I had nobody to blame but myself.
I remember getting to work and there being no customers for a long long time, leaving me nothing to do but stand there pondering how exhausted I was. I remember wondering if I regretted watching The Fugitive with my brothers and sister. it had been sweet staying up with them, but here I was, tired tired tired. did I regret it? I wasn't sure. I decided to wait until I was not half asleep to make up my mind.
I remember wanting coffee very badly as I stood obediently at my register. I remember thinking how wonderful it would be to have a white chocolate mocha from Nu Vibe with two (count 'em, TWO) extra shots of espresso (notice, there is NO "x" in espresso). I would've just walked the coupla blocks to Nu Vibe on my break and gotten the stupid thing myself, but unfortunately, I was not allowed to stray farther than the Hy Vee parking lot. curses.
I remember scheming...conniving...concocting a way to get a white chocolate mocha. I needed something, that was certain. I couldn't survive the rest of the day at the rate I was going. so, when I was released to take my break, I wasted no time. I grabbed my phone and frantically dialed the only person in the world who would lend a sympathetic ear to my problems. "Hi...Mom? it's me..."
I'm not sure why, but my mother was much, much more willing to help me out this time than she was in the morning before I left for work. she listened quietly to my plea for a white chocolate mocha (and some company on my break) and acquiesced, much to my delight and relief.
So, after waiting patiently in my car for a few minutes, my mother climbs in beside me and hands me a white chocolate mocha, assuring me that yes, it has two extra espresso shots in it. it's as amazing as I dreamed it would be.
That was pretty much the best break ever. my mom and I, drinking coffee in my car, listening to music and talking like old pals. it was fun. I think our playlist consisted of Simon and Garfunkel, Journey, Johnny Cash and Van Halen. :)
So, I finish my mocha, say goodbye and thank you to my mother, and head back inside to work the last four hours of my shift. at last, I felt I was thinking clearly enough to make a decision about whether or not I regret staying up last night.
Let's see. I was no longer tired (the mocha took good care of that problem). I watched a sweet movie with sweet peeps. I got to spend my break with my awesome mom. I got a free white chocolate mocha. Regrets? no way! I'd do it again in a heartbeat.
*Note. from now on, I'm going to put what I'm listening to at the end of my posts. no reason for it. I just want to, and I can. :) so there.*
"I Walk The Line" --Johnny Cash
Monday, June 16, 2008
Hey, No Fair!
I hate not knowing things about myself. seriously, how dumb is it to not know something about your own self? if anyone should know, it should be you! it kinda bugs me that I can't control some things about myself. I can't make my heart stop beating. why not? it's mine, isn't it? it's part of my own self. If I should have control over anything, it ought to be me, don't you think? it's not fair! not that I would ever make my heart stop beating even if I could. but see, I've heard of having "heart hiccups" and I've always thought it would be kinda funny to have those every now and then. :)
Anyways. another thing I hate is when I feel some emotion and I don't know why. annoying! am I the only one plagued with this problem? let's see a show of hands...nobody? fantastic. like just yesterday, I heard this song, and it was so beautiful! it was like...so wonderful it was heartbreaking! and I was sad, and I didn't know why, because it was a good song, not a sad one. but I was happy, too! so weird. not fair, either. I hate when this happens. and see? now I'm upset to top it all off. great.
Lots of songs do that to me. just listening to one of them makes a long rainbow of emotions tumble around inside me like popcorn in one of those old ghetto popcorn poppers. you know, the ones that plugged into the wall? did anyone else have one of those when they were young? I wonder if that thing is still around here someplace...
Anyways. where was I. oh yes; all the things in my life that aren't fair. And another thing! who decided that singing out loud was socially unacceptable? he needs to be drug out into the street and properly disposed of. lately (because of all the songs that I love, like I said in the last part of this pointless blog) I've wanted to do a lot more spontaneous singing than is normal for me. but you know what? somebody decided once that bursting into song in the middle of a crowd is a bad idea, and so, like a bunch of sheep, we all walk around with songs on the tips of our tongues, and don't sing them. thank goodness for the solitude of my car, or I think I would explode. I can't sing when I want to. not fair.
Nebraska doesn't have any mountains. that you could stand in any spot on earth and not see a mountain on the horizon is a sin. as it is, we have to drive and drive and drive for miles to see one, and that's not fair.
Oh! something more! in less than a year, I'm going to be twenty years old. That is way not fair. I'm sick of getting older. it's getting old really fast (haha, get it?). but then, "growing old is mandatory...growing up is optional". that was one of those A-wise-man-once-said sayings that I've always personally liked.
The coffee is gone. no fair.
My mug that I painted at Paint Yourself Silly (remember, the "Johanna, that's a waste of paint" one?) got a chip in it. so sad, not to mention unfair.
Another thing, I can't burp. everyone in my family can, and I can't. I've tried and tried. once I did a little one by accident, but nobody heard it. I don't see how that can be fair at all, by anyone's standards.
Gas. enough said. not fair.
So I'll make myself stop now. I could go on all night *looks at clock* whoa, guess I kinda did. but for all our sakes, I'll end this post and go do something else. moral of the story: so many things are so not fair. now I gotta go...this homie has a hot date with an old ghetto popcorn popper.
Anyways. another thing I hate is when I feel some emotion and I don't know why. annoying! am I the only one plagued with this problem? let's see a show of hands...nobody? fantastic. like just yesterday, I heard this song, and it was so beautiful! it was like...so wonderful it was heartbreaking! and I was sad, and I didn't know why, because it was a good song, not a sad one. but I was happy, too! so weird. not fair, either. I hate when this happens. and see? now I'm upset to top it all off. great.
Lots of songs do that to me. just listening to one of them makes a long rainbow of emotions tumble around inside me like popcorn in one of those old ghetto popcorn poppers. you know, the ones that plugged into the wall? did anyone else have one of those when they were young? I wonder if that thing is still around here someplace...
Anyways. where was I. oh yes; all the things in my life that aren't fair. And another thing! who decided that singing out loud was socially unacceptable? he needs to be drug out into the street and properly disposed of. lately (because of all the songs that I love, like I said in the last part of this pointless blog) I've wanted to do a lot more spontaneous singing than is normal for me. but you know what? somebody decided once that bursting into song in the middle of a crowd is a bad idea, and so, like a bunch of sheep, we all walk around with songs on the tips of our tongues, and don't sing them. thank goodness for the solitude of my car, or I think I would explode. I can't sing when I want to. not fair.
Nebraska doesn't have any mountains. that you could stand in any spot on earth and not see a mountain on the horizon is a sin. as it is, we have to drive and drive and drive for miles to see one, and that's not fair.
Oh! something more! in less than a year, I'm going to be twenty years old. That is way not fair. I'm sick of getting older. it's getting old really fast (haha, get it?). but then, "growing old is mandatory...growing up is optional". that was one of those A-wise-man-once-said sayings that I've always personally liked.
The coffee is gone. no fair.
My mug that I painted at Paint Yourself Silly (remember, the "Johanna, that's a waste of paint" one?) got a chip in it. so sad, not to mention unfair.
Another thing, I can't burp. everyone in my family can, and I can't. I've tried and tried. once I did a little one by accident, but nobody heard it. I don't see how that can be fair at all, by anyone's standards.
Gas. enough said. not fair.
So I'll make myself stop now. I could go on all night *looks at clock* whoa, guess I kinda did. but for all our sakes, I'll end this post and go do something else. moral of the story: so many things are so not fair. now I gotta go...this homie has a hot date with an old ghetto popcorn popper.
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