I think the reason why I will always hold a special place in my heart for my ex is not because of all the big things we went through, or the little things we shared, or even the amount of time we were together, watching each other growing up and finding ourselves with one another; but because of one simple thing.
He knew that I wanted to be a writer, with a log cabin, the exact same one as Morton Rainy’s from Secret Window.
He knew this, and I never told him.
The rain envelops me in complete apathy.
Slept through church today, oh well, I technically did that for twelve years worth of Sundays in a row. I don’t think the Lord is minding too much at this point. I’ll probably go next weekend, depending on whether or not I still have the spark and drive to do so. I have the knowledge I need in my heart, but a few new ideas couldn’t hurt. It really is just an excuse for me to dress cutely and meet new people.
Work was as eventful as a minimum-wage dead-end job could be. We received outlandishly large orders all but five minutes before locking the doors, ensuring my fate to spend another half hour stuck in that grease trap. There are only so many positive things you can say about a place that leaves you covered in sweat and chicken fat. The night went rather smoothly other than those minor hiccup, due to an adorable little Filipino man who can work circles around me without complaint, and does so with a smile, that surprisingly makes him look like a very tanned young version of RDJ. No complaints.
I’ve spent most of the day reading, as bookworms like me tend to do on such groggy days. I’m still gouging through my copy of Cleaving : A Story of Meat, Marriage and Obsession. I’m finding it thrilling and comforting in an odd way. She’s obsessed with a man she had an affair with, unable to let him go even though she has a (formerly) perfectly devoted husband at home, and
copes with runs away from her life by learning the trade, and more so art, of butchery. It isn’t an overly deep story so far, but it is nice to see the other, darker side to the perky woman who decided to cook her way through a tome of French recipes. I adore any story based on a real life person who has real flaws, and just airs out their dirty laundry, so to speak.
I’ll probably actually finish the book tonight or tomorrow, depending on how late I stay up, yesterday I was up very late due to my shoulder pains. My dad recommends me going to the “bone-crusher” to get my muscle and bone aligned again, it’s been aching for near a month and I’m contemplating hacking it off. After all, this book I’m reading is the most interesting how-to manual I have ever read.
I have piles and piles of dirty clothes that I should attend do soon, they keep getting neglected like all the other necessary things in my life. I smell, feel, and look like a salty oiled chicken.
Oh me.. hopefully the weather is nicer tomorrow, maybe I’ll take my camera out for a few clicks. The fauna around my house is absolutely gorgeous the day after a rain, and the neighbors are kind enough to let me trudge through their hedges repeatedly. Remind me to bake them cookies.
It’s the end of may, and it’s snowing. The sky is throwing down thick globs of wet cotton that smears on your face, and builds up on your sweater. It’s gorgeous.
I found a copy of a book that I’ve been dying to add to my collection for over a year now. It’s a beautiful heart wrenching story, Christian-lit, and it’s fabulous. It’s one of those stories that the first time you read it, your entire life changes. It makes you laugh out loud while scouring the pages, and it will, I promise you, make you cry.
(It’s called The Shack by WM. Paul Young in case you are interested)
I also stumbled upon my glasses, which I haven’t seen in two years. It was a nice find, for I was in desperate need of them, and although the new pair I have picked out are quite indie and delicious, the ones on my face shall suffice until I come up with the two grand I need before I can even consider buying another pair.
And after all of those shenanigans, I discovered the joy of ebooks. The site I use gives me a print-out version, a version for my blackberry, and a version for hannah Jr. here. So, subsequently, I have downloaded a copy of Julie Powell’s Cleaving. Julie & Julia is a story that makes my heart soar with possibility. Every time I see it, or read it, it makes me enjoy my life a little bit more.
Which is why I’m so disappointed in the fact that the entire premise behind my newest book is the actual fate of her and her husband, her beautiful, wonderful and understanding husband, whom she cheats on after becoming a c-list celebrity from the discovery of The Julie/Julia project.
All in all, it was a good day.
Church in the morning. My first time in thirteen years. Here’s to hoping for another interesting day : )
I don’t fall asleep.
I’m not saying that I don’t sleep. I do sleep, I just don’t “fall asleep”. I pass out.
Regardless of your thoughts and opinions, there is a difference. You know when someone is so drunk that they just pass out/ black out? That’s how I do it.
I get so utterly tired that eventually my mind just goes “WHOOPS ENOUGH AWAKE TIME” and I pass out.
I also don’t sleep like normal people do. I sleep and wake up every half hour or so, and then pass out again after a split second of being awake. This can go on for up to eighteen fucking hours. You read correctly. Eighteen hours.
And yes, you’ll mention sleeping pills. They don’t work. Trust me. I’ve tried every single brand out there, in every single dose. I’ve tried every single setting, every single trick. The only thing that works is taking high doses of my prescription pain pills and anxiety meds. Which I’ve had to do several times.
So… here’s to you liver! You’re a soldier : )
It’s my all time favorite song. Whenever the world is caving in, that’s the song.
It’s poetry that’s sung.
I hate how everyone in commercials always has wedding bands on.
I believe that CLR should be for single people too.
I try really hard to keep my chin up, so that everyone keeps thinking that I’m the strongest person around.
I’ll pick up that second job, and work 16 hour days so that my mom can awaken without worries.
I’ll go to my ex’s wedding, because he invited me, and I’ll smile, even though I’ll go to bed that night sobbing, wishing I was that one who was given away at the alter.
I’ll smile when I run into old friends in the stores, even though I want to slap them for giving up on me, and avoiding me, for no reason.
I’ll keep doing my chemistry, and pound away at my marks so that I can get into university next year, even though the chances of me being able to go due to finances and life responsibilities are slim to none.
And even though you tell me to give up. I’ll keep fucking dreaming, because my realities don’t mean anything unless I have a dream to hold on to.
When you’re this lonely, and tired, and scared, the only reason to get out of bed is the promise that the day will be better than the one that preceded it.
It is so utterly, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. That I forget completely how much I despise Jim Carrey.