For those of you that know me, chances are good you have wondered where in God’s name I have been. But c’mon, did you really think I wouldn’t fall off the map for at least a little while?
For those of you that don’t know me, and read my blog, this post is an update on my life. It is largely insignificant in the blogging world, and probably unimportant– unless you are stalking me, in which case, you may already know this information but could use it to gain some kind of understanding into my psyche.
Where to begin? Working two jobs only proves itself stressful when A) a bike accident has left your knee in a crippled, swollen, sliced up state and B) you’re hungry because working two jobs means you can’t purchase any groceries. For instance, right now I am eating pretzel M&M’s out of the party size bag. This is breakfast. Mostly because I cannot fathom eating another peanut butter sandwich. Thankfully my knee isn’t aching in its typical, sharp-as-a-knife manner– rather, this is more of a dull roar.
Oh god, there is a point where one may have consumed too many M&M’s for breakfast. Someone bring me a glass of water.
Even if I consistently felt shitty (and thankfully my allergies have gone away), this week could not be anything less than fantastic. Shawn went to Alabama and left me with his Border Collie, Hot Sauce. Hot Sauce has been my favorite little buddy. We play with bubbles and frisbees in the back yard, go for long walks, and leave the bulkhead open so we can meander and get fresh air at night. He is as charming as he is sweet. No one cuddles quite so well. I have zero intention of returning him. This dog is mine now.
It’s not that my priorities or goals have fallen by the wayside, but I live to work (and work to live) now. Today is the tenth consecutive day that I have worked either job. It’s hard to find time to write or read or journeys to uncharted territory when you sleep eight hours (back to normal!) and barely fit in showers. (SIDENOTE- I’m not dirty or stinky, but realistically, it’s difficult to squeeze in a shower or two every day.) I do laundry when I have no underwear left, but that is nothing new.
After work, I don’t want to sit down and write four or five pages or expound useless crapola about life into the blogosphere. I want to socialize with the guys I am forbidden too busy to really talk to while at work. I want to play with mallets (pronounced malLAYS) on deserted beaches and swim in icy ocean waters and kick back an adult beverage or two. Or six. But I’m young and I bounce back from shit like that. Mornings aren’t painful, nor should they be. That might mean I am burning the candle at both ends.
I know how that turns out.
When I think, or find myself having the time to think, I think of ways to get in trouble with old friends; seduction tactics; lyrics to Phish songs (the most fitting include “There’s a blank space where my mind should be” and “’bout as faithful as a slot machine, pays off once in a while but then she’ll rob you clean”); how I really should clean my room; how I really should eat something; the direction of my own life compared to the wanderers around me; obscure sandwich ideas; ways to obtain ‘beach waves’ in my hair without actually going to the beach; ways I can get more beach time in per week; babysitting; bathing suits; and anything that qualifies as “Something I would do in my free time, if I had free time.”
Aunts, cousins and friends alike, they ask me when I can visit, when they can visit, when am I free.
If I had an answer, I would tell you. But I don’t have one. For all intensive purposes, I am not free. I am a machine, running around, working like a little bee-eye-tee-see-aich. I am free after eleven and before eight thirty. Are you a night owl? Do you mind sharing a twin sized bed? Are you bringing friends? Any aversions to cold?
I invite you all to visit, but I warn you that I cannot hold your hand and I cannot devote all my attention to you.
Alas, I find time to cook steaks and potatoes and onions on the grill and to share wine and potato chips with friends and roomies. We can sit in the yard and talk about college and moving forward and understanding what it means to capitalize on ones time. We can recount tales of stupid love and stupid times and stupid stupids. I’ll make you dinner, because I like to cook, and I like you, so it seems natural that the two coincide. It’s too bad I can’t drop everything to make this happen– because you know that I would.
Today I am bringing back the fresh white t-shirt. I swear no one ever looked so nice and felt so clean.
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