My hiatus from writing was not because I did not have
anything to say. Due to the redesign of my template for this blog, I could not
find out how to re login. A pathetic blonde moment mixed with my inability to
understand technology for more than a few minutes. Call it A.D.D but I call it lack
of motivation.
I started my job. With burned fingertips, sweat, and hair
sprayed bangs, I have been doing my job as breakfast waitress. Good news is
that they have not fired me yet, bad news is that I am not very good at this
whole get up every morning and go to work like normal people who want an
income. I ride the train downtown each morning before the sun winks behind the
mountains. Dressed in a men’s shirt, fish tie, and a black vest, I report for
duty. Only one piece of toast has been dropped in the two weeks I have been
considered an employee. I have yet to be asked for my number, but I hope my
movie moment will appear one day.
The air is incredibly dry today. Gaping like fish without
water I sweat and watch as my eyeliner makes it way from my eyes down my cheek.
It is a quiet, chilled, evening tonight. The sun fell
beneath the buildings early today (at least in my opinion) and ever since four
o’clock, the city has been draped in a bleak darkness. I am currently writing
this while cuddled next to the radiator under the kitchen window. A colorful
blanket (that I got for my great deed of graduation, if you remember) is
wrapped around my legs like a butterflies cocoon. I have two pairs of socks on
to cover my tingling toes. My hands are purple. I know it is from the lack of
blood they receive due to my disease, but I like to pretend it is just because
they are too cold, like in cartoons.
Looking
outside the window, there is no light, except from an apartment window a few rooftops
away. The curtains are drawn; open wide, and I can easily see the figures of an
older male and female dancing. It is a slow dance, their bodies crippled with
memories of a good life, but you can see they are in love. I sit here,
imagining their lives. I guess they have housed three kids, two boys and one
daughter, who are now all grown up and on their own travels. Maybe they fell in
love early and were surprised with a child at a young age, pulling the idea of
marriage faster than they thought it would come. The way they are holding each
other is frail, beautiful, and supportive. It makes me think of my parents
dancing on Friday nights after my Mother has had a stressful week at work.
My
Father used to always put on Macy Gray at five on Friday nights, in
anticipation for my Mother to come home. Gabrielle and I, dancing together, watching
my Dad nod his head and stir whatever meal he was making, a glass a wine
swirling in his hand. He always comes over and grabs me, rocking me side to
side, twirling me out. Ever since I was little my parents and I would dance
together. I think they are the reason I love it so much and, not to brag, is
why I am pretty good dance partner. My mom would do this twist to the floor as
soon as she got into more comfortable clothes.It is her signature move that the two of us always pull out
at weddings. We wouldn’t eat until eight or nine, but no one cared because we
were too busy in the music and the environment.
I
wonder if this couple does something similar. I hope my parents never stop
dancing together and that one day I will stand outside of their house and look
through their window and see the same image I see in the apartment a few blocks
away.
And of course, it is music monday! Enjoy "Drop Names Not Bombs" by Louise Burns
I finished the novel "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky, today and it has easily become one of my favorites. (Yes, the title is from this story. Yes I know I am supposed to put quotation marks around it or else it is called plagiarism.. but it looks funny and presentation is everything. So get over it.) For those who have not read this amazing tale of fiction, I suggest going to the local library and borrowing it. And if you can/ wish- you may go to the book store and actually purchase it. (If you are like me.. I like to write in and highlight my books. I do not know why.) Every page was a new surprise. The story had me afraid, nervous, happy, laughing, crying, hoping, dreaming, wondering, and never gaining boredom from it.
About the Book:
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to receive letters from someone you've never met? In the novel, Charlie, a 14 year old boy- just entering high school, writes to a mystery person about life, love, and all the other things involved with growing up. He stands on the outside of life, making beautiful observations about how life doesn't always make sense. The people surrounding him make many efforts to have him "live his life" rather than sit on the sidelines. These attempts, along with the pains of growing up help Charlie to come to shocking realizations about his past. Stephen Chbosky created an amazingly, amazing, accurate picture of an introverted teenager growing up. Charlie is one of those rare charaters who feels like a friend you never want to lose. This novel paints a beautiful picture that everyone should see. So go read it.
One of my favorite parts was a poem that Charlie read and shared throughout the novel.
Here it is:
Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen.
"It's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror and you say your name.
And it gets to a point where none of it seems real.
Well, sometimes, I can do that, but I don't need an hour in front of a mirror.
It just happens very fast, and things start to slip away.
And I just open my eyes, and
I see nothing.
And then I start to breathe really hard trying to see something,
