Yesterday = fail.

Yes.  I do realise that yesterday was Tuesday and I didn’t update with the weekly “Thank You (Now Get Out)”.  I thought about it a few different times; thought about what I was going to write, if I was going to draw something, but in the end, it all came down to two words:

“I’m exhausted.”

My co-workers and I all agree that the clientele this season have been more unruly than previous seasons, and that we’re all just tired.  I was talking to a customer last night and more and more I found myself stumbling over words.  I had to repeatedly stop, take a deep breath, apologize, and continue more slowly.  I should be grateful because I do not work manual labor, but words just were not coming well.  My brain is mush.  And, when sharing my sentiments with select customers, I found that they generally agree.  It has been an exhausting summer.

And, that said, there are a million little stories about people who cause problems in my life.  In our lives.  Like the woman who was working at a desk in the back of the store at 9pm and wouldn’t leave until twenty minutes after closing (this is a secondhand story, of course).  Like the people who don’t understand I can’t give them cash for their coupons.  Like the people who complain that free stuff isn’t good enough.  All those people.  But for some reason, this summer, they don’t stand out.  Not enough contrast, I suppose, and therefore no reason to exclude them.

And thus, I looked at my computer when I dragged my feet inside last night at 10:30pm.  And then I went to bed instead.

Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Fire!

For the first time ever yesterday, I went to the Jaffrey Festival of fireworks.  Let me give you some stats on them:

Length: 30 minutes.
Spectators: estimated 40,000.
Emergency vehicles spotted at the scene: 10-ish.
Children waving glow-lightsabers: Upwards of 200.

Basically, it’s a fireworks show put to music.  And since I live in The Sticks, I think that’s pretty awesome.  I was told that this year was incredibly less exciting than previous years, which amazes me further, because as a n00b, I was amazed this year.  Entry fee was $8, and we had to sit on a hill, but I wouldn’t do it any other way.  Perfect view, and the walk was less than a mile to his grandmother’s house, so we didn’t have to fight all the riddikulus traffic.

In fact, if it weren’t for Bryan’s sister’s obnoxious boyfriend (ahhh, relationship tongue-twister!) the walk back would have been utterly peaceful and perfect.  He was just captain obnoxious.  Oh yeah.  And we saw the tech that got fired from our workplace for downloading porn onto work machines.  He didn’t recognise me (hallelujah!) but he did recognise Bryan (sucks to be him) so I booked it and we ended up a bit ahead of everyone else.

But the fireworks were wicked.  I’d like to make a day of it next year, if I can.  But it’s hard to plan that far ahead.  I mean… who knows where my life will be then?  Louise (big boss lady) already took Bryan in for a chat and suggested the management track for him.  She hasn’t had such a chat for me, and I don’t know if I’m offended or relieved.  The company won’t be losing much if they lose me:  I’m a good team worker n’all but I don’t bring in the dough like my boyfriend does.

That was a digression.  My bad.

L’anyhoodle.  I had a long last 36 hours, and my 2pm to 10pm shift tomorrow promises to be a doozy, so I’m going to check my blogroll, then it’s off to sleep for me!

Bonne soir, mes amies!

Yes, I Did It Again

I changed my mind again and wanted to have a more subtle, simple design, and something light and fluffy.  Less Darth Vader.

You like?

My kitchen smells like brownies.  That picture is not of brownie batter, it’s of cake batter, and it’s an old picture… but aren’t you just craving brownies now?  Err… if you like chocolate, that is.

I have dinner tonight with Sammy and then work in the morning.  Yuck!  Tomorrow is a special day at work, and it always brings out the jerks.  I don’t get why people complain about something that’s free.  But whatevs.  Then work until Wednesday.  Bah.  Work.  So excited to go back to school.  School a week from Monday! Squee.  But wait until a week from Tuesday and I’ll be complaining.

Ramble ramble.

Beauty is the the Eye of the Beholder

I am doing a Photo-of-the-Day project that I started mid-May. Some days, I’m lazy, and just snap a shot to be sure I have something.  Other days, I look for something artful.  Today, I was driving home and I noticed the rays of the sun absolutely bleeding down between the clouds.  It was almost supernatural.  I pulled into the first parking lot I found and pulled out my camera, thinking I found a prize.  When I looked at the playback of the picture, the rays weren’t visible at all; just a plain old sky.  I’ve come across this frustration a lot – as an artist, a writer, and as an actress.

The world around us is a fantastic and wonderful place.  Every day is different, and no person can be completely recreated.  The things that we see and original in every sense, and sometimes, even humans, the top-of-the-food-chain-we-are-powerful-hear-us-roar, we can’t reproduce that.

I hope that I never find the day when I’ve forgotten the sound of children’s laughter, the smell of springtime, the taste of strawberries, the feel of an autumn wind, and the sight of a sunset.  There are some things in the world that cannot be replaced, recreated, or forgotten.

When Reality Hits….

For the last four years, at least, I have been corresponding with a beautiful, talented, hilarious young lady from England.  For me, this is a big deal, because I can’t even keep in contact with someone who lives the next street over, let alone someone who lives on a different continent.  But for some reason, I have managed to stay in contact with this girl, exchanging emails, Facebook messages, whatever, almost every day for over four years.  For privacy reasons, I’m going to give her the name “Belle”.

I meet Belle through my ex-boyfriend on AllPoetry.com.  No, my ex was a real person, but he was friends with her on this website, so I was too.  I loved Belle immediately, but then, I am always one to trust sooner than I ought.  Her poetry was always full of passion, which is how poetry should be.  She was a quirky, interesting individual with a bad home life (her mother is unstable, and her parents kept getting divorced and remarried, one moving back and forth from South Africa to England) who was afraid of geese and loved to run.

I can’t, for the life of me, figure out where the downhill run started.  Only about a year ago, everything was still wonderful and normal.  She had a friend die… maybe it was there that the problems began.  She met her fiance shortly after that incident, and everything seemed okay, still.  But then the next thing I know, she is complaining about how she can’t even finish a yogurt because it makes her feel fat, and the doctors are putting her on special diets, and her mum is force-feeding her.  Then she goes to University, and suddenly she pretends to be taking a lot of showers, just so the sound masks her purging.

A few weeks ago, she was eating better.  I thought maybe, after working for so many months, she had conquered bulimia.  She was running again, and was living in a new flat, and seemed to be generally enjoying life.

About a week ago, I get a simple three-sentence email.  It basically said that she hadn’t had time to write because she was in the hospital, but she would soon.  Cryptic much?  I waited and worried.

This morning, I got another email.  Belle thoroughly believed (and still believes) that her skin isn’t her own, and was trying to scratch it off.  But it hurt, so she took a painkiller.  And another.  And eventually eleven, and nearly killed herself.  And here I am, knowing that she’s in the hospital, or was, for delusion-driven attempted suicide… a thousand or so miles away with no way to get there… and I’m at a loss.

What do you say to something like that?  How do you make it better?  How can you save a life, and convince the owner it’s worth saving?

Writers live so often in their imaginations that they become absorbed in their fabricated worlds.  Then reality hits, like a brick to the head.  And I stand here, helpless.