Guy Friend Date Night

When I got home, my ribs ached so much from laughing. It had been one of the most emotionally healthy nights I think I have ever had. Read more

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Ignorance

Have you never
Seen my eye glisten with tears?
Have you never known the soft sob
That comes from my side of the bed?
Did you not hear my silent scream
Or see the black stains on my pillowcase?
Was I truly that silent in my pain
Or did you just ignore me?

Rude…

“Are you the only one in the department?”

“Yes I am. I will be with you in a moment.”

“Well this seems poorly managed.” She tapped the glass and acted coldly towards me. Like I was supposed to drop my consultation for her every whim.

“Only the opinion of some.” Yeah I said it. Proudly too. I hoped she got pissed off. I made her wait. It wasn’t going to kill her.

What I really enacted to say:

Really? Really? Poorly managed? What is poorly managed is your sense of entitlement. If you have somewhere to be, then go be there and quit buying shit that probably won’t work for your angry face. I suppose you didn’t know that emotional state and attitude affect your skin too did you. You wouldn’t though. I’m the expert on that aren’t I?

Also, let’s talk about this poor management issue. I have a manager coming in this afternoon to take a shift that isn’t hers because of an employee who decided to pull a no show quit last month. The manager taking over has been working so hard for people like your sorry ass, that she hasn’t even had time to schedule interviews with potential employees. So forgive me if I come across as rude, when I say it’s not the managements fault. But, please, be offended when I tell you the truth about yourself and remind you that your demanding consumerism is the very thing that causes sweatshops, abuse, and poverty all over the world. Look it up and shut up. You need a good slap in the face. You think reality is hard, you’ll have a rude awakening by the time I’m done with your sorry ass.

Tap the glass of my counter all you like. I know your type. The ones who try to manipulate the scene, making everyone uncomfortable so that even the other customers relent their place in line of service out of sympathy for me, so you can get your way. Don’t come in here all high and mightily when I am working with a customer, demanding my attention, thinking that your time is he only thing that is important. I have two other customers here bitch. One is a Bride with a wedding this afternoon who needs her makeup done. You are, and will forever be, second fiddle to a bride. Besides, she scheduled her appointment. What have you done for the sake of our convenience lately?

Yeah. That’s what I thought. Fuck off lady.

Lights

I think one of the weirdest quirks I have is taking joy out of very ordinary and unusual things. For example, one of my favorite things to so in a house I am unfamiliar with, is try to figure out what each of the light switches in the house does. Not that I use those switches ever again after that point of discovery, but I really like the act of discovering.

This house has a lot of light switches. The house I am watching for my friends. It’s not a large house, just a little ranch style with cute gardens, but it’s an older home, with a lot of its original vintage features. So some of the light switches seemed like afterthoughts. Few of them are inside doorways and some of the light switches inside those doorways go to the room previous, and not actually to the room you are entering as one might think. Some walls have multiple light switches. Not panels of more than one switch, but multiple panels on the wall. In a row. There’s a switch in the middle of the hallway for the hallway light. Like….smack dab center of the wall….almost too high to be used comfortably, but not quite high enough to be eye level.

Some rooms don’t have over head lights at all. Like the bedroom I’m staying in. There is a switch to an outlet, that has a lamp connected. A dim one. More of a reading light than anything. The living room has no switches. Lots of windows for natural light, and lots of lamps for the evening. The glow of the television might be the only light they use though. I’m not sure. I don’t live here. I don’t know their lives.

Besides I dislike television.

Living Together

They’re my kind of people. Those endearingly quirky messes of people. Not big messes, but the kind that make people compassionate and understanding. The kind of messes that bring us all back to the bar for a drink and a good long heart to heart where judgment is cast aside, because Heaven knows we were not made perfect ourselves.

I miss those people. I miss those inside jokes. I miss those painful and beautiful memories. I miss being with people who let me love them, and who love me in return, not because they feel obligated to, but because they chose to be my friend, and before they knew it became family. I miss those people who know where I came from and allow me to be the mess I am…within reason.

I miss the afternoons at Starbucks on our laptops or doodling with our newly bought Sharpies. I miss our conversations about television shows and all our favorite quotes. I miss our late nights working together to complete projects, homework, or to just figure out if our last writing made any kind of sense, since it was nearly two in the morning and coffee was at an all time high as morale was at an all time low. I miss late nights becoming sleep overs. All nighters becoming very long days. I miss long conversations about philosophy, writers, theologians, and the life situations we found ourselves in. I miss the ability to speak my mind and being lovingly challenged and questioned. I miss growing because of them and helping them to grow.

I miss dreaming with them. Figuring out ways we could all live together and be around one another. Dreaming about the stores we could open and own. Dreaming about the travels we could have. Dreaming about being close together indefinitely. Making our own little commune. Our small community of friends.

I hate feeling so scattered and disconnected from them. It’s like a little piece of my heart is far away. It probably seems really strange for me to be that attached to my friends. I get that. People don’t often care as deeply for other people anymore as I do. But, what other people really cannot understand about my friendships, is that they give me a glimpse into what Paradise will be. Everyone living together and loving one another as if friendship and family were no different in definition. Where we are allowed to fully be ourselves without judgment clouding our perception of self or one another. Where we are appreciated on a level that cannot even be comprehended. That is what happens when I am with them, and when all that future Paradise feels so far away, they bring it a little closer. They lift me up out of the slump I’m in and help drag me through it all, and I do the same for them. They remind me I am not alone in all of this. That we will make it out one day, and we will still be together even then.

They help me understand God’s vision for the ideal human experience.

No Need to Stay…

A testament to my life. Living out of a suitcase, moving from couch to couch, guest room to guest room. It feels comfortable, to be so uncomfortable. To have no place to call my own. To be that gypsy nomad that feels so taboo in today’s society. That freeing irresponsibility that comes with homelessness. So few things. So little need for more.

Were I not diseased I would do it more. I would pass up jobs and render myself free from doubts. I would live to breath the freedom of having nothing to hold me in place. I would know the feeling of listless wandering. That beautiful apathetic freedom, not knowing where I am going, and not caring when I get there…or perhaps if I ever get anywhere.

House Guest to House Guest

Closing the door behind me I was amazed at the contrast. The quite. The space. The awareness that I was alone. I went from a loud and intimate and birthday party environment celebrating my dear friend, to the quiet serenity of house sitting. From Chicago to a little fishing town neighboring my own in Wisconsin. I was immediately aware of the lack of air conditioning. The windows were open and the breeze was perfection. Night would bring cooler air. The curtains danced like ball gowns on delicate and lively ladies in natures invisible tendrils.

I was going to enjoy my time here.

Immediately I went to check on the chickens. They were my whole reason for this house sitting adventure. Five little hens greeted me with their odd sounds and beautiful feathers. I checked their food. I checked their water. I felt the air cooling and the breeze felt refreshing as it moved through my hair and across my skin. The sky was darkening. Clouds began forming over head. The flowers in the rustic garden shuttered as trees turned up their leaves. It would rain. Perhaps storm. I would keep an eye on the weather so I could properly put the hens away in comfort and safety. They seemed quieter than I had remembered. Perhaps they knew the weather was going to be trouble.

I looked through all the cupboards. Familiarizing myself with the arrangement of things. It was entirely my intension to leave everything as if I had never been there in the first place. I decided to keep a list of all the things I used up so as to ensure that I purchased each item in replacement. I would have to go to the farmers market at the end of my stay. They only ate local food, and supported local farms. They didn’t eat processed foods or much of anything that came out of a box. I was to eat whatever I liked, but was forewarned that it would have to be made from scratch.

It felt simple. Beautiful. When I was alone everything felt beautiful. I cooked alone. I ate alone (though the birds in the feeder were lovely company). I washed my dishes alone. I ate with one cup, one plate, and one fork every day. Only rewashing them alone. Not making another dish. I wondered if I could be someone who could become a hermit. It felt easy. The introvert was ecstatic. Comfortable and quiet was especially what my spirit needed after the loud and busy of my long weekend. I almost dreaded going to work the next day, in fear of having to see and deal with other people again.

So I sit in this chair. Writing. Happily content on the quiet.

Good times.

Not doing the best at blogging these past few days. Mostly because I’ve been enjoying spending time with and catching up with old friends. The other is because currently I’m a little hung over.

You will just have to wait for me to get home.

The Drive

It felt strange to be so confident. I remember about 6 years ago, making the drive all by myself for the first time. I was moving into college. Milwaukee felt scary. Chicago scarier. Now, it felt like I had done it a million times before. There were no close calls. No anxious thoughts of where my exit was. It was just as familiar to me as going home.

When I got there it felt like home. Because I was with friends again. Not lonely in a house of family members who missed out on four years of some of the most fond memories I have, but friends who felt like family. Friends who treated me like family. Friends who had history that no one else would ever be able to understand. History of painful things. History of beautiful things. History of histories gone by that no one else in the world, even family, would know about.

It was going to be a wonderful weekend.

Rest Less

I’m sleepless once again.
Restless.
It isn’t like a normal restless though.
This feels deeper.
It’s is like my soul is trying to make me feel something,
but isn’t quite sure how.
I don’t know weather or not I should cry,
or scream,
or laugh
or whisper “Goodnight, I love you,”
to a world trying to rest it’s self without me.
I wish to release this restless feeling,
or at least borrow another feeling in exchange for it.
Just for tonight.
Tonight I want peace.
Tonight I want rest.
Tonight I want to wrap my own skin around my soul
and let it rest soundly within this dying body.
To let the decay of my body nourish the growth of this restless soul
until it awakens free from the grasp of mortality.
I no longer wish for bones to cage it.
I no longer want this flesh to subdue it.
I no longer wish to be barricaded inside this body
that buffers me from feeling the most pure of emotions.
I want to be alive forever in my most pure form.
But for now, I just want to sleep, dormant within myself.
I want,
for once,
for everything to feel quiet.
But right now the restless
will rest less,
feeling that deep stirring within.