Friday August 19 2011

Alarm goes at 10:50 a.m.

All day shift at China Wok.

Orange Juice. Coffee Roll and Milk from 7-11.

Waiting for orders…reading a few enlightening entries in this Rootless & Restless zine…feeling terribly tired…napping in the car, underneath the shade of a tree—windows down, cool breeze on my face…and then…phone rings [strings: duh duh duh]…

Me: “Yeah?”

Cecily: “You have order.”

Pomegranate Cherry Ade.

I’m suppressing these feelings of disconnect, of loss, of your absence. I recognize that.

Lunch: Chicken Sandwich from Chic-fil-A with Waffle Fries and a Sweet Tea. (I can only eat egg sandwiches for so many days in a row.)

Getting frustrated because I keep getting stuck with shit tip deliveries and all the orders are completed in perfect time for the other driver to take a bulk sum while my work is dwindled down to one or two at a time. I just feel cheated.

So much anxiety builds up in me while I’m driving—determination to get back to the restaurant as quickly as possible. Get it done! Get it done! One minute lost could mean one tip opportunity lost.

Ice Cream Cone, stimulate my taste buds and soothe my inner being…pleeeease!

Just delivered to a Roller Derby rink I didn’t know we had off Lynnhaven Parkway.

Joanne Truitt makes a surprise visit—ordering Chinese Tofu.

After counting out and calculating almost nothing compared to what I usually make in a day, I drive home feeling defeated—it’s like I’m not even capable of smiling…I just want to cry…but I don’t.

Dinner: Spaghetti with Onions and Peppers in Tomato and Basil Sauce. Garlic Bread. Mission Street Blonde Ale.

Finishing Triage [2008].

You were more than just a thought tonight, baby. I know, I can’t call you that anymore. I shouldn’t. But I don’t know what else to call you. It’s the only name that ever fit. The only word that defined it just right. I really am thinking about you hard. I’ve been putting on a pretty good front for everyone. I’ve surprised myself.

Right now there’s some sad Margot & The Nuclear So and So’s song on repeat guiding this mood. I’m just sad. Really. Really. Sad. Heavy eyes. I see your face. That was my face. That. That was mine. And I know you would respond with, “I’m still yours.” I know you would. You would. I’m sorry for the distress I’ve caused you. I’m sorry for this abrupt ending. I don’t know if it was all that abrupt. But I know I surprised you with my steadfastness. I got the Hello Kitty note you left me at Rachel’s party…“I was here. miss u” You’re still here. In my mind…

Downstairs—I put on the Tokyo DVD that Chris Cloud just sent me in the mail. It’s the master copy of it so we can now mass print it whenever we want. Anthony sits there and watches the whole thing. I walk in the kitchen to find Old Fashioned ingredients sitting out on the counter. I make myself a glass—it’s a little stronger than I’m used to but it matches my mood. A nice night walk around the neighborhood—carrying my drink—letting the cool breeze sift through the pores in my skin. Nobody around. No cars moving. No computer screen. Nothing but me. Just me. I make it to the rundown volleyball courts by the school. Talking to myself. Talking to God. Reiterating the ideas that surround me daily. Longing for a reset. Then, the water from the heavens begin to sprinkle over everything…

After he finishes the viewing, Anthony writes a review for the Tokyo DVD and hands it to me,

“A tender hearted, bittersweet reminisce of a young band dealing with 3 important questions: Where did we start? Where have we been? And where do we go from here?


There are secrets and there are confessions. But secrets have to come first.

Sleep 4 a.m.

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