Insomniac
Tired. Lots and lots of tired.
But my brain wants closure to the evening; it doesn't realize I can't go down the hall, plop on the floor and tell everyone how crazy Cold Stone was and how my co-workers, true to CS Creamery fashion, are insane. How I work with my friends' younger siblings - who try to tell me how to do my job. How I wish I could take back that damn rainy May afternoon senior year when I couldn't stop my car in time on the rain-slick street, blocks from home. How there are still only a half-dozen people who I talk to in this city and only a half-dozen I really want to. How I dream about people from school and Evanston and Steve and Jess and how they always disappear in my dreams. How I'm happiest when I'm buried knee-deep in memories of a man I never knew and his son, who grows larger and larger than life with each passing day. How all I want is enough money for a car that will get me to Chicago. Or Milwaukee.
But only when I'm tired. The thunder rattles outside my window as I type with my ice-cream-streaked fingers, but in the morning, I'll shower, talk to Jess and head off to the hair salon, where I'll be happy again to be here. I'm training the new girl; another reminder of my temporary station here. She's slow, but she'll do just fine. Tomorrow is Saturday; that means the regulars and lots of time for dusting.
I like to dust; it means I can slip back into my own world. Pick up the bottle, wipe it off, set it on the chair, repeat. This is the last summer I'll ever do this, I remind myself. You'll send out as many resumes as you can print - the first week back. It's New Student Week - what else do you have to do? Wipe down the glass shelf. Spray the rag. Then you'll go far away and do big things - well, not big yet, but you'll write and not dust. Put the bottles back on the shelf. In that car. The one you will buy with the money you're earning right now, dusting the shelf. Maybe a red car. A fast one. With a "Northwestern University" sticker on the back - right below the big red "N".
I did miss home. The stars shone so bright last night, out at Conestoga. Jared, Michelle and I laid back in the gravel, drinking and staring at the density of the stars in the dim country lighting. Bright ones, falling ones, constellations and airplanes. And dancing to the car stereo in the chilly June night.
Most of all, I miss the people not here, especially those far away and going farther. Craig hurt my pride, my trust and my respect for him Tuesday night. I've known him since first grade - he's my closest guy friend and held me up senior year when I didn't really want to climb out of bed. I held his hand when WE took Ellie to the Air Force. And he greeted me with, "have you signed the guestbook?" I have known him for 13 years - I don't care who he marries, I still get to give the kid a hug. I don't do handshakes. And as much as I wanted to like her and be happy for them, I can't. I can't like her and her nonchalant attitude towards the loving people who came to meet her and their old friend. I'm not going to drop by, she never has to be nice again, but she could not even pretend. She nodded our way and then pretended we were not there. I was not glad to meet her because it is something I always wanted to do - I was glad to meet her because she is the wife of one of my best friends - a fact lost on her. And now she's stolen the Marine's balls; she made him scared to see and talk to his longtime friends. It hurt - it hurt real bad.
He goes to Egypt July 16th. I hope they curse him out in Arabic when he walks by in the street. I would if I could. I miss my friend.
If I can't write or see the ones I care about - I'll work. Soon I'll detassel all day and do my research or Cold Stone at night. Then I'll sleep and do the same thing again. Life will be boring, but the paycheck will be beautiful. There's something to be said for working - I like that my parents aren't helping me buy this car. They didn't last time - not for the car, the insurance, the gas. Not my cell and not DZ. It's not easy, but I like knowing that it's mine because I earned it. I hope that is one example Brandon picked up on - he doesn't have much choice.
Besides, Ted Sorensen was just some kid from Lincoln too. And he might have saved the world. I'll ask when we talk. Even if he didn't, it doesn't matter. He's famous - and I made his day today:
"by the way, tcs [edit: Sorensen] is excited by your findings today (i told him about them)!"
I did done good. That is enough for me right now.
But my brain wants closure to the evening; it doesn't realize I can't go down the hall, plop on the floor and tell everyone how crazy Cold Stone was and how my co-workers, true to CS Creamery fashion, are insane. How I work with my friends' younger siblings - who try to tell me how to do my job. How I wish I could take back that damn rainy May afternoon senior year when I couldn't stop my car in time on the rain-slick street, blocks from home. How there are still only a half-dozen people who I talk to in this city and only a half-dozen I really want to. How I dream about people from school and Evanston and Steve and Jess and how they always disappear in my dreams. How I'm happiest when I'm buried knee-deep in memories of a man I never knew and his son, who grows larger and larger than life with each passing day. How all I want is enough money for a car that will get me to Chicago. Or Milwaukee.
But only when I'm tired. The thunder rattles outside my window as I type with my ice-cream-streaked fingers, but in the morning, I'll shower, talk to Jess and head off to the hair salon, where I'll be happy again to be here. I'm training the new girl; another reminder of my temporary station here. She's slow, but she'll do just fine. Tomorrow is Saturday; that means the regulars and lots of time for dusting.
I like to dust; it means I can slip back into my own world. Pick up the bottle, wipe it off, set it on the chair, repeat. This is the last summer I'll ever do this, I remind myself. You'll send out as many resumes as you can print - the first week back. It's New Student Week - what else do you have to do? Wipe down the glass shelf. Spray the rag. Then you'll go far away and do big things - well, not big yet, but you'll write and not dust. Put the bottles back on the shelf. In that car. The one you will buy with the money you're earning right now, dusting the shelf. Maybe a red car. A fast one. With a "Northwestern University" sticker on the back - right below the big red "N".
I did miss home. The stars shone so bright last night, out at Conestoga. Jared, Michelle and I laid back in the gravel, drinking and staring at the density of the stars in the dim country lighting. Bright ones, falling ones, constellations and airplanes. And dancing to the car stereo in the chilly June night.
Most of all, I miss the people not here, especially those far away and going farther. Craig hurt my pride, my trust and my respect for him Tuesday night. I've known him since first grade - he's my closest guy friend and held me up senior year when I didn't really want to climb out of bed. I held his hand when WE took Ellie to the Air Force. And he greeted me with, "have you signed the guestbook?" I have known him for 13 years - I don't care who he marries, I still get to give the kid a hug. I don't do handshakes. And as much as I wanted to like her and be happy for them, I can't. I can't like her and her nonchalant attitude towards the loving people who came to meet her and their old friend. I'm not going to drop by, she never has to be nice again, but she could not even pretend. She nodded our way and then pretended we were not there. I was not glad to meet her because it is something I always wanted to do - I was glad to meet her because she is the wife of one of my best friends - a fact lost on her. And now she's stolen the Marine's balls; she made him scared to see and talk to his longtime friends. It hurt - it hurt real bad.
He goes to Egypt July 16th. I hope they curse him out in Arabic when he walks by in the street. I would if I could. I miss my friend.
If I can't write or see the ones I care about - I'll work. Soon I'll detassel all day and do my research or Cold Stone at night. Then I'll sleep and do the same thing again. Life will be boring, but the paycheck will be beautiful. There's something to be said for working - I like that my parents aren't helping me buy this car. They didn't last time - not for the car, the insurance, the gas. Not my cell and not DZ. It's not easy, but I like knowing that it's mine because I earned it. I hope that is one example Brandon picked up on - he doesn't have much choice.
Besides, Ted Sorensen was just some kid from Lincoln too. And he might have saved the world. I'll ask when we talk. Even if he didn't, it doesn't matter. He's famous - and I made his day today:
"by the way, tcs [edit: Sorensen] is excited by your findings today (i told him about them)!"
I did done good. That is enough for me right now.