I had a Carrie Bradshaw moment
I've just completed a QA shift, and now I wait for my ride to check out of Wal-Mart and hope for a quick arrival (for I, Sara, am famish!)
As I sit here, writing this, all the while trying to be discreet from Orlando, I ponder about my next shift, which is the following Monday morning as a To-Go Specialist. It won't be just any regular shift, though. Reason being, this will be the day Jeff returns on the job. He will be there behind the bar, prepping for the lunch rush that will shortly come and for a Monday, only temporarily.
This will be the first time we come face to face since our date two weeks ago. When I do see him, I'm sure a pang of hurt will overcome me. I will perchance feel a flood of tears wanting to break the levees biologically installed in my sockets since birth, leaving behind a trace of black streaks over my made up face.
Only, they will be forbidden to make an appearence at all. I will be damn if I ever make an exhibition of the hurt he caused me. Nor do I want my friends to confront him on this, for it is the same as me expressing myself. I, and others, have to act professional as well as act as if it doesn't bother me at all.
He's not worth the tears, nor is worth the "chastising" words. He'll win and dammit, I do not like to lose.
I knew I like him, but seeing him the other night when he came in to dine with his softball teamates, it just hit me. It hit me when I was asking the person behind the salad and nacho side (I forget who) for something, and I found myself choking on my request. I realized then that I like him more than I thought.
Since I will not display the broken heart on my sleave when I see him, I will instead think of how he finally reached out to me through *email.* No! Not email... *MySpace message.* I will shake my head and be appall at how he chose to ignore my calls, how he couldn't use his less fleshy body part to dial the new cell phone he purchased a few days before to tell me his truth. Moreover, I will roll my eyes and wonder how in the *fuck* he thinks he could avoid me for so long, when *we work together.* He had to know we would come face-to-face sooner or later.
And later is tomorrow, and before we know it, when I wake up, shower, and put on the daily Chili's uniform, time will quickly pass and the face-off will be sooner than anyone thinks.
The email said, "Sorry... Please forgive me. I'm not a bad guy."
Did you all know the next single from Madonna's new record is "Sorry"? That's my girl. Like I said, Madonna has a song for everything in my life. I suggest you all should check out the lyrics and download this catchy ditty. You'll dance the heartache away and in no time, be cure and feel better than ever before.
Yes, "Music" is therapy.
As I sit here, writing this, all the while trying to be discreet from Orlando, I ponder about my next shift, which is the following Monday morning as a To-Go Specialist. It won't be just any regular shift, though. Reason being, this will be the day Jeff returns on the job. He will be there behind the bar, prepping for the lunch rush that will shortly come and for a Monday, only temporarily.
This will be the first time we come face to face since our date two weeks ago. When I do see him, I'm sure a pang of hurt will overcome me. I will perchance feel a flood of tears wanting to break the levees biologically installed in my sockets since birth, leaving behind a trace of black streaks over my made up face.
Only, they will be forbidden to make an appearence at all. I will be damn if I ever make an exhibition of the hurt he caused me. Nor do I want my friends to confront him on this, for it is the same as me expressing myself. I, and others, have to act professional as well as act as if it doesn't bother me at all.
He's not worth the tears, nor is worth the "chastising" words. He'll win and dammit, I do not like to lose.
I knew I like him, but seeing him the other night when he came in to dine with his softball teamates, it just hit me. It hit me when I was asking the person behind the salad and nacho side (I forget who) for something, and I found myself choking on my request. I realized then that I like him more than I thought.
Since I will not display the broken heart on my sleave when I see him, I will instead think of how he finally reached out to me through *email.* No! Not email... *MySpace message.* I will shake my head and be appall at how he chose to ignore my calls, how he couldn't use his less fleshy body part to dial the new cell phone he purchased a few days before to tell me his truth. Moreover, I will roll my eyes and wonder how in the *fuck* he thinks he could avoid me for so long, when *we work together.* He had to know we would come face-to-face sooner or later.
And later is tomorrow, and before we know it, when I wake up, shower, and put on the daily Chili's uniform, time will quickly pass and the face-off will be sooner than anyone thinks.
The email said, "Sorry... Please forgive me. I'm not a bad guy."
Did you all know the next single from Madonna's new record is "Sorry"? That's my girl. Like I said, Madonna has a song for everything in my life. I suggest you all should check out the lyrics and download this catchy ditty. You'll dance the heartache away and in no time, be cure and feel better than ever before.
Yes, "Music" is therapy.