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20 September 2005

A busy day

It's only 9:21 on your pm dial, and I've had a busy day. I just finished five hours of tutoring, so my brain's a bit shot. My own homework really should be addressed, but it's not. I've yet to see anyone die over it.

Tonight's rainy and dark - a perfect night for just staying in and doing nothing - introduced by not getting out of my pajamas and then preferably followed up with nothing hanging over my head for the next day. You know, one of those 'ideal' days off.

Dad and I talked for a long time tonight, I guess about everything and nothing. Somehow it all related to each other and made perfect sense. He always amazes me. He's one of the best preachers I've ever heard, and I'm startled after every time I hear him speak - to know that God had spoken to him while sitting in the rocking chair in the living room. Funny, he didn't need an office. And the chair squeeks. He gets a bit anxious - or atleast it seems that way - whenever I come home because of the way I dream and talk in my sleep. My fear is not so much that I'm talking, but more along the lines of what I'm actually saying. I'm a firm believer in the fact that your dad doesn't need to know everything about you. Especially when your belting it out across the hallway. Yes, I am scared of having a really 'good' dream and my parents hearing about it inadvertantly. It's kind of like being caught with your pants down. Actually, it's a lot like being caught with your pants down. I think he's more concerned with demon possession. I'm more concerned of potentially yelling out "Giddy UP!" I've given up the carnal side (has anyone else noticed how 'carnal' is part of 'carnival'? There's a definate correlation there that I probably shouldn't explore), but it doesn't mean that there aren't things that don't come out after dark. Which kind of freaks me out. Just for the record, I am not a sex feind, nor a dirty... I've just made more than one poor choice.

But we talked about 'need' and 'lack'. Was it that we actually needed something in our lives, or was it something that we were simply lacking? And if it were possible to tell the difference, how could we? I've been thinking about it because I'm always complaining about work. And if I'm not complaining about work, I'm complaining about quitting work. And with complaints about quitting work, come complaints about being 'poor'. But I think it's all crap. You know when you meet someone and they always have a smile on their face and they never seem to get disturbed by anything? You know, when they talk to people, anyone, they seem to genuinely care about what that other person is saying? I hate those people. No, no, I'm kidding... kind of. It's probably more along the lines of, I wish I were one of those people. But I'm not. Sometimes people come up and talk to me and one of two things happen: (1) I get a blank look that removes me from your world and allows me to think of any plausible reason as to why you made it to work safely. Or (2) I get a scrunch in my forehead, right between my eyes - a furrow, if you will, while I look at you and can't hide the shock that there was a plausible reason that you made it to work safely. Most days that I'm at work (arriving safely), my head threatens to swallow itself due to my increasing furrow. There won't be enough Oil of Olay to save my forehead's soul if this line of thinking (and furrowing) continues. But there's this girl on campus - she was in one of my classes last year, and the thing that gets me is that I genuinely like her. She's not plastic or hollow and doesn't raise her voice in a valleygirl octave to say hello. She's genuinely nice. Atleast, under the shallow circumstances in which I know her. But she always smiles, always asks those pivitol questions that make you walk away thinking "Wow - she really likes me!". She's someone who reminds me of those who make good friends - there's that unexplainable depth to them that you can't justify or explain as to why they're putting up with you and your crap. You know, the good stuff.

But back to need and lack. My need is for a job that pays for my bills and my shopping habits (Walmart {the Portal}). But my sense of lack comes in the fact that I think that I need to work 40 hrs, when reality says that I don't. I can only buy so many purses. Or atleast that's what I'm telling myself(!). Regardless, whether it makes any sense to any of you out there, just know that my dad is extremely cool and get's cooler every day that I know him better.

"Which room are you taking, kid?" That's mom in the background.
"Probably {brother's} old one" That's me.
"Do you need me to get you anything or get anything ready?" Mom
"No, I'm ok - thanks though". Me, smiling and in sheer wonderment of how one woman can work so tirelessly and in the end just tell me that she loves me and loves to help me out.

I wonder if I am capable of love like that? I wonder if I'm too selfish. But then is that need, or is it lack? Welcome to my Merry-Go-Round - Don't puke.

Did I mention that I made oatmeal pancakes yesterday morning? I meant to post this last night, but I was pooped and went to bed. I got an email from a fellow who read my blog, telling me he appreciated my honesty, but couldn't quite comprehend how I could be quite so honest. (How this relates to pancakes is coming). So I thought about this for quite awhile actually - into the night and next morning. Since my recipe for oatmeal pancakes was one that I had never made before, so I wasn't a hundred percent on how to ideally cook them. But you know pancakes. The first few attempts never work out very pretty. Especially after changing the recipe.

So here it is (please bait breath)

We'll refer to the "shiney white days" as conventional pancake batter - good, wholesome, easily mixed together from a box. Just add an egg. They were good pancakes. Very tidy and I could alter the recipe depending if it were just me, or if I had company. You could add fresh fruit. And then I changed my recipe. For awhile. It took me a lot of pancake batter gone awry. I am your first few pancakes - the pathetic looking ones that go all lopsided, raw in the middle and burnt on the outside. But I found a great new recipe - a healthy one that I get excited to try again. I will getting better with flipping.

Now you will never look at pancakes the same. You will forever think of me, Ms D, every time you eat a pancake or see someone eating a pancake. You will say to yourself "I wonder how she's doing?" "Did she get a new recipe?" "Did she find the proper heat in a good skillet?" "Is she flipping with accuracey?"

I know. It's right up there with the moon landing debate. Unfathomable.

I'm off to climb the golden stairs. Don't worry, the crack pipe's been packed away.


ms d

"It's not what goes into a person that makes them who they are, it's what comes out"
my dad, at the kitchen table, referenced from somewhere in the bible

1 comment:

Suz said...

I liked this post. Keep the crack pipe.

*hangs head, knowing she has a Valley Girl inflection when she says hello*