high af

So there I am, sitting in the chair waiting for my wisdom teeth to be removed when one of the nurses recognizes my Flash shirt. She asked if I had seen Endgame, and I said I had. She then said that it wasn’t in theaters anymore, which I knew to be untrue, but I was a little busy trying not to panic about the needle that was about to get jabbed in my arm.

I wanted to tell her that she’s wrong about the movie, but it was too late and I was knocked out by the IV sedation. Seconds (really 30 minutes) later, I wake up and see that same nurse and mom. They’re talking, but all I can think about is Endgame. So after a few minutes of them telling me to breath through my nose, I finally tell in her through a mouthful of blood and gauze that she needs to look again, Endgame is still there, just sold out for weeks.

She started chatting about superhero movies and used a Marvel and DC character interchangeably, which bugged me in a fogged out way so I blurted out, “DC is garbage.” Mom and the nurse laughed at me, but unfortunately for me, my mouth was too full for me to explain that the DCCU has been garbage, but I actually love a bunch of the characters….like the Flash, whose shirt I was currently wearing.

So now I’m left with the regret that the nurse thinks I’m a moron who hates DC, but clearly doesn’t know the Flash is part of the DC universe.

Also my lips and chin are completely numb. So that sucks too.

New People are scary

Gol damn, I need to make some new friends.

This isn’t because my old friends are garbage (tho I’ve had some falling outs with more than one……..don’t really want to talk about it). I just feel like I need to expand my horizon and start a new chapter of my life with some new people. People that I actually like and enjoy spending time with.

I think it’s time.

Too bad I have bad social skills when it comes to brand new people.

September Mood

Fall is my favorite time of the year. I think it’s a lot of people’s, and even with the knowledge that I’m jumping on the bandwagon and going mainstream, I still love it.

It’s the time when we can start wearing long sweaters, fluffy blankets, and sweatpants. I can finally start drinking my hot tea without feeling like I’m going to die from the heat. Basically everything that I love can all start happening again.

But it’s not just the comforts of Fall that I love–it’s the feeling.

The air feels crisp, and there’s a particular type of smell floating around. It’s not life, because that’s Spring, it’s more like decay and death, I suppose. Or if you want to think about it in a less gruesome way, it’s the smell signaling an end, and getting us ready for a new beginning.

I always feel like I can do anything when Fall comes around. Move to New York and become a struggling writer? DO IT! Go on an adventure with a friend? DO IT! Finally become the adult that I’ve been pretending to be for the last few years? DO IT….or at least try.

Even though Fall is fleeting, I always savor it. I put on the big sweaters and the comfy leggings. I drink my hot tea with both hands wrapped around the mug. I drag myself to the local coffee shop, my computer and headphones in tow. For a few moments, I become the person I want to be.

The trick is hanging onto that person and feeling.

Not everything is warm sweaters or hot tea. I know that, but I guess what I’m saying is now that September is here and is ushering in Fall, I’m going to hold onto it for as long as I can. Even when November brings dark skies and December snows me in.

 

Spotify 2017

I love looking back at my year, and I thought it was really cool that Spotify did this for us. It’s fun to look back at what I listened to (a lot of ) at the beginning of the year compared to now.
Anyway, according to this, I apparently really like Imagine Dragons.

mood, amiright???

Talk about angsty, but hey the important thing is getting it down on paper, right?

Here’s the deal.

We used to be friends–emphasis on “used to be.”

Things got a little messy and complicated, but it wasn’t anything that we couldn’t figure out, right?

Wrong.

It was stupid, but now it’s done.

I thought that I would be more hurt. I thought I would be crying because of what you meant to me, but I’m not. Turns out I’m just angry. I’m angry because I thought that we had was special. I imagined us being friends when we were both older and more like the adults that I know we’re going to be some day soon. But that’s gone, and it’s replaced with images of you in the distance, or not there at all.

I know my anger stems from a hurt, deep in my chest, but I refuse to acknowledge that. Unhealthy? Maybe. But that’s how it goes with me.

First, I’m wondering what I can do to make this work.

Second, I’m hurt and upset, wondering what I did.

Third, the wondering disappears and a burning anger takes over.

Fourth, the anger turns down to simmer, and I decide forgetting you would be better.

(I don’t forget you).

So now, we’re just acquaintances.

We’re just people that used to be friends.

January 2

Someone called the house phone and I had the good fortune of answering it. Generally, we all ignore it and let it ring until the answering machine gets it or the caller gives up. But for some reason, I decided I would answer the phone because I don’t have anything important that to do anymore (now that school is done).

I answer the phone and the caller says, “Hi, this is Joe from Roscoe Meats.”

I hesitate a second before saying, “Okay.”

A silence stretches between for an awkward second before Joe repeats himself: This is Joe from Roscoe Meats.”

I decide that I shouldn’t just say ‘okay’ again, so I instead say, “Yes, hi.”

At this point, both Joe and I are confused and I’m not sure what he wants me to say to him. So I attempt to shed some light on what’s going on by saying, “My parents aren’t home.” Yes, I know, I’m a 22 year old graduate that still lives at home, but I can still use the ‘I’m not the adult of the house’ card.

“Okay,” Joe says. “Is there another number for me to call?”

This was getting out of hand and I didn’t want to give this random person my parents’ cell phone numbers, and honestly they probably wouldn’t even answer it, so Joe would still have the same problem he does now.

“Can you just call here later?” I ask instead.

“Sure,” Joe says. “Can you just tell them I called?”

“Yeah,” I say, happy that Joe and I seem to be on the same page.

But then Joe says, “Do you have any beef over there?”

I pause near the window that looks out into our backyard. “What?”

“Do you have beef?”

“Like a cow?” I ask, immediately regretting saying that. “Because yes, we have four of those.” Wincing, I could almost hear Joe’s silence translating into “you’re an idiot.”

“Uh, never mind,” Joe from Roscoe Meats says. “I’ll just call back later.”

“Okay,” I say. Thank goodness because I wasn’t sure I could handle much more of this conversation.

I hung up the phone thankful that I sounded like a 15 year old boy on the phone. At least Joe from Roscoe Meats probably thought I was a child and not a fully formed adult with a degree in English.

March 9

All of it happened because I wanted chocolate from Spain. It seemed like an easy thing for Carl to do: he was working at a chocolate factory (queue the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory jokes) and should be able to easily obtain the chocolate for me.

     Turns out that wasn’t the case.

     On Carl’s last day of working at the factory, I wake up to 12 missed texts from him, which isn’t super unusual because Spain is seven hours ahead of my time, but 12 seemed like a high number to have sent during the night (my night time, his morning). I wasn’t too worried until I got to the text: “I fucked up just a bit.”

     That had me a little concerned, and reading the proceeding texts didn’t help me figure out exactly what was going on, but the “two people think I have a girlfriend back in the states” did clear things up a little.

     This was, of course, not upsetting to me because what else was new? There was a lengthy list of people that believed Carl and I were dating and I didn’t really think that list was going to shorten anytime soon.

     But Carl was mostly worried about what his family would say when they arrived in Spain the next day and were told by the two people that he had a girlfriend now. He didn’t want them to think that he actually did have one, only to “break their little hearts.” This was mostly because they would, in fact, love the idea of us dating, so them finding out it was a lie would only do more harm than anything else.

     We both decided to ignore this in favor to discuss how to deal with the two (still unknown to me) people that thought we were dating.

     Carl’s solution was to ask me to be his girlfriend for a short period of time so that I could get my chocolate.

     Naturally, I told him that I would of course do that. Because that’s part of the best friend code; if one of us needs a quick, fake boyfriend or girlfriend, then we’d step up and have each other’s back. Obviously.

     This prompted Carl to send me several long texts about how this whole thing happened. Not surprising, my chocolate was the root of the problem.

     It was the end of the work day for Carl, and he needed to talk to his 66 year old boss, Trudy, who loves Carl (add her to the fan club), but was having a rough day because of the overwhelming amount of work she had. Knowing this and knowing that she was into romantic gestures, Carl decided that best way to get her help was to tell her that he needed chocolate to send to his girlfriend back home in the states. He figured she would be happy to help, which she was, and that I would get a bigger box out of the deal, which I did.

     Carl figured that was the end of it. Wrong.

     The next morning, Carl was driving with his host father, Rafael, who was reading an email from Trudy out loud about how great Carl was during his time working for her. She ends the email with a quick “I also gave him a box of chocolate for his girlfriend.”

     So now the list has expanded to two people believing Carl has a girlfriend: Trudy and Rafael. If Carl wasn’t careful, that list was going to keep expanding.

     Trying to get ahead of that, Carl texted Rafael later to tell him that “All of Spain doesn’t need to know about the romantic gesture.”

     Rafael apparently was fine with all that, but then an hour later asked, “Why is it a secret? I am becoming puzzled…”

     Carl, feeling like he was backed into a corner, decided that honesty was the best policy so he told me that “we’re tots dating.”

     He seemed a little worried about my reaction to that, but I thought it was the funniest thing that I had heard in a long time and I was more than willing to play along, especially considering that this all happened because I really wanted some chocolate.

     We figured that this news of our recent development wouldn’t reach American ears, but in case it did, I had two options: I could deny everything, or I could roll with it for a bit. Or, coming up with a third option, I could buy my family’s silence with chocolate and the truth.

     Turned out that none of this came to pass because Rafael respects the bro code and agreed to keep quiet about it all, so the next day I wake up to only one text from Carl: “Babe, listen. What we had, it’s gone. The fire that was once our love has faded. I’ve tried everything to reignite it, but I fear it’s gone forever. Thus, I have no choice, but to break up with you. I hope that we can still be friends.” We were back to our best friend status, which we had never left.

     So, for a brief moment, Carl and I “dated” so that I could get chocolate from Spain.

June 24

The other day at work, my co-workers were trying to move this metal and wire shelf down some stairs so that it could be used on the first floor.
Since, I’m the littlest of the three of us, I was just sorta watching them as they did all the work. So I was able to see when a metal piece of something on the top shelf starting sliding towards, Justin, my co-worker carrying one end of the shelf.
Obviously, there wasn’t anything I could do and my other co-workers saw it too, so other than shouting out a warning all we could do was watch it as it smacked Justin on the head.
He said he was okay, but a second later the shelf was literally starting to fall apart and that was when he realized that his head was bleeding. He was sorta like, “Oh, wow. That’s blood.” Yes. My buddy, my man, that sure is blood.
Amy, who feels like the mom of the group (would be the mom of any group I think), told him to find something to stop the bleeding.
He left Amy and I to deal with the breaking shelf, which was a pain in the ass to get back up the few steps and put somewhere out of the way.

When Justin came back he asked us to look at it to see if it needed stitches. So bowing his head, Amy and I looked at the gash on his head.
All I saw was the blood and the split skin and feeling greatly out of my depth I said, “I think we need an adult who isn’t me to ask if you need stitches.”
Amy laughed at me, but we all went back to where other people were to get a vote about the stitches.
One of other co-workers, who’s this old guy offered to sew Justin up himself. Or to slap some glue on it. He told us, “I do that all the time. Cut my hand: glue it up. It’s no big deal.”
Justin declined his offer and four stitches later from a professional doctor, he was okay.