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For World Book Night yesterday, mom and I put books on people's cars like the religious rubbish I always find on mine. My literature was about a different god though. That was exciting for me. Passing along the good word about books. I'm about that. It was also Fahrenheit 451, which is not my favorite Ray Bradbury book but obviously I love it because he's an amazing writer and his work never fails to make me fall desperately in love with the human race all over again despite its many, many failings. (Kinda like watching Doctor Who.)


Overheard a woman at work saying a lovely sentence: my cousin was married to Juicy.

That's it.

I wrote that shit down the minute she finished saying it. What a friggin' sentence, man. 'My cousin was married to Juicy.' I have so many questions.


A woman I basically grew up with comes into the one branch frequently and when she looks me, there is not even the slightest flash of recognition in her face. She knew me through the end of grade school and all through high school, the period of your life where you do a great deal of changing physically. She knew me before I had glasses, knew me when I got them, before I had braces, when I got those, when I got those taken off; she knew me while I was gradually getting taller because I'm short so naturally I didn't have a sudden growth spurt. I spent countless days and nights at her house with my best friend and she looks me in the eye and there isn't even a glimmer. I don't register to her at all. She's seen my name tag, that also means nothing. She knew my mother and her family and I wonder if she would recognize any of them anymore, or if they've been obliterated like me. It's stunning. Other than that, she doesn't show any other signs of memory loss or deterioration. She drives herself to the library, she reads constantly, her hearing was always a little bad when I knew her and it doesn't seem to have gotten any worse really, she knows off the top of her head that May 15 is a Wednesday this year (when her books are due back). So at a glance, it seems like the only thing she's forgetting is me. Which I guess, having not spoken to her in almost another decade, isn't too much to complain about. It just makes me curious about the brain and its workings.

Stories and The Like

Let me start by saying that I had the best intentions for the past few days. I was going to make cookies, butterscotch ones to be precise, and clean out my basement, and clear out some of the ridiculous amounts of  glasses in our cupboards to fit in our tupperware which has been sitting on a chair in the kitchen in the box it came in while we use it, and tidy up the living room so there aren't random stacks of papers hanging around on coffee tables, basically I wanted to declutter my apartment.

Then yesterday hanging out with mom her Jeep broke down and I didn't get home till like 7, and I watched True Romance, ate Spaghettios, and got sleepy then went to bed. Today I got home from work and hung out with mom again, then I came home and fully intended to make the butterscotch cookies, cause I definitely wasn't going to get to the basement, and then discovered that I had no butter. So... still no cookies.

Yesterday was Ray Bradbury's birthday. He would've been 92. I was feeling really bold and inspired and I was going to post one of my short stories here, to commemorate what a remarkable summer this has been so far for me. Someone I felt very close to and who made me feel welcome in my own brain passed away, and a little more than a month later someone I hope I always feel very close to and who makes me feel welcome not just in my own brain but in my body and soul celebrated a year of marriage with me. I've slowly begun clawing my way out of overwhelming debt. I haven't gotten a new job yet but they are still interested (they'll supposedly be calling me in the next few weeks for yet another interview). Jeremy got a new car. I colored my hair for the first time in years, and I actually went lighter for the first time ever. I climbed into my house through a bathroom window (that was awesome for me.). So on and so forth.

Then of course I started thinking about it and decided not to post anything as I am every fearful of what people will think of my work. I'm worried they'll think it's awful but not tell me that, and sometimes just as bad is the concern that they'll think it's awful and tell me it is. Or they'll have no response at all. So I figured it would be easier to not take the chance. Because I am a total pussy. Maybe some other time.

Sunday Night Reflections

The thing about work that I think irks me the most, well second most because one thing in particular infuriates me so much sometimes I grind my teeth in my sleep over it, is the insincerity. I'm a very dry, sarcastic person. Obviously I'm aware of this. But if someone is exceeding at something that they previously have not been, I make it a point to be as sincere as possible when complimenting them on it. Or, if they're just doing a good job in general I like to be supportive to encourage more of this behavior. The other day at work, I was working in an area that I hadn't been in at all that day and two supervisors were standing near by chatting. They saw me begin work, chatted briefly a bit more, and than made very sardonic comments pertaining to what I was doing. "Storm over here, finally getting some work done." "Yeah Storm, jeez just standing around all day?"

I love sarcasm. It's one of my favorite forms of humour. But for god's sake: read your frickin' audience.

That is unprofessional, it makes me look like a lazy, incompetent employee, and it makes you look bad for putting someone like me in that position. And not just if the store is open and customers can hear you, but to other employees as well. Just be professional. There is a time and a place for being dry, and it is not when an employee has been working hard her entire shift but you haven't seen it so you think it's all joke and fun time. Had you been there with me my entire shift, while I was climbing ladders and sweating and lifting heavy objects and generally doing what I can to perform my job duties to the best of my abilities, than I would not mind your sarcastic and derisive comments at all. I would be humored by them and I would laugh and joke back with you.  Because I would know you were just joking. Do not just clock in and immediately start jokingly critisizing my work and my work ethic. That feels like a personal attack to me and it only makes me want to cause you physical harm.

In unrelated news, I bought a pair of prescription sunglasses today. I'm excited for their arrival. In a few short weeks, I'll be able to protect my eyes from the sun and I won't have to worry about my eyes getting tired from my cheap contacts because I can't afford the super wet and moist ones. More to come when they get here.

Did I mention that we recently sold my piano to a friend of ours? Well we did. I was really happy about it too, thinking we had given it to a good home and if at some point in the future I wanted that particular one back we could just call up our friend. Turns out, no. That future is not to be. Our friend had in his truck and he wanted to use a forklift to get it back out, and he gets the lift positioned under the piano, then realizes he's going to need to move his truck to get the piano out without incident. And I tuned (pun) out a little bit but somehow the piano straight up fell out of his truck.

And broke into a bunch of tiny pieces. Ivory keys and gold plating and all.

I am very sad/angry about this.

Also, (and this is only a footnote because I'll get crazy emotional if I write about this) Ray Bradbury passed away June 5th in his sleep. He was 91. And I'm devastated over it, and every time I think about it I'll get that tight feeling in my chest like when you wrap a string around the tip of your finger and it starts to go numb because you're cutting off the circulation and my eyes will prickle, just a tiny bit. Nothing obvious. But it will happen.