Friday, August 14, 2009
I would like to hold your hand as we're shifting through this twisted abandon. I would like to think that you'd know your way.
The other day at work, Alisha (someone you all would dig, very much) was training me (to do a job that I already know how to do. It irritated the both of us, but you do what the boss wants, do you not?) and just showing me the ways that she does stuff. Like, how she opens five-gallon buckets of pickles and how she goes about slicing meat--that sort of thing. She opened up a green pepper and, before discarding it, she holds up the bulb from the middle that is covered and patterned so specifically with seeds and she said, "Ah! I love this. I wish everyone had to do this, you know? Share all their weird idiosyncrasies with one another." It was a simple passing comment and I quickly turned that green pepper into perfectly sliced little rings and people ate them on their sandwiches.
But comments beget thoughts and thoughts beget blogs and this one is a list of my weirdnesses (It's a word. My spell check says it's a word.)
I've been writing 2006 on all of my checks ever since I opened this account. It could be that I'm dyslexic. It could be that I quite possibly haven't written a check since 2006. It's not really an idiosyncrasy--it's just something about me that's bugging me.
I have a tendency to speak in lists and bullet points. If we're speaking, you will most likely hear me say something in the format of, "And, you see, the reason I'll never drink a Sonic cream slush is twofold: A. I can't get down with the conflicting textures and B. I had a long swig of what I thought was an iced tea but turned out to be a four-hour old cream slush and it didn't end well." I do this for two reasons: 1. In high school I thought it was funny and by the time I realized it wasn't, it was a habit too ingrained to be removed. 2. I want you to know that both points hold equal weight when it comes to my reasoning.
I say I love the Beatles but I don't think I really do all that much. I like them, but I like it a lot more when someone covers the Beatles than when I really hear their original songs. I say I don't like Coldplay but when they show up in places I'm usually more soothed than I was before they came to play.
One of my most favorite... things? I hate to say the word "thing" but I can't pinpoint what it is, exactly. I'll start over. You know what I love to do? Cucumbers. Split them long-ways down the center and then drag a spoon through the guts to pull the seeds out. God it's a good feeling. The chopping is nice, too but it's the seeding that I savor.
Here's a good one you don't know. On long drives, specifically if I'm the one driving, my little brain will almost inevitably drift to sex. Everything about it. Every time. It usually doesn't stop, either, until I reach my destination or a gas-station where I buy a bag of Fun-Yuns and get distracted. If you and I have ever been in the car together for longer than an hour or so, I can almost guarantee that I stopped listening to anything you were saying or playing on your ipod and started thinking about effing--maybe even with you. Lucky you. (Eyebrows up, closed-mouth smirk, heavy nod)
I don't sing in the shower but that is where I practice my skat. I want to know how to skat so bad. It's just--it seems easy but it's not.
I love having the morning all to myself. I love waking up by myself and taking a shower with the door open and making my coffee in my underpants. I love preparing for my day before going out and giving it a go. But I hate spending my nights alone. Once the sun starts going down, I flip through my contacts list trying to find someone to call. I usually don't call, though, because I want to train myself to be okay at night by myself but so far (and I'm a few weeks from being twenty-six, by now) it hasn't really worked. I like to sleep with others. I like a warm body in bed next to me but I can't handle touching. I like the mornings to myself but I don't want to sleep in bed alone--you just can't have your cake and eat it, too. That's just the way it is, I suppose.
Don't be mad at me for not ever telling some of you this, but I love cigarettes. When I was in college, I got in the habit of smoking one cigarette per semester during finals week. Finals was always subliminally very insane, like a week-long full moon. I tried to take nothing personally during that week. I tried to extend vast amounts of patience and grace but I always needed one cigarette. That has spilled over into my non-scholastic life and I smoke once every six months. One at a time. I smoke when I miss my dad and I need to feel him in some physical way. So I sit on a porch and smoke from this pack of Basic Lights that I've had for about 3 years. I hold it in my lungs and let it settle into my hair and my clothes and collect in my throat and it smells just like him. I keep it at twice a year for a few reasons that I could list in bullet point fashion, but I'll spare you. For starters I don't want another addiction--I have enough and I couldn't really afford to be a smoker. For finishers, I need my dad. I need to be able to bring him to me when I'm at my lowest and I'm afraid that if I lit up anymore frequently than that, then I would lose the punch and the comfort. It happens so infrequently that I'm very bad at ashing. I can never flick it in a way to get the ashes to fall off nicely.
Well, that will do for now.
I told myself that I wasn't going to--but I am going to get some Chinese food. Egg rolls and almond chicken.
Posted by Libby Marie at 3:49 PM