grease

The more things happen, the more people here scoff at the idea of wanting to be there, the more I want to be there. With the people there.

this job eats me alive. Always the same. boring black clothes, hair up in a knot, the same stress, the same pizzas, the same customers wanting the same things.

When I listen at night, I feel like crying. During the day, dancing.

mostly I miss dancing. and people I did not think I would miss at all.

I drank caffeine at 11. My legs are tired, but my brain is awake. slightly hungry.

Last night I dreamed of a dog friend who is no longer living. He was talking to me, but not with words. But I knew what he was saying. We were baking. Pizza, of course. It was burning.

I have superpowers. I can pick up hot things. (This is not true. It was said of me, but the girl did not pick up those pans. She did not know they were not hot.) (They were not hot.)

Tomorrow (today) I will be in that store until Sunday comes. And then I will walk home in the coolish darkness.

My hands are so vain-ey.

guard your heart. wellspring of life. I guard mine like... I don't even have a simile strong enough. Too much guarding.

I smell like grease. If I sat outside I would attract raccoons and possums and coyotes and feral cats, and all the deer would run the other way. My stench would pollute the soft smell of honeysuckle.

I got home and drank my dr. pepper and ate a cookie and finished the book I started this morning. Lost and Found. about a woman and her friends, and a dog. good book.

And now, if I am anything smart, I will shut this machine down and go to bed. Because it is late.

But I must add, God is way cooler than I could ever imagine. Today I got mad at Him, stupid reason. I had no right. Not even by American standards. But I did. But He still helped me an awful lot.

Goodnight my friends. Thanks for reading my heart-thoughts. I hope you have a beautiful day, wherever you are.

~P

old

Listen to this. (if you have 6 minutes) It's one of those songs that reminds me of older times. One of those songs that stirs up so much emotion, I think I might cry. (A lot of songs are powerful to me, but seldom do they make me want to cry.) One of those songs that doesn't get old, the melodies don't settle. Each time I hear it, the music takes a backseat and nostalgia comes washing up. Piano, strings, percussion. It makes me want to dance, to spin, to frolic, to laugh, to to to... All these things of stories, that I am too afraid to do in this century.

A heart song. My heart hears it and wants to leap, and is pulled back. I always pull back.

Sometimes I see glimpses of places I've never been. I don't know if there are such places on this earth. But I keep imagining them. For years and years, I have remembered the same places, have longed to be in these places.

How sweet He is to me, to give me the imagination He did, the music to hear... How sweet He is to me and I am not so sweet back. Usually I am not even polite.

And then I become exhausted. My nose starts to run and then stuff up, and I wonder if anyone even wants to hear about my imagination. And I wonder if anyone needs to hear it. And I wonder when I'll start. And my brain starts to slow down and all the emotion seems to start to boil but the steam can't get out, and the effort is too much and I just want to stop, because I do not know what else to say to make anyone understand. I have no English words for it. No words at all, it's just this exploding swirl in my heart. And all at once it is both invigorating and incredibly exhausting. And the exhaustion wins. And I push it back until the next time He sends me something beautiful.

Sometimes beautiful things make me sad. I know why, but again, I have no words for you.

But you should listen to that song. Maybe you'll understand.

air

My parents have chosen to not have air conditioning. They have chosen instead to use our big attic fan, and open the windows at night and shut the house in the day. They have chosen to plant lots of trees that mostly shade the house all day.

I used to hate not having air conditioning. I waited for the day when I could get my own place and have it. It gets really hot in the evening, and at night, and some nights it never cools down much so the house is too warm all day. Little bugs come through the screens, Some days, cooling down is impossible. Some nights, we lay sweating on top of our sheets and wait for the temperature to hit 80 or 75, or for a breeze. The humidity seeps in, nothing dries, no sweat stays away.

But I've grown to love our natural air. I imagine the old days, when my house was young. (built in 1906, we think.) I imagine the lives of those in Africa, the Middle East, India, the places where people don't have big buildings with mechanized cold air circulation. Our natural air connects me somehow to those people. To most people. Night here, sitting, sweating in my room, the fan sucking warm air out and the trees pushing cool air in, and somewhere it is day, and hot. Someone is walking, someone is clinging to shade. The dogs retreat into the shadows, can't you see it? We're connected, somehow, through the air.

I have grown to love it. The smell of sweat, the stickiness, just from living. The smell of honeysuckle. The preciousness of a breeze. The sounds of insects and leaves. Sitting at night next to an open window. Drinking water all day. Sitting outside after dark, soaking in the cool. The sound of rain. The simplicity of it. The remembering, the imagining, the connecting.

Why I do not like Personality Tests

(focusing on Meyers-Briggs, but I feel this way about them all)

I used to think they were fun. Figuring myself out. A puzzle. I know they are meant to be more than just something fun to take. I know they are supposed to give you a hint of why you are the way you are, show you why you might lean towards certain tendencies. I know – everyone knows- your personality is not necessarily going to stay the same all the time. I think the Meyers-Briggs people know that too. So I know that test is not a once and for all thing.

But I do not like them. I do not like being pegged. I like to think I am more dynamic than four letters. My name has eighteen; at least let me have that many. My Meyers-Briggs test says I am extroverted. A lot of people question that. I think it is because I am quiet. It’s true, I am. I also write a lot, and I love to read. Those are mostly solitary activities. I need my alone time to think and process and write. But too much alone time, and I get incredibly lonely. Given the choice, mostly, I would choose to be with people. Just because I don’t talk a whole lot, doesn’t mean I don’t like being with people. (And I do talk, when I have something to say.) But yes, sometimes I do like being alone.

And though my letters generally fit me, I don’t want to box myself into four letters. I refuse. Jesus gives me a way cooler, more fitting identity.

People are forever trying to fit into identities. Personality tests, astrological signs, labels, cliques.

I am so much more than four letters.

“Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. (I am large, I contain multitudes.)” –Walt Whitman

Because Because!

Because some days, you just feel, lovely.

Because you're writing your second novel.

Because you had the day off and got to see a good friend.

-----

Today, I didn't wash my hair. And I felt so lovely.

:)

hahaha!

It is so funny, that for seven hours, I forgot I had to pee. I forgot my legs were tired. I forgot I was thirsty. Then I got home. and BAM! I had to pee, my legs started aching, and I drank about a gallon of water.

Tonight was INTENSE.

why title this post with laughter? I prayed for joy on the walk to the store. He gave it to me, and He gave it abundantly. I was happy the whole night. I had one line of a hillsong song stuck in my head the whole 7 hours. I was fine. We were SUPER busy. The morning crew didn't make enough dough so we completely ran out of pizza when the manager was off delivering special pizzas. There were TONS of people in the drive through and they were getting mad waiting and some people drove off and some people wanted refunds, it was stressful. There were only two of us there trying to do everything and it was impossible. literally. The other girl has been working at that store for a long time, and she was super stressed. She called the other manager and cried and basically gave up. When the manager working with us finally got back about an hour later, she stormed out. The customers didn't stop coming though. It was really awful for a long time. We had to make every pizza individually... and ran out of bread and it was just bad. But I was happy! It was mostly not my fault so it was alllll right! She came back to help us clean up, which took an hour because we were so busy before. Then she threw up. (She's really really stressed about a lot of things and got too hot and is probably exhausted too.)

So. got through it. woopa woopa so intense.

But I was happy! :)

May 23

Vivaldi. A storm.

"It's Avaldi!" I said once, too young to remember.

Two days off, I feel like me again. Vivaldi. A storm. Remembering- imagining? what it should be like.

I'm deeper than even I know.

(and so are you.)

An idea for a poem, a series maybe. a girl duck, a boy duck.

purple feathers, red.

blackberry smoothie, sweet.

sweet.

bright.

keep leaping

joy.

The me that is captured by the robin, the sunset, the blue sky, the breeze... that is me.