Monday, June 30, 2008

apology in lower-case letters

i'm sorry northwest library. it was a book report on mr. cummings and i
was probably just feeling s t r e s s
when i yelled at


for sending me the notification(just one of those times
when you think you're so right but you're really just really wrong you understand
)and i don't like to be told i'm wrong even when i am wrong

so that's why i marched up to your customer service desk and reprimanded your book sortingorganizing staff or whatever it is that their position is called and said it must be their fault their negligence overlookingness because i certainly returned all of the e. e. cummings books i borrowed, why wouldn't i return them all together of course i did the one that's missing is really small and skinny it probably
through the cracks if they just searched a little more they would find it but it is not my fault so don't even try to charge me don't even t r y to make such an accusation how dare you!

and you said

ok we will waive the fee but if you ever happen to find it go ahead and return it and i could tell you didn't believe me and i was angry you still thought it was

my fault.

well northwest library

a few weeks later i was cleaning my room and it was in a hidden corner hahathere it was and who knows how it got there you know (sheepishly) well it must have s l i p p e d through the cracks. and, well, i know you asked me to return it but then you would have known that you were right and you were right ok? but you know how it (pri) is (de) with this kind of thing

i still have it here
and read it sometimes
i think i understood it better back then
when i was a high schooler
that high schooler that yelled at you

no offense

mr. cummings.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Moping for a Moped

I tried really hard to make it clear in my last post that my Emo-ness was just a freak thing and that I was not actually suffering anything close to real depression. However, this did not stop people from speculating and worrying about me and trying to keep me from suicidal thoughts. I guess people love me.

I'll admit it though. There may have been a reason. And it may have had something to do with heartbreak. And the culprit may have been this beauty:
After working my butt off and pinching pennies for so long, my heart was in desperate need of a reward. (Plus I needed a way to get to work.) I looked through hundreds of classified ads, prayed, hungered, researched, and made phone calls. I really wanted one that I could trust. I knew I was long overdue for some lovin'.

I shouldn't have given my heart away so carelessly. Two weeks after we met, he died. (Yes, for those I've already talked to about this, I realize I used to call it a "she." But I realized that only a male could have broken my heart like this.) I found a friend with a truck and we took him to the shop. I had hope. I thought, my love extends $1-$200 more dollars. I sat, waiting for the diagnosis, hoping for the best.

There I was, still all dressed up in my work clothes and high heels, surrounded by grease-covered mechanics and middle-aged motorcyclists, the only female in the room. I was trying to act tough. I wanted everyone to know that I was not to be screwed over. But what was to come was bad news, each sentence stabbing me like a knife. One of the mechanics called me over for the estimate. "The guy who fixed this up didn't take care of this oil leak." Stab. "We not only have to replace the muffler, we have to replace (long list of parts.)" Stab. "This will cost @#$%! dollars to fix." STAB. All the men in the room were listening and my pride was reduced to shreds. "Isn't there any way you could just get it running without doing all that? It doesn't have to be perfect," I tried. "No," came the answer. My heart was reduced to miniscule shards of glass. I nodded in dumb silence as he explained about pistons and shafts and carburetors. It was all useless. I just don't have the money.

I didn't cry though. Not until I was alone. There he still sits, in the basement parking garage, waiting for me pay the price to win him back. I worked so hard for him. A few more months of starvation is probably worth it, I think to myself periodically. But all the sacrifice I already put into him! Will it ever end? Probably not. I will probably buckle and clean out my bank account for him. I'm just a sucker for the good-looking ones.