yo:Aquí en casa con mis padres. Me preocupa que me voy a perder mi ambición de hacer otras cosas si me quedo aquí. Vivir en casa, con mi familia grande y los problemas que vienen con eso es lento y difícil. Se tarda tanto sólo para salir de la casa y ir a algún sitio con otras personas, estoy aniquilado por el resto de la semana. Creo que cuando yo me vaya, voy a ser capaz de vivir como un adulto en lugar de sólo un cuidador. Estoy cansado de hacer eso.
It’s been a long time since the notion of a relationship has even crossed my mind. Then again, until three weeks ago, it had been over 2 years since I had seen you.
You, with your melodious, lilted tenor and your waggish, wry sense of humour and your indie/mod sense of style. You, with your wittiness and your hearty laugh and your acuminous approach to the ministry. You, with the thousand-watt smile and the classic Italian features and the soft, warm hands. You, the youngest of five that listens to everything but country music and works out religiously.
I enjoy being in your tall, fragrant, well-dressed, soft-spoken, dark-haired, olive-skinned, hazel-eyed presence. What I enjoy more is that you seem to enjoy being in my presence too. I’m glad and grateful to God that you remembered me, and that you continue to be considerate and kind when you see me now. Last Wednesday, when you appeared out of nowhere after I missed the field service arrangement to offer me territory— that was beautiful. And tonight, you stopped doing whatever you were doing to shake my hand and smile and say “hello”. You remembered me— caramel-skinned, baby-faced, rueful-eyed me, the girl with the huge family that wears out her out at the end of the day and the figure like two basketballs sitting on a water pitcher. ME!
And I get to see you tomorrow too!
No wonder I can’t seem to wipe this stupid grin off my face.
My parents and their debt is just a small part of a bigger problem that has usurped my morning. The people who run the city of Detroit are corrupt, lazy, incompetent fools. Instead of signing my name to a bank account for my catering business, I’m babysitting so they can be absolved of 12,000 dollars worth of debt.
This is why people can’t get anything done or get ahead in this town. If you’re not greasing palms or getting people laid, they make you jump through big, fiery hoops in order to be an honest citizen.
Just days after President Obama signed the new health care law, insurance companies are already arguing that, at least for now, they do not have to provide one of the benefits that the president calls a centerpiece of the law: coverage for certain children with pre-existing conditions.
Mr. Obama, speaking at a health care rally in northern Virginia on March 19, said, “Starting this year, insurance companies will be banned forever from denying coverage to children with pre-existing conditions.”
The authors of the law say they meant to ban all forms of discrimination against children with pre-existing conditions like asthma, diabetes, birth defects, orthopedic problems, leukemia, cystic fibrosis and sickle cell disease. The goal, they say, was to provide those youngsters with access to insurance and to a full range of benefits once they are in a health plan.
To insurance companies, the language of the law is not so clear.
Insurers agree that if they provide insurance for a child, they must cover pre-existing conditions. But, they say, the law does not require them to write insurance for the child and it does not guarantee the “availability of coverage” for all until 2014.
“Listen, I may not be much, but I’m all I’ve got. Maybe you need a magnifying glass to find my face in my high school graduation photo. Maybe I haven’t got any family or friends. Yes, yes, I know all that. But, as strange as it may seem, I’m not entirely dissatisfied with my life. It could be because this split personality of mine has made a stand up comedy routine of it all. I wouldn’t know, would I? But whatever the reason, I feel pretty much at home with who I am. I don’t want to go anywhere.”—Haruki Murakami, “Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World” (via distantheartbeats)
You don’t, or you shouldn’t anyway. You shouldn’t have to convince someone else to appreciate the good in you. Love is seeing the great things about another person without conditions, coercion, bribery, sex or any selfish gain.
I’ve been thinking about running my fingers through that crop of thick, dark hair you have and giving you kisses on your eyelids. I’ve been thinking about going on dates and holding your hand and staring at each other awkwardly before we kiss for the first time.
I don’t want to like you just yet, and yet I can’t get you out of my mind.
People who don’t know us believe my father and I are either friends or married. Creepy misunderstandings aside, I love my dad, but really, we’re not that close anymore. We’ve both changed in unexpected ways that separate us ideologically. Some days, the only way we get along is if I leave or he complains to Ma instead of me.
There have always been guys who initiate contact with me only to find that I’m too talkative,assertive or independent. Even when I was a little girl, the neighborhood kid I ended up with for a short while would tell me to “be quiet” because “I talked too much”. This guy that added me on Facebook because I’m a friend of a friend told me today that “I talked too much” and that if I “don’t stop having one-sided conversations, people will lose interest.” Fool, you wrote me! Don’t you tell me about how to talk to people! And of course, there’s the guy that I write the “you know who you are" letters to. Guys like these are the reason I’ve been looking at men 5 to 10 years older than me lately.
Even though I’m only 19, I don’t listen to people who tell me a certain guy is “too old” for me. If he’s hot, not a jerk and 20-30 years old, he’s fair game. Frankly, the arrested development of my generation makes me want men who were teenagers in the late 90s/ early 2000s. Most of the guys that are 18-23 in my area are living at home, arrogant, immature and superficial.
I don’t flirt, even if I like you. I’m friendly and I’ll keep you talking, but I’m not a flirtatious individual. I don’t see the point. It weeds out all of the uninteresting ones.
I’ve gone from one end of the spectrum with guys to the other. I used to the type that falls desperately in love. Now, it takes a whole lot for me to even notice someone, much less be interested. When I was in high school, guys made it a game to pretend they were my boyfriend. I’d get catcalls and hear guys tell their friends “Diane is your girlfriend? Go ahead, playa!” or “Damn, good job! Go hit that, son!” I’m not playing hard to get, honest. I’m just a very cautious individual, and even if you break up with someone, something of them haunts you forever. I guard my heart to minimize how many phantoms swim around in it.
All week, I've been listening to music from my childhood.
Every song, every measure, every beat, every note takes me to an entirely different place.
One song takes me back to my parents’ kitchen, spinning around in circles and singing into spatulas. Another song takes me back to our raggedy old 1983 Datsun, the car my parents used to deliver pizza in, disco blaring and city lights all around us. Yet another song takes me back to the technicolor, doe-eyed way I used to look at everything when I was a kid— the rain, the trees, the clouds, the houses, the streets, the people. It was like my eyes saw everything in expired film.
Childhood seems clearer when I hear music from that part of my life. I remember everything great about it— the tranquil afternoons reading books, playing in my backyard with my sister and my best friend, fireworks, day trips to the museums, pizza with the family, my mother’s lullabies on the piano.
What do I miss most?
The wonder, the curiosity. Everything seemed fresh and new and beautiful. Now we live in extraordinary but volative times; wonder is hard to come by these days.
For the brief moments a song I used to love is on, however, I gain that back. The wonder years don’t seem so far away.
I haven’t written anything because I’ve been spending time online looking for money and housing. In addition to job applications I’ve been (futilely) filling out, I’ve been helping my best friend come up with an acceptable logo/website for our newest venture— a catering business. Both of us are excellent and creative cooks; we figure we can make it work. My parents got the eviction notice in the mail on Friday. We’re expecting a court date in April, and to be kicked out of this house in May at the earliest. My parents have been foreclosed on, but I’ve been sniffing around for adequate housing by myself anyway. I have designs on getting my own place by September.
I’ve also moved congregations. My new Kingdom Hall is a fifteen minute drive across town. The new congregation is smaller but more diverse than my old one, and there are a lot more single, available men. In fact, from the looks of it, I’m the only young, childless, single adult female there. The meeting was informative and I enjoyed being there, even though it was early in the morning. I felt at peace there. I’m always eager for a fresh start, and this is a perfect opportunity to mix things up a bit.
Yesterday, I saw this guy that I had met at a convention a couple of years ago whom unwittingly helped me through a very, very difficult day. He happens to go to this new Kingdom Hall, and I felt an unexpected wave of joy and relief. The day we met, he came into my life and restored some of my faith in the human condition— and then he was gone. I didn’t even see him again during the entire conference, and I didn’t see him again anywhere else either. It was as though he had disappeared off the face of the Earth. It was to the point where I was beginning to think he didn’t exist at all, but when I came in, there he was. He was sitting in the front row next to his mother (it seems like she’s his only next-of-kin), wearing a dark suit with purple accents. He’s tall with black hair, big eyes, olive skin and an Italian last name. My sister has decided to call him Brother Hnnng. I don’t know much about him, but I do know that I’m looking forward to finding out. Why is he notable? Well, remember when I said I haven’t been interested in anyone I actually knew in a really long time? That could change.
I’m looking to get into this class that will teach me to be a medical administrative assistant. 95% job placement + 21 bucks an hour. I’m excited about it, because it’s something I can do until I can the classes I need for my prerequisites in Nursing, and eventually, take the MCAT for medical school.