Unknown to her, there Dale sat, all alone, in the basement of his parent's house. A dying flashlight laid strewn carelessly to his right on the cold, hard concrete floor. His shoes had been tossed about in front of his position, and his bare feet brushed almost casually amongst the dirt and dead bugs. Dale's disheveled hair gave away his prior position: head in hands, light tears streaming down his face, trying to rub the "sissiness" out of his eyes.
His father would be so proud.
Lauren had not come over that night with the intention of breaking his heart. However with her swift and embarrasses departure, so went his feelings for her, and for love in general. The caller ID does not lie, and when that phone sounded, so crisp and truthful in the dark of the basement, the pain of their past came rushing back to the present. His name popped up. He was not supposed to be listed in the contacts list in the fist place. When Dale answered soundlessly, Lauren's "ex"-boyfriend asked when she was coming over - expecting to hear his love affair's voice on the other end.
Instead what he got was a loud explosion of heart break and anger, followed by the sound of a breaking phone - and heart.
Lauren had nothing to say. She swiftly scurried to the exit as gracefully as she could, almost tripping on her dress from Mardi Gras Masquerade. They had been in the basement on a scavenger hunt after he party.
Well, they certainly didn't find what they were looking for.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Things I might tweet about
Just for the giggles of it:
No sleep
All nighters
coffee
caffeine
driving
cops
po-pos
all other variations forthwith
needing to pee because of the coffee
this sociology test
the play trifiles
my incompetent teacher
grades
spring break
turning 21
haircut(s)
ultimate frisbee
layouts
the rain
the cold
the wind
weather in general
dogs?
i don't know why, but dogs, apparently
aren't they cute?
#winning, and all variations of it
highlighters
#govdocs
#mitchmem
john carroll in DC, living it up, while we are not
screw him
not really
but kinda
being inappropriate
the fact that this girl keeps catching my eye in the union
i mean c'mon it's only 7 30 and you're the only one in here...my b
dave matthews
must see him live
mumford and sons, avett brothers, mgmt
music festivals and how i want to go
fratting hard, even though I don't have any letters
it's a paradox really
the fact that this test is COMMUNISM, jason reed
this guy's just chewing away on his chicken biscuit, RUBBING it in my face that my block plan (excuse me, claire's block plan) doesn't start until 4
this is actually turning out kind of humerous
why did I just snap my fingers like that? i'm not dipping an imaginary can
or a real one for that matter*
how do computers work?
no, seriously.
the braves' first pitch is 12:05 pm, march 31, against the nationals.
baseball
or, as pedro would say: beisbol.
with an accent, while ya judging
man i'm tired
yawn
night.
No sleep
All nighters
coffee
caffeine
driving
cops
po-pos
all other variations forthwith
needing to pee because of the coffee
this sociology test
the play trifiles
my incompetent teacher
grades
spring break
turning 21
haircut(s)
ultimate frisbee
layouts
the rain
the cold
the wind
weather in general
dogs?
i don't know why, but dogs, apparently
aren't they cute?
#winning, and all variations of it
highlighters
#govdocs
#mitchmem
john carroll in DC, living it up, while we are not
screw him
not really
but kinda
being inappropriate
the fact that this girl keeps catching my eye in the union
i mean c'mon it's only 7 30 and you're the only one in here...my b
dave matthews
must see him live
mumford and sons, avett brothers, mgmt
music festivals and how i want to go
fratting hard, even though I don't have any letters
it's a paradox really
the fact that this test is COMMUNISM, jason reed
this guy's just chewing away on his chicken biscuit, RUBBING it in my face that my block plan (excuse me, claire's block plan) doesn't start until 4
this is actually turning out kind of humerous
why did I just snap my fingers like that? i'm not dipping an imaginary can
or a real one for that matter*
how do computers work?
no, seriously.
the braves' first pitch is 12:05 pm, march 31, against the nationals.
baseball
or, as pedro would say: beisbol.
with an accent, while ya judging
man i'm tired
yawn
night.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Right is Wrong
I was so late getting up that even the alarm had given up it futile attempt of annoying me to the point of waking up. No time for a shower, I quickly tried to brush my untamed hair out of my eyes and flashed the mirror a weak smile. The least I can do is brush my teeth, I thought to myself.
The coffee had been made for 45 minutes, thanks to the programming setting. I had set it up at 1:30 am last night before I had finally gone to bed. The cars at the top of my apartment complex's drive all wanted to turn left, but I needed to go right. I was forced to wait, every morning, for the majority of cars to make their way into the stand-still group of cars. The wait for the right-turn was always worth it for that first chance to gun it down the road, away from the group, toward freedom.
I was one of the first ones in the parking lot every morning, and had my choice of spots right up front by the Board Room Boys. My beat-up truck was conspicuously out of place alongside the BMW's and Mercedes. No one knew how I did it. I was asked almost every morning by my bewildered coworkers how I managed to do it. "We pass your car at your apartment every morning," they would say. "Then you beat us by ten minutes!" "Fifteen," I would correct them. It was always fifteen. I really didn't see the big deal. So what if I was one of the first ones in every morning? Someone had to be.
It was a seemingly normal morning. I was the first lower-office member in and had already finished my coffee before I moved up to my cubicle, only one floor below the Board Room. Almost up there with the Boys, but not quite. Almost. I was seated and situated at my desk before I realized my phone was still in my car's cup holder. By the time I had retrieved it, and thanks in part to my extended coffee break before even walking in, fifteen minutes had passed since I had first pulled into the parking lot. Fifteen minutes.
My hand nearly slipped off the glass door upon re-entry. The sound of what could only have been a thousand bees swarmed to my ears from around the corner. The gravel driveway exploded alive as dozens upon dozens of middle-class cars propelled down it, right on cue, into RightWay Corp's parking lot. It was mesmerizing and reminded me of the old footage of Hitler's troops marching mindlessly in step, never missing a beat. One after one, the same time in between each, the cars rounded the corner in single file and filled in each successive parking spot. Never breaking rank or routine.
As the middle class employees that I worked with exited their cars in robotic-like fashion, they became surprised at each others' timely arrival. "Right on the dot as usual, Ted," or "My my, you just can't be late can you Dave?". Murmuring continued all around the parking lot until the last body made its way into the glass doors. And then I was late. "Does this happened every day?" I wondered aloud.
I followed in after them, a slight hitch in my step trying to catch up to my cubicle-neighbor, Jim. Jim was cool. Jim had an attractive girlfriend, and hated his job. Jim was easy to talk to and made jokes out of no material whatsoever. Jim was not my friend, but we knew and respected each other.
"Does this happen everyday Jim?" I echoed the question from my thoughts moments earlier.
"What? Going to work? Yes, yes we all go to work every day. I mean...most days," he said with a corny smile that was too staged to let go, but too endearing to care about.
"No I mean....I mean Jim! Did you not just notice that everyone else parked at the exact same time as you? Did you all follow each other here or something?" My voiced jumped for a second trying to get his full attention, as he was preoccupied with the stirrer in his Starbucks. I had also attracted the attention of several others milling around the elevator bank, waiting for their lift-off to another day in the corporate monster.
Jim now knew that I was getting after something, and he was showing signs of nervousness.
"Look man um ... we can't talk about this here, ok?" he said, glancing around suspiciously. I started in, but he cut me off. "No look, Dave. I don't know you that well and you're asking a lot of questions, for it being so early in the morning. Lets grab lunch in a few hours ok? Ok Dave? We'll grab lunch in a few hours."
With that, Jim rushed off to grab an elevator as it's doors closed behind him. Ignoring my protests and requests for a "hold the door!", he let it close, and I swear he was shaking his head as he was jettisoned off.
The coffee had been made for 45 minutes, thanks to the programming setting. I had set it up at 1:30 am last night before I had finally gone to bed. The cars at the top of my apartment complex's drive all wanted to turn left, but I needed to go right. I was forced to wait, every morning, for the majority of cars to make their way into the stand-still group of cars. The wait for the right-turn was always worth it for that first chance to gun it down the road, away from the group, toward freedom.
I was one of the first ones in the parking lot every morning, and had my choice of spots right up front by the Board Room Boys. My beat-up truck was conspicuously out of place alongside the BMW's and Mercedes. No one knew how I did it. I was asked almost every morning by my bewildered coworkers how I managed to do it. "We pass your car at your apartment every morning," they would say. "Then you beat us by ten minutes!" "Fifteen," I would correct them. It was always fifteen. I really didn't see the big deal. So what if I was one of the first ones in every morning? Someone had to be.
It was a seemingly normal morning. I was the first lower-office member in and had already finished my coffee before I moved up to my cubicle, only one floor below the Board Room. Almost up there with the Boys, but not quite. Almost. I was seated and situated at my desk before I realized my phone was still in my car's cup holder. By the time I had retrieved it, and thanks in part to my extended coffee break before even walking in, fifteen minutes had passed since I had first pulled into the parking lot. Fifteen minutes.
My hand nearly slipped off the glass door upon re-entry. The sound of what could only have been a thousand bees swarmed to my ears from around the corner. The gravel driveway exploded alive as dozens upon dozens of middle-class cars propelled down it, right on cue, into RightWay Corp's parking lot. It was mesmerizing and reminded me of the old footage of Hitler's troops marching mindlessly in step, never missing a beat. One after one, the same time in between each, the cars rounded the corner in single file and filled in each successive parking spot. Never breaking rank or routine.
As the middle class employees that I worked with exited their cars in robotic-like fashion, they became surprised at each others' timely arrival. "Right on the dot as usual, Ted," or "My my, you just can't be late can you Dave?". Murmuring continued all around the parking lot until the last body made its way into the glass doors. And then I was late. "Does this happened every day?" I wondered aloud.
I followed in after them, a slight hitch in my step trying to catch up to my cubicle-neighbor, Jim. Jim was cool. Jim had an attractive girlfriend, and hated his job. Jim was easy to talk to and made jokes out of no material whatsoever. Jim was not my friend, but we knew and respected each other.
"Does this happen everyday Jim?" I echoed the question from my thoughts moments earlier.
"What? Going to work? Yes, yes we all go to work every day. I mean...most days," he said with a corny smile that was too staged to let go, but too endearing to care about.
"No I mean....I mean Jim! Did you not just notice that everyone else parked at the exact same time as you? Did you all follow each other here or something?" My voiced jumped for a second trying to get his full attention, as he was preoccupied with the stirrer in his Starbucks. I had also attracted the attention of several others milling around the elevator bank, waiting for their lift-off to another day in the corporate monster.
Jim now knew that I was getting after something, and he was showing signs of nervousness.
"Look man um ... we can't talk about this here, ok?" he said, glancing around suspiciously. I started in, but he cut me off. "No look, Dave. I don't know you that well and you're asking a lot of questions, for it being so early in the morning. Lets grab lunch in a few hours ok? Ok Dave? We'll grab lunch in a few hours."
With that, Jim rushed off to grab an elevator as it's doors closed behind him. Ignoring my protests and requests for a "hold the door!", he let it close, and I swear he was shaking his head as he was jettisoned off.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
The Waiting Room
The plastic chair was unnecessarily cold underneath her that morning. It was a warm enough day, and yet she was uncomfortably cold in the waiting room. Her temperature fit well with the mood of the room: cold. She twirled the ribbon between her fingers as she watched the news, causing the balloon to dance around in mid-air, almost playfully so. The man next to her was chewing gum out loud, but not in an obnoxious way. It was calming, actually, to hear something other than hospital sounds around her. The woman across from him was tapping her foot along to her iPod, and she imagined what she might be listening to. Probably something happy and light - it was a hospital after all, and who wanted to be depressed (more than needed) in a hospital?
Perhaps, she pondered, waiting rooms should be more like a Chuck E. Cheese. They could have ball pits and annoying high pitched music to go along with the kids' screams of delight and parents worryingly calling after their little ones, she mused.
The sound of the receptionist's phone sounding off brought her back to the present, and she looked around to inquire if anyone might have noticed her gazing off. Not that it would be anyone's business, but the woman, like everyone else, liked to know when and if she was being watched. She had been in the cold waiting room for several days now. There was a plush sleeping bag carelessly stuffed under her row of chair and a pillow sat at her feet. She had set up camp in the far corner, an attempt to be out of the way, but at the same time be available, should there be any news.
The almost robotic sound of an wheel chair rolled by and caused her to glance up, almost with anticipation. He wouldn't be in a wheel chair, though. No, that would not be possible.
He had been put in the hospital 7 months ago. On average, about every two weeks, his condition worsened or was in jeopardy, and she would be notified. Without fail, the faithful wife grabbed her over night bag, her sleeping bag already in the car, and drove to the hospital. He sister took care of the animals. She could almost be charged rent at the hospital.
This was the 3rd time this month she had slept in that waiting room. It was still as unfamiliar and strange as the first time she set up camp.
The door to his wing opened and out walked The nurse. Yes, The nurse, The one with The news. She looked reserved, but at the same time The nurse wanted to smile. Not in a positive way, but in the way everyone wants to smile when they're nervous. When they have terrible, heart-wrenching news to tell someone.
Did she want to see him, one last time? No. No that wouldn't be necessary. Did someone need to be called? No, she was right there, wasn't she? Who else would need to be called. The nurse just thought - no, no there's nothing more, thank you.
And just like that, the faithful wife packed her overnight bag for the last time and walked out of the lobby door. She paused for a minute to wonder if she was the only one who pretended to be a Jedi when she walked out of automatically opening doors. Surely not.
The bag was tossed haphazzardly in the direction of the garbage can. It was off by a few feet, someone would need to pick that up.
The interstate loomed in front of her. It looked busy, lots of large trucks going very fast. It was after all, rush hour.
Good, she thought, this won't take long. There's no real point anymore, anyway.
Perhaps, she pondered, waiting rooms should be more like a Chuck E. Cheese. They could have ball pits and annoying high pitched music to go along with the kids' screams of delight and parents worryingly calling after their little ones, she mused.
The sound of the receptionist's phone sounding off brought her back to the present, and she looked around to inquire if anyone might have noticed her gazing off. Not that it would be anyone's business, but the woman, like everyone else, liked to know when and if she was being watched. She had been in the cold waiting room for several days now. There was a plush sleeping bag carelessly stuffed under her row of chair and a pillow sat at her feet. She had set up camp in the far corner, an attempt to be out of the way, but at the same time be available, should there be any news.
The almost robotic sound of an wheel chair rolled by and caused her to glance up, almost with anticipation. He wouldn't be in a wheel chair, though. No, that would not be possible.
He had been put in the hospital 7 months ago. On average, about every two weeks, his condition worsened or was in jeopardy, and she would be notified. Without fail, the faithful wife grabbed her over night bag, her sleeping bag already in the car, and drove to the hospital. He sister took care of the animals. She could almost be charged rent at the hospital.
This was the 3rd time this month she had slept in that waiting room. It was still as unfamiliar and strange as the first time she set up camp.
The door to his wing opened and out walked The nurse. Yes, The nurse, The one with The news. She looked reserved, but at the same time The nurse wanted to smile. Not in a positive way, but in the way everyone wants to smile when they're nervous. When they have terrible, heart-wrenching news to tell someone.
Did she want to see him, one last time? No. No that wouldn't be necessary. Did someone need to be called? No, she was right there, wasn't she? Who else would need to be called. The nurse just thought - no, no there's nothing more, thank you.
And just like that, the faithful wife packed her overnight bag for the last time and walked out of the lobby door. She paused for a minute to wonder if she was the only one who pretended to be a Jedi when she walked out of automatically opening doors. Surely not.
The bag was tossed haphazzardly in the direction of the garbage can. It was off by a few feet, someone would need to pick that up.
The interstate loomed in front of her. It looked busy, lots of large trucks going very fast. It was after all, rush hour.
Good, she thought, this won't take long. There's no real point anymore, anyway.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Work and Results.
It's Super Bowl Sunday! Aren't you excited? I know I am. I can't wait to go to early service at Adaton and then spend the next 7 hours at Mitchell Memorial Library. No hype or build-up this year, just hoping that the Packers will win, but really not caring. Last year I had my Saints. I had my routine, my apartment, my chair, and my friends. This year, I'll probably show up to the party at 5 and not stay for the whole game.
The results, however, have been worth it. I got a 100 on my first test since April in Spanish I, and then a B on a test in the middle of the first "hell week" that I only studied one night for. The difference is just doing. Just going to class, just leaving the apartment and not kidding myself that I can get productive work done around my friends. Isolation is the only way for me to get anything done.
Now I need to work on the money aspect. I'm running out weekly now and I don't have a job or any influx of money outside of the parents right now. That has to change. I have afternoons "free", but I usually spend them in the library or just getting some peace. If I start working immediately after class and then having to go to practice after that, I'm going to run myself ragged.
And I'm only taking 12 hours this semester.
This whole "being responsible and working hard" thing is actually - hard.
Lots to chew on and think about.
Prayer.
The results, however, have been worth it. I got a 100 on my first test since April in Spanish I, and then a B on a test in the middle of the first "hell week" that I only studied one night for. The difference is just doing. Just going to class, just leaving the apartment and not kidding myself that I can get productive work done around my friends. Isolation is the only way for me to get anything done.
Now I need to work on the money aspect. I'm running out weekly now and I don't have a job or any influx of money outside of the parents right now. That has to change. I have afternoons "free", but I usually spend them in the library or just getting some peace. If I start working immediately after class and then having to go to practice after that, I'm going to run myself ragged.
And I'm only taking 12 hours this semester.
This whole "being responsible and working hard" thing is actually - hard.
Lots to chew on and think about.
Prayer.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Just some Updates.
Having just learned that my account is overdrawn by more than $200, I'm in nothing less than a foul mood this morning. It's not helping that the weather sucks and I just have no motivation right now. I haven't missed a class, I haven't skipped a homework assignment or just completely blown off a test, and yet I feel like I'm not getting anything accomplished. Couple that with the fact that being on the Ultimate team this semester is completely wearing me out, and one could see how stressed and tired I am.
The family seems to be doing alright. We had a minor blow up last Friday when I went home, but I think everyone has settled down since then. It feels good to get all of this down on "paper" and out of my head where it just swirls around and grows upon itself. I don't think Dad has been to church since Christmas Day, but who I am to judge, seeing that I haven't either? We have different reasons, yet neither better nor worse, for not going. He's hiding from the "embarrassment" he thinks will come upon him if he goes to church on a "normal day", and I've been either too busy, traveling, or too tired to go each of the last 3 Sundays.
As a result, I'm beginning to feel more and more distant from God and His Word. This is depressing to me, because in times of loneliness and broke-ness in college, the One we should always be able to rely and call upon is God.
However, I just don't see it right now.
Alone.
And all the while I'm single as I go about my day-to-day activities. I have no doubt in my mind that He does have a plan, but as I mentioned, right now I'm having trouble hearing that right now.
It truly is God's plans and my objections.
*rim shot*
Peace.
The family seems to be doing alright. We had a minor blow up last Friday when I went home, but I think everyone has settled down since then. It feels good to get all of this down on "paper" and out of my head where it just swirls around and grows upon itself. I don't think Dad has been to church since Christmas Day, but who I am to judge, seeing that I haven't either? We have different reasons, yet neither better nor worse, for not going. He's hiding from the "embarrassment" he thinks will come upon him if he goes to church on a "normal day", and I've been either too busy, traveling, or too tired to go each of the last 3 Sundays.
As a result, I'm beginning to feel more and more distant from God and His Word. This is depressing to me, because in times of loneliness and broke-ness in college, the One we should always be able to rely and call upon is God.
However, I just don't see it right now.
Alone.
And all the while I'm single as I go about my day-to-day activities. I have no doubt in my mind that He does have a plan, but as I mentioned, right now I'm having trouble hearing that right now.
It truly is God's plans and my objections.
*rim shot*
Peace.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Bloody Knuckles
His heartbeat could be heard upon entry of the house. James was sitting in a wooden chair in his parents’ dining room collecting his breath. He was not wearing any shoes, a seemingly meaningless fact in his own house, save for the shards of broken dinnerware lying on the floor around him. He was sweating profusely, even for being in Mississippi in the heat of summer. It was late night and the air conditioner was running full blast, yet James looked like he had just gone 12 rounds with Manny Paquio. He was even bleeding from his right hand. There was an eerie silence amongst the house. James’ breathing was echoing down the hall and bouncing throughout the halls unimpeded by any other natural sounds. He was alone.
James got up and poured himself a glass of water from one of the few remaining intact glasses. The rage was still coursing through his body and it was all he could handle not to smash everything he touched. He needed a punching bag. The water was refreshing, yet left James still feeling weak and incomplete. He was at a loss for thoughts and words. Not knowing what his next move would be, he decided to take a walk through the warm, muggy night. As he stepped out of the door, James realized exactly how cool and refreshing being inside the house had been.
The late July air almost knocked him back into the house, but James kept walking. He wanted to go find the rest of his family, his parents and sister, but James kept walking. He wanted to unload all of this pain upon something, anything else. So James kept walking.
James got up and poured himself a glass of water from one of the few remaining intact glasses. The rage was still coursing through his body and it was all he could handle not to smash everything he touched. He needed a punching bag. The water was refreshing, yet left James still feeling weak and incomplete. He was at a loss for thoughts and words. Not knowing what his next move would be, he decided to take a walk through the warm, muggy night. As he stepped out of the door, James realized exactly how cool and refreshing being inside the house had been.
The late July air almost knocked him back into the house, but James kept walking. He wanted to go find the rest of his family, his parents and sister, but James kept walking. He wanted to unload all of this pain upon something, anything else. So James kept walking.
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