Today is Wednesday.
At Cracker Barrel, that means that a herd of elderly folk will be rushing through the swinging wooden doors to claim their personal, weekly chicken pot pie (with which comes no sides, because the vegetables are IN the pie).
At Panera, that means garden vegetable with pesto soup is available and is sure to be sold.
At church, it’s prayer meeting –
at school, it’s “hump” day.
Today, I’m sitting at Panera, watching my ‘Chrissopher Missopher’ “do his thing.” He’s supposed to go on a lunch break soon, and we’ll be eating together. Until then, and afterwards, I’ll be sitting here – typing.
Typing WHAT, you ask?
Here, is a typed copy of last night’s entry.
But before that..
the (cutest?) thing just happened. And I’m going to mention it to Chris.
Three young (teenage, prissy) girls just pranced out of Panera, talking loudly (offff course).. one of them wearing:
blue athletic (the dorky, NOT-to-your-knee kind) shorts, a grey sweater, a white t-shirt OVER the sweater, and knee high boots.
(Also, her hair was pulled back in a pony tail).
Come on!.. IF THAT isn’t tacky.
Chris is ALWAYS getting on to me for dressing ugly, tacky, or “dike-like.” Well, I can’t POSSIBLY look any worse or sillier than SHE did. 🙂
Now, proceeding onward –
Can’t sleep. 9:23 PM.
It’s Tuesday, and Chris is upstairs, lying in bed, fast asleep. He didn’t even kiss me goodnight, so I know he’s tired. I, however, am restless. The past week or so has been busy, so, I figured I’d take a few moments to write.
“Married life” is still something.. new; something I’m growing used to.. taking care of everything we’re responsible for, anticipating and providing for our needs, budgeting, keeping our living space half-way clean, managing time, sucking it up when I can’t be by his side and CHOOSING MY BATTLES WISELY. That one’s hard.
It just seems like there’s so much you could complain about.. so many disappointments and shortcomings – feelings hurt, unfulfilled needs, unrecognized and unaddressed concerns and insecurities. I’m learning, anyways. You develop the truest and strongest people skills when you marry someone. That’s also the time when you learn the most about your spiritual condition — how much like Christ you really are. How thoughtful of others, forgetful of self, caring, compassionate, forbearing, forgiving, you are..
Chris and I have been doing well with grocery shopping and meal planning; we have a pretty good policy regarding NOT wasting food. (The only food that doesn’t get utilized is the produce inside our one drawer – the allotted portion of fridge space – that spoils and rots). We’re 90% vegan, balanced, satisfied (aka, not starving). Half of what we buy is organic, and our ingredients list varies, which is healthful (too much of any good thing isn’t good..)
And same with too much of a NOT good thing (do we have to call it bad?) that we like.
Chris and I hit our bottom low awhile back when sugar ruled, and fueled, our crazy little world and collective lives.
Obsession #1: Brusters.
We’d go every night (and only at night; ice cream just isn’t fun during the day), or atleast 6/7 nights out of the week, for milkshakes. This lasted for about three weeks. We were awful vegans during this time.
Obsession #2: Starbucks.
The double chocolaty chip frapaccinos pleasured us indeed. We were fixated for two weeks straight.
Obsession #3: “Healthy Chocolate Bars.”
Obession #4: The present addiction is.. floats.
We drive to Organic Harvest (a local hfs) and buy these two ingredients:
1. A pint of Almond Dream (vegan) ice cream.
2. Identical bottles of “healthy” (alternative) cane-sugar sweetened sodas.. our favorite flavor: black cherry.
As of yet, we aren’t sick of it. We over-did it and “burnt out” on everything else, so Chris says we can’t have floats every day – only once a week, so that we’ll enjoy them for a while.
[Chris’s mom just walked downstairs; she’s coughing and can’t sleep.]
Besides that.. working at “the Cracker Barrel” kind of sucks these days. It’s just, stressful. For one, Chris is scheduled for AM shifts and I am typically – the majority of the time – scheduled for PM shifts. A good example was today: Chris was scheduled to work 6:30 (am) to 1:30 (pm) at Panera, and I was scheduled to come in from 11 (am) to 7:30 (pm) at Cracker Barrel.. so from 6 am to 8 pm, we don’t see eachother.
Additionally.. it’s too much like prison, working as a server. There is no stability — shifts vary from day to day — and to get off of the clock, one has to receive three signatures: one after inspection of tables (did you sweep, wipe, re-fill, re-store and count your sugars?); the 2nd is for completion of side work (ranges from sweeping and changing sanitation buckets to disassembling, cleaning and putting back together a juice machine); and the third signature comes when you have successfully and satisfactorily rolled anywhere from 50 to 200 silverware, depending on the length of your shift. So yeah. The schedule says your of at 7:30.. but chances are, you won’t be walking out til half-past eight..
Depends on when they ‘cut the floor’– when they decide they don’t need you waiting on customers, running food and bussing tables anymore.. that factor also slows down the process of getting the three said signatures. A lot of that work I mentioned earlier can only be done once you’ve been “cut.”
Anyways, I’m looking for a day job. Bank, office work, cashiering.. whatever. Until I’m able to begin and finish earning my college degree, it’s slim pickings. Still hoping I can just be a well-paid musician — working anywhere, for ‘someone.’
So, this month is pastor appreciation month. It’s cool, because Chris and I put together a little “love basket” for Pastor Karl and Mrs. Trudy (the minister and wife of our local SDA Church). This involved going to the health food store, buying pretty fruits and vegan cookies, stopping by a “Rite Aid” for chocolates and a Dollar General (we’re young, and unrich) for the basket itself, two cards and confetti. Then we dropped it off at the church,and they happened to be there. It was nice; and it is nice.. to have a church family that you really love, and who actually love you. Mrs. Trudy invited Christ and I over for lunch with her and Pastor Karl this Sabbath. We’re looking forward to it.
Besides all of that – Chris and I have both been busy. I led out in a group Bible study (called Friday Night Feast) one Friday night, and he led out in the same the next (this past) Friday. Additionally, he’s been filling in as teacher for the collegiate class and I’ve been alternatingly assisting and leading out in the earliteens room/ department. It’s enjoyable; we both love teaching an serving God, so it’s the highest service and choicest blessing that we could give and receive. We helped make signs for the yard sale our FNF Bible study group headed out this past Sunday. They earned over $700, which will be used to provide means for transportation to/ housing in NY this December for GYC (an annual youth rally hosted by the SDA Church). Chris and I, ourselves, will not be able to attend, as we’re too early in our jobs to ask a significant (one week) amount of time off work.
“So, how’s the weather?”
It’s been very nice the past two days: dark, cool, windy, rainy, thunder-lightning storming. I love it.
The other night, I just laid there in bed.. quiet, with my arms wrapped around Chris..listening to the pitter patter of the rain, that mimics the “tap tap” that might be played on a tin can.. the deep roar of the thunder.. the distant hum of the train guiding itself down the wet and rusty railroad tracks.. the gentle murmur of the wind.. and him, snoring quietly – fast asleep. My eyes were open, watching the brilliant leaps and beams of lightning, the black shadows and illuminated spots of the room. The sights and sounds were the same tonight before I came downstairs, before I decided that I couldn’t sleep. I remember seeing Raggedy Ann, sitting on Walmart’s newly purchased plastic white cabinet, staring at me.. the streetlight climbed up my window, around the drapes, and lighted centrally upon her face. It was awkward.
Andddd I still miss my mother.
I was sitting downstairs tonight, in the red-swivel chair in the kitchen, watching Chris prepare dinner (we had veggie tacos, fresh corn and a mango key-lime pie from Publix). My mom and I were texting back and forth, and two lines that she wrote replay over and over in my mind.
“I came home, thought of you and started crying. …I’m looking forward to January.”
I remember mustering all the strength I had to compose myself and mumbling, nonchalantly, to Chris that I’d “be right back.” I remember trudging upstairs, quickly, my eyes glued to the floor, finally finding myself in Chris’s dark bedroom. I shut the door behind me, fell onto the bed, clutched my stuffed puppy Capaccino and cried. “Why did I leave her?” It’s the first time I’ve ever punched a bed mattress in anger, in distress, in fear,
I miss my mom, and I hate that she has to miss me. I wish that the pain I feel could be enough for the both of us.
And what’s interesting, is I’m pretty sure I’ m more attached to her than she is to me, and I’m quite certain that she doesn’t even realize it.
Tell any little girl she has to leave her mother. Watch her little eyes well up with tears and her her quick, sharp, quivering voice urge it’s defenses.
How can I be any different
when I grew up too fast and have recently reverted to the
likeness of childhood?
And how DID I leave my mother? I mean, so soon? She and my grandmother called it YEARS ago.
Countless times, we’d be sitting together, chatting around a table, and I’d watch, listen, smile and roll my eyes as Grammy would twist her tan, ruddy face and whimper “Rosie’s going to leave us soon!” My mom would chime in, “Yep. When she turns 18.”
They’d beg me not to go, and I’d reassure them that I didn’t plan on it – that they were ridiculous and silly..
So WHY DID I leave my mom? I was 18, it was May, and I was driving to NY for Bible school..
and then, I was still 18, and it was July – I was moving to Ukraine with Chris to do mission work, GOD’S work, for 9 months..
and now, it’s I’m married and settled down in Alabama.
I’m nineteen, and the work, is completed.
I’m going to bed now. -Aun Aqui