Letters to Melissa, Overtime, and Serving on “the floor.”

February 19th, 2011.

Letters to Melissa.
Saturday, 6:32 am.


So Chris and I were supposed to sleep in this morning.
It’s Saturday, and we’re off of work for the weekend.

But I had a horrible dream last night and woke up around 5:30 (when Bruster had to go potty), thinking about it.  I continued laying in bed, Chris’s arms around me, and Bruster at my feet, until 6:20.  Then, I whispered to Chris that I needed to get up.

“Why?” he asked, stirring underneath the covers.

“I have a lot on my mind and I need to write it down.”

“Okay,” he replied, simply — and decided to get up himself.
And he didn’t probe me any further.  Chris knows me well enough to understand that writing, for me, is a necessity when it comes to expressing myself — my fears, concerns, happiness, stress and sadness.  So, I’ll continue.

I finally understand why I’ve been doing this for the past 9 months.

*** ** ** *

I dreamed last night that my grandfather (more intimately referred to as Grampy) passed away.  In my dream, I was devastated; all the visits and phone calls I never made, the “I love yous” and “I miss yous” I hadn’t given out, haunted me.  I regretted “keeping in” everything I needed to tell him, and withholding how much he meant to me from him when it mattered.

Anyways, I woke up (previously stated) around 5:30, hearing Bruster pace around the room and whine (his message to us that it’s “go outside, go potty” time).  Chris took him out quickly and returned in a moment.  We turned the light off and tried to “fall back asleep.”  I just layed there, consulting my memory, struggling to remember the dream that seemed significant and to last forever.. but I couldn’t.

Finally, I recalled it.  “Chris..”


“I remember what I dreamt last night — Grampy had died!” I whispered.

“It’s okay, baby.. that didn’t happen.. everything is fine.”  He pulled me closer to him and we both continued trying to “fall back asleep.”

I layed there for thirty minutes just thinking about the impact of the dream.. of how much I could — or will — regret neglecting the people I love when it’s too late to (really) love them anymore.

Then, I thought of Melisa, and she is somehow the reason for all of this.

** * **

I finally understand why I’ve been doing what I have been doing for the past 9 months.  All of these “blog updates..” these long, lengthy, detailed entries, have been for her.
I’ve been secretly, desperately desiring that she would read them — that she would want to know about all that has been going on in my life; that she would miss me, and that old love, friendship and ever-present curiosity would drive her to my writings.  That it would, somehow, keep our friendship alive and maintain our connection.. that it would be a means of communicating, a start to bridging how far apart we’ve grown.

We all use the computer in different ways and for different purposes – sometimes, it’s to manipulate people.  Chain letters, ever-changing Facebook statuses, whatever — we have all tried, however directly or indirectly, to get people’s attention, push people’s buttons, charm, reveal secret feelings to or win back, people.  I am openly admitting that I have been using this blog as a crutch, as an underground tunnel, supposedly leading to Melissa’s ear, or heart, or whatever you’d want to imagine..

and I really didn’t even realize I was doing this.
I always knew that I was hoping she would stumble across (or seek out) my blog; I didn’t know for sure if she’d know how to find it, or if she’d WANT to.. but nevertheless, the hope remained.  I didn’t know that these crazy, detailed, uninteresting blog entries were really written, not for my aunt who lives in New Jersey, not for my dearly loved mother who lives in Florida, not for my husband and lives, works, and sleeps beside me every day and night,

but for my long-lost, best friend.. who I haven’t heard from in almost a year.
I’ve never openly expressed, in so many words and so honestly, how deeply I loved her and needed her.. but now I’m admitting it.
I need to publicly express it, because it will give some kind of closure.
It’s hard to just painlessly “move past” a wall you’ve painted on for years.  You scribbled, stenciled, white-washed, smeared, colored and beautified it.. it was something unique, original, and beautiful – something very “a part” of you, because it expressed so MUCH of you..

and that is who she was.

How can I walk away, without taking a picture?
And how can I leave with a picture, and not take a look at it every once and a while?
How can I look at that picture, and not still see it’s beauty..

and how can I see it’s beauty, and not want to return?

There are so, SO many memories that reoccur – in my mind – ALL the time.  We spent thousands of hours in each other’s company.. confiding in and comforting each other, having fun with whatever we found to do, growing up and learning how “to do” life together and supporting each other all along the way. It kills me; it’s a battle and a war — it’s beautiful, it’s hideous. I want to recall them, these memories, fondly, but I can’t — and it tears my apart to remember that everything that meant something to me is, essentially,


It breaks my heart every day, not hearing her voice, reading her words, or seeing her smile as I used to be able to.

Melissa, tell me – how can a deep-seated love just die away, unless it was never real to begin with?
Melissa, please tell me – does love melt, and quickly disappear? Does it freeze over for indefinite periods of time, in a desperate effort to preserve itself?
or does it merely cease to exist, without any process of dying at all?

Can love really die?

**Note: AlthoughI realize my original, partial intention in writing for this blog has been recognized and – by myself – reproved, I will not cease keeping up with this e-journal.. only now, it will be for the mere, honest purpose of expressing myself, for those who care to know me — for describing what I see, for whoever is curious — and for teaching what I have learned, for whoever may benefit from it. -AA

** *

I’m calling my Grampy today.  Life has been notoriously busy since I left home, went to NY, got married and settled down into Birmingham Alabama.  I haven’t kept up with loved ones like I should have.. and I plan on changing that.  Instead of spending so much time writing, I am determining to spend more time making phone calls, personal emails, and – if possible – visits back home.

In addition to calling Grampy, I’m being honest today.

Melissa, if you ever do stumble across or seek out this blog,

I really miss you, I really love you, and I think of you every single day.

I just want to know that you’re happy, that you’re okay,
and that you really did love me once.

That we really were best friends once..

and that you don’t hate that we were.

-Aun Aqui

* ** *** *

2/25/2010  A week or so later.

I’ve been so busy that the entry prior to this one was never posted or shared.  It’s outdated, but, I still want it recorded.. I still need to express everything I wrote.

She is on my mind less now.. I feel more secure, healed-over and free to “move on.”  Free to accept myself, and free to embrace other friendships..


** *

2/28/2011  “Goodbye, February”

I’m at work, it’s about an hour until closing, and I have determined that I simply must finish and post this blog update.

There are a lot of beautiful things that I fail to mention.


Yesterday was Sunday.  Chris and I had spent the entire morning cleaning, because “keeping up with the house” is something we find difficult to do during the busy week hours.  Anyways, it was around 3:00 in the afternoon and I was cleaning/ cooking/ getting ready for my night shift at Olive Garden when his mom called.  “I guess my little helper is leaving me now,” I thought silently, and carried on, quietly, with my various tasks.  I didn’t mind doing the dishes, putting the clothes on hangers, straightening up the bathroom or any of that — but when the bed sheets came out of the dryer I thought to myself, “I wish he wasn’t so busy right now.”  I nevertheless began the work of stretching the fitted sheet onto the bed when Christopher walked into the room and said “Honey, let me help you with that.”

Wow.  It’s like.. how did he know?  Did he come to help me out of concern, because he was mindful of my need for help, or did he rush into the bedroom out of fear, because he was cognizant of the wrath to come should he not offer his assistance?  😛

Kidding.  The point is, my husband is better than yours.

Also! ~

Last Friday I was working at the Credit Union (no specific naming).  I had just finished performing a transaction for a member when, as the individual walked away, I saw the front door open and a familiar-looking, strikingly beautiful man stroll in.  “Hi, baby.”


I was so happy.  He walked up to my little desk and handed me a box of chocolates (they were little, silver, individually wrapped Hershey bites and they were housed in a cardboard Panera bowl– his cute and personal interpretation of the romantic gift).  I was so happy and so proud that he was mine.  🙂  He fulfilled a sort of “dream” that day — a simple one.  I’ve always wanted to be surprised at work — to be visited, unexpectedly, by someone I love and care about, would hope to see, and miss all day.  I love Christopher.. and he proves his love for me in a thousand different ways, every day, all year -..and I know he will continue doing so for the rest of our lives.

We keep busy.  Our time together is limited, so, every moment is precious.   He’s been getting lots of overtime –working close to fifty hours a week and early, early shifts (like, he’s out the door by five am).  I guess it’s a good thing..  “early to bed, early to rise..” hopefully it will keep us, like our ancestors, healthy, wealthy and wise.


So this past week was busy and fun and great and memorable and allllllll of that.  Only thing is, serving at Olive Garden sucks.  The pay is cheap (I’m talking tips people — not the measly 2.13 an hour the restaurant hands over) — people walk out and stipp you ALL the time, and guiltlessly.

There are exceptions.  I had a lady get tipsy after three glasses of wine and she tipped very generously..  but it’s like – really?  Can I possibly enjoy, benefit from or be okay with seeing you this way – intoxicated and ridiculous?

My first Sunday (and second day serving) on the floor was absolutely terrible.  I was carrying a tray, fully loaded with a heaping salad bowl, two heavy and chilled salad plates, a bread basket, warm bread plates, a white and tricky cheese grater and..

a brim-full glass of Coca Cola.

This, was my second day.  I was not entirely comfortable with the pressure put on me to carry the tray so close to my head and, resultantly, the tray quivered, the glass tilted, fear caused me to jerk, the glass absolutely fell and

HIT the table,

SHATTERED to the floor,

a piece somehow CUT the gentleman sitting there at table 42–

He ended up wearing a bandaid, the manager bought the meal (and brought another Coke), I started crying and

they tipped me five bucks.

I gave away my whole three shifts for this week.  Just.. can’t handle it right now.

Anyways.. a full time position has opened up at the Credit Union (again, unnamed) I’ve been working at part-time.  This is most glorious — a wonderful opportunity for advancement — a cause for rejoicing and happiness and hope! ALL of that!  But, after putting my application in last Thursday, I haven’t heard anything, and the position is one that would, seemingly, be filled rather immediately.

I’m praying about it.  God knows I hate serving and love working at “the bank.”  I’ve always excelled at math, since 2nd grade, and I’ve also always been a people person and am perfectly ready, after spending a year on my feet, to sink down into that black swivel chair and use my mind more than my hands.

We’ll see.

Until then, I’m all “dressed to impress” 3 days out of the week and the other 3, I’m sweaty, tired looking and smell of pasta.  Your impression of me will depend on the day we meet, the time of day, and what you value and are looking for.  Who is “the real” me?  How do I view myself, on the inside, independent of circumstances and outfits and the company I’m in?

To me, I am (always)

The musician

The photographer

Chris’s wife

The “Woo!” mommy

The poet

The independent girl

The Christian

The artist

The dreamer

The writer

Aun Aqui.

(This blog update was officially finished March the 1st of 2011).

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Personal stories, lengthy rants, and lighthearted explosions of optimism, all neatly bundled into one blog.

3 thoughts on “Letters to Melissa, Overtime, and Serving on “the floor.”

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