The whole long distance thing sucks. Lots. When you've come accustomed to a person's presence it's hard to adapt to anything else.
I hate coming home and not having someone to call right away and talk about my day
I miss having someone that will go for a beer under any circumstance. It could be one beer, it could be many. Just to sit and talk without anything else to do.
I miss just sitting and listening to cjsr.
My workout and concert buddy is gone. I don't have someone to go swimming (then breakfast!) with, and I don't have someone who will accompany me to any concert because I know they trust (or are at least willing to try) my musical taste.
I hate feeling single again. Although I am not AT ALL, I go to parties alone, I meet my coupled friends and I often feel like the odd one.
I hate not being able to drive over as fast as I can when you have a shitty day. I hate that there's no one here to drive over and make me feel better when I have a shitty day.
I miss how you would bury your face in the pillows on weekend mornings. And how we'd stay in bed for an hour before getting up, and my cat would come purring and kneading, and curl up between us ready for pets.
I miss the sound your truck makes when you stomp on the gas.
I miss your friends! The ones that I would feel a little weird about contacting to hang out but I still find cool.
I miss getting drunk then doing something stupid, then waking up and going for breakfast, eating something cheesey, then me wanting to hang out for the entire day and drink coffee while you need to go do something important.
I miss hearing your keys jingle in the hallway before you open my door. I would try to quickly decide whether I wanted to open the door for you or wait till you came in and called "hello?" in such a questioning tone that seemed like you weren't sure if I was home or if you were calling into an empty apartment.
We had such an incredible "last date" night. Culina, then getting drunk at Passetempo, walking home. I can't wait to have another date night in Holland.
This next week will either pass by so. slow. or quick.
I hope for quick. Obviously.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
dear gummi frogs
Where do you get off? Creating the perfect symphony of taste and texture.
I love you.
I love you.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Mr Treats
On the street level of the building I work in there is a coffee shop by the name of Treats. A man of Italian origin (although he has no accent, I know this through conversations with a fellow employee during World Cup soccer season) and indeterminable age (he's greying but doesn't seem old) works there and probably owns the franchise. I once bought something with debit and since he has always called me by name. This seems friendly yet slightly uncomfortable since I don't know his name. He always makes a point of waving to me and is always, ALWAYS, been in a 'happy' mood.
There used to be another employee, an older woman also of European origin sporting a beehive with the same hair clip attached every day, but I haven't seen her for a while and her absence has caused shorter shop hours and high employee turnover. I always assumed that she was the mother of the main guy there, their interactions seemed more than co-worker but not romantic. Both I find to be mysterious and hard to read in age, sexuality, relationship, etc.
The man drives a large burgundy van, similar to this, but more plush with curtains and some strange spoiler. It is parked outside the building all the time. At any hour. Occasionally it will not be there, and during those times I'm assuming he's at home, wherever that is. But I have walked by there at all hours of the night, and seen the van. Walking home from drinking on a weekend, it's there. One night I was working late on a project and had to print something off at 3am so I went to the office... it was there. On Tuesday around 12:30 I was walking home from having a beer with a friend, I saw him come out of the van and into the store.
Why does he need to be there at 12:30? 3:00? He has such a strange demeanor. And why the large van?
Recently I've started making up fantastical stories about him, like in some David Lynch movie where Treats is a cover for an underground network of people doing shady things that we will never understand. People who cause midgets to dance in the radiators and time to loop back on itself. The basement of the 13 story building in which I work in houses some sort of steamy workshop in which many workers are constructing something sinister that even they cannot comprehend.
Maybe each Treats store is a portal to another dimension. Maybe each store has a guy like the aforementioned who is really a guardian of the portal. This would explain why he is so difficult to figure out.
Maybe Treats is part of a giant social experiment, or government testing of a certain substance baked into their 'famous' carrot cake (which I have never eaten). 25 years into the future we will be astounded to find out that we have been unwillingly tested upon for many years without our consent without any ability to retaliate. It will explain the social decline of individuals into opinion-less drones, carrying out their daily tasks, meeting their daily consumer junk quotas, obeying commands to allow those in control to take full advantage of the community to meet their economic desires and suppress dissidents. There will be an inevitable war between those in control and those who resist (and didn't partake in the consumption of spiked baked goods).
Maybe him and Beehive are aliens.
There used to be another employee, an older woman also of European origin sporting a beehive with the same hair clip attached every day, but I haven't seen her for a while and her absence has caused shorter shop hours and high employee turnover. I always assumed that she was the mother of the main guy there, their interactions seemed more than co-worker but not romantic. Both I find to be mysterious and hard to read in age, sexuality, relationship, etc.
The man drives a large burgundy van, similar to this, but more plush with curtains and some strange spoiler. It is parked outside the building all the time. At any hour. Occasionally it will not be there, and during those times I'm assuming he's at home, wherever that is. But I have walked by there at all hours of the night, and seen the van. Walking home from drinking on a weekend, it's there. One night I was working late on a project and had to print something off at 3am so I went to the office... it was there. On Tuesday around 12:30 I was walking home from having a beer with a friend, I saw him come out of the van and into the store.
Why does he need to be there at 12:30? 3:00? He has such a strange demeanor. And why the large van?
Recently I've started making up fantastical stories about him, like in some David Lynch movie where Treats is a cover for an underground network of people doing shady things that we will never understand. People who cause midgets to dance in the radiators and time to loop back on itself. The basement of the 13 story building in which I work in houses some sort of steamy workshop in which many workers are constructing something sinister that even they cannot comprehend.
Maybe each Treats store is a portal to another dimension. Maybe each store has a guy like the aforementioned who is really a guardian of the portal. This would explain why he is so difficult to figure out.
Maybe Treats is part of a giant social experiment, or government testing of a certain substance baked into their 'famous' carrot cake (which I have never eaten). 25 years into the future we will be astounded to find out that we have been unwillingly tested upon for many years without our consent without any ability to retaliate. It will explain the social decline of individuals into opinion-less drones, carrying out their daily tasks, meeting their daily consumer junk quotas, obeying commands to allow those in control to take full advantage of the community to meet their economic desires and suppress dissidents. There will be an inevitable war between those in control and those who resist (and didn't partake in the consumption of spiked baked goods).
Maybe him and Beehive are aliens.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)