THE DAY: May 10, 2007.
THE TIME: 6:27
THE MUSIC: Title and Registration by Death Cab
WHAT I SHOULD BE DOING: Buying indigo jeans so I can be a waitress.
I live on a street of dollhouses, sometimes I look down at all the identical rooftops and have this desire to take off running. I think of running past my neighborhood, all the new restaurants on my road, past the Wal Mart and the tire place and the cook out and all the car dealerships... and just going until I no longer feel any familiarity. There's this notion in me that if I were to reach that point, and then keep going, I would eventually find a place where I could be content to walk, or even just to sit and look around, somewhere I could stay. Then I remember that I'm not a very good runner, that I have a job now and a family... and I feel very trapped in something I can't exactly describe. After that I immediately feel guilty for feeling trapped in a place that was supposed to be home.
Everywhere I am feels so temporary. I quietly search for some permanence, or just some kind of summer epiphany that would make me content with this new fleeting and transient nature of mine.
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In other news, I have a job now. Ole!
When I walked in, some kids were in red shirts, some yellow.
Confession: I have this massive hope that I can be a yellow shirt kid. No matter how many times I remind myself that it's dumb to care... I still wait in hopeful anticipation. I decided though, that it's a good thing my hope doesn't rely on the practical things as a reason for being. With this realization, I allow myself to wish. But I'm talking about a lot more than yellow polos at this point.
Last night, in a fit of confused insomnia, I read most of what I'd written on my xanga junior year... and remembered who I was then. Remember that song Rockabye? I loved that song. I loved lots of things I'd forgotten about, and some that I wish I could forget... but almost refuse to.