Well, Andrea has managed to put together a list of the type of scum and villainy she's looking for in her quest to be Matriarch of the Pirates. Of course, I'm stuck doing the menial work. Heck, I'll probably even be the poor cabin boy that gets it from the first cannon fired, then the captain or whoever sobs over my shattered body whilst I speak, "I's ne'er got a chance to LIVE, cap'n!"


Or the sad fact is that maybe she actually DOES want me to be a pirate.

Oh well. Ninjas are cooler anyway.

Late night, brakes lock, hear the tires squeal
Red light, can't stop so i spin the wheel
My world goes black before i feel an angel lift me up
And I open bloodshot eyes into fluorescent white
They flip the siren, hit the lights, close the doors and I am gone.

Thrice, "The Artist in the Ambulance"

This song gives me chills.

Whoo, some changes around here. I'm actually happy with school and *Gasp* some days I go to work, and now there's a link to my friend Eric's blog, too. And in case he ever reads this, sorry I couldn't make it to your house on Labor Day, chief.

So, I'll just go ahead and say it--I screwed up, and nobody is going to change my mind about that.

This happened Friday at work--definitely one of the more stress inducing days we have in the grocery business. Fortunately, everything was going smoothly this day--we weren't too busy, had a good bit of help scheduled, everything was going well.

Then Katy came in.

Katy is a girl that I get along with pretty well at work--we both have a little bit of the same sense of humor, we both pretty much hate where we work, she's going out with a guy out there who is a buddy of mine (and his brother kicks, too). Now I had heard the stories about how she was prone to have seizures of some type before, but since she had mainly worked nights, I'd never been there for them, or even knew what sort they were.

About 10 minutes after she clocked in, she showed me her hand, shaking like a leaf in the wind. A few more minutes went on, and it kept getting worse. I went to talk to her boyfriend to tell him about it, and we both decided that if anything happened, I'd call him and/or the manager on duty first.

I would ask her every now and then if she was okay--she was able to tell customers how much they owed, but she couldn't seem to manage to get the words out when I would ask her something. Her eyes began hazing over, and her lower jaw would jar slightly.

I'll probably not forget what happened next as long as I live. The shaking intensified, and she started trying to say my name over and over. I ran to the register behind her and grabbed the microphone and called her boyfriend to the front in a calm, rational voice. At the same time my hand left the microphone's button, she threw herself backwards onto the floor with the force of a tornado. It was like somebody had a string tied to her neck, and they had just yanked it. Another thing I won't forget is the sound. Her head ricocheted off of the polished ivory tiles with a slapping sound, where she continued to shake.

I had been a foot and a half from her when this happened. I was moving towards her, but....but I wasn't fast enough, or strong enough to do anything about it. The eyes of the people after that...they knew I had been there, and they thought I had done nothing.

Which makes it worse, because even though I tried, I really didn't do anything.

If you ask anybody, they'll tell you that I don't like to blow my own horn. But we've submitted basically 3 things in the fiction writing class I'm in right now, and every time, the teacher, while reading them aloud or to herself, has commented in some fashion or the other that my writer's voice is, and I quote, "Great". There are some pretty darned good writers in that class too, so I'm taking it as a heck of a compliment. But on a sad note, the teacher did NOT like the fact that I tried to write from the perspective of a woman in my latest story. This I found intriguing--most fiction has to deal with this at some point in a writer's career, and if anything, I want to be challenged while I'm in this class. So, I'm not sure how to take it. But I'm at least confident in my skills, something I've always had a problem saying before.

Maybe it's a sign of things to come.

P.S. Sherry and I are going to catch a flick tomorrow night, but danged if I know what we want to see. Not much on, honestly.

So Sherry was running around town today and left a couple of gifts on my car--2 blue carnations, a card, and my sunglasses. Only they weren't mine--she'd gotten the cases screwed up and given me HERS.

Problem is that I really like them. So I'll probably get my own pair.


But I still want MINE back, dangit.