The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

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What a day, what a day.

Today started off with me falling asleep talking to Michelle. I woke up two hours later and headed to work, having decided to have the best day ever. I got to work on time, and the boss was there. He wanted to know whether or not I was going back to school soon, and what I was studying. I told him that I would probably take another semester off, and then aim for an English degree. So he told me to come in to the office first thing tomorrow. I'm supposed to revise product descriptions for the website. This is, at its simplest, technical writing. Becca, thank you. No more than a day after you gave me that comment, it came to pass. Thank you for believing in me.

But the fun continues. You know how people keep telling me I'm handsome and funny and even possibly attractive to the opposite sex, and I never believe it? Well, something happened today to blow all that completely out of the water. I walk up to these two young ladies trying to read their palms using this large book we have. So I pointed them to this handy reference card thing, and they ask if I can read their palms. So, sure, as a lark, I do it. I don't notice anything's up, but of course, I wouldn't be writing if there hadn't been something going on to write about, would I have? So okay, there's a certain amount of physical contact in palm reading, but I'm not Tom (Hi, Tom!) so no biggie. I'm talking blah blah about family lines and children and marriages, and the one lets slip that the other's [only!] fifteen. WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP goes the statutory rape-o-meter, so I'm seeking to disentangle because there are other customers now, and I need to be actually selling something. So I finish me spiel, and move off to help other people. Then more people leave, and the one who might-not-be-fifteen (she let it "slip" imperiously as if the other was "only fifteen") is looking at the tarot cards. Potential sale! I'm good at selling tarot cards, which I mostly owe to Joe helping me become knowledgeable (enough to fake it better than palm reading). So I offer to show her the cards, and of course, she also wants to know if I read the cards. (Do I read the cards, now? Is it his baby, child?) Yes, I am a showoff. I always have been. So I offer to read a spread for her, since she wants to "see how it works." Sure, sweetie. So while I'm shuffling, she asks me what I write. Flag on the play. I had mentioned I was a writer earlier when talking about creativity and the fate line. So I raise my eyebrow like the Rock and just look at her for a second. Then I tell her my stock answer: "All kinds of stuff." I say that because I am so smooth. Then I clarify: "Mostly poetry lately." She wants to know what kinds, like, do I write haiku? Well, I SURE DO. So I let her have one of my classic favorites:

Greasy burger joint
employees must wash their hands
Just like Pilate did

Of course, she didn't get it. So I explained it to her, and she said, OH, that Pilate. Not like, pilot! Bless her heart, I think she actually did understand it. Good. I don't like stupid girls (shut up, all of you. You're not stupid; I can hear you think it!). So I showed her a simple spread with three cards and she wanted to know what it meant. I told her that I hadn't had a question in mind, so it didn't mean anything, but would she like a reading? Of course she did. So I told her to keep a question in mind and shuffle the deck. So I gave her her reading on blah blah, would she have lots of children. All the time; I'm struggling to make sense of a shitty card layout, because I'm shitty at reading tarot cards, but she's loving every minute of watching me squirm (I dunno, maybe it was 'cute') and ramble explanations of how this card reversed is still a good card, so don't worry. Meanwhile, her little sister (the fifteen year old who did NOT look fifteen except for her 'invisible' braces) has wandered of to the magic 8-Balls to ask questions about her boyfriend. She comes back, and the big sister is like ask it the important question, all whispering like, but so I can hear, intentional or not: "Gay or straight?" So I'm laughing as she's hissing at this poor girl through her teeth. Because at that moment, I knew. I'm dense, but not THAT dense. She'd already gone far enough to assure me that the person who'd lied/abandoned her in the past "was not a boy, by the way. It was a girl." That and the fact that her sister was trying to drag her out of the store, and they ended up arguing for five minutes just so the big sister could stay and get a bullshit tarot reading. Yeah, right. So, I finished the reading, and bid them good luck at the other store; the one the little sister had wanted to visit before it closed while the big one (Lorenna, she introduced herself) had wanted to stay for her "free reedin'." Hmm... when they introduced themselves and asked for my name, that would have been the time to whip out the business cards. I'm dead serious... all the dating books I've read (i.e., borrowed from Tom, thanks!) have told me that having business cards is actually a great way to share info like that without seeming obtrusive. It finally made sense to me. But, hey. They said they'd come back. They never did.

THEN, I go for pizza. I found the cheapest place in six blocks, and got my usual. I give the guy a ten and he gives me $13+ change. I'm like... WTF? I heard him counting up to twenty the way they do when making change. So I had to think. Maybe because I was tired, but I like that kind of stuff to be automatic. I piped up and said, hey, buddy, paisan, whatcha doin'? I had to explain it to him three times, and then he only took back one of the two fives he'd given me. I like to think of times like these as little tests, whether given to you by gods or fates or just by yourself. Sure, I'm poor, but I'm not going to fuck this dude over for $10. I so have more pride than that. So I was thinking about telling people about it, and decided that the right thing to do would be to not tell anyone, because you're not supposed to want credit for doing what's right, but at least I admit to myself that I want that credit. So I decided to write about it, as long as I made it fully clear to myself when I wrote that I was aware of just what I was doing. I mean, sure, I'm not telling you to impress; I'm seeking to record. But I'm also seeking to record how I feel and what circumstances make me feel. So write I will.

Today was confidence day.

"I never dreamed
I'd learn to love the taste of bitter fictions
or the ring of contradictions
that sing to me...
you could get anything you want"

Today, I could have gotten anything I wanted. I was dead tired, for sure, but kick, punch, it's all in the mind. What fucked up luck that I already have what I want most. :)
Today was perfect. There were ups and downs, but mostly ups. And Michelle: today there were no doubts; no pangs. Just hapiness. Thank you so much for talking to me last night. I'm going to try to nap and wake up for when you get home. Call me in case! ;)

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