I Raise up my offerings...to the blogging world.

I've never quite done the blogging thing. I've always journaled....I've always been fond of words on paper. So, now I offer my words in text form. I will try to write often. We'll see if that works out.

I'll share some sporadic thoughts I've had today:

1. A woman in my college class has such warm hands. I'm probably not supposed to notice such a minute thing, but I noticed them today. They are worn. They look like they need to be salved. Or salvaged. Her palms are worn also. The lines within them are so deep, dark, and full of crevices. I wondered if she's worked hard in her life. I can tell she probably has. I assume she's been a nurturer. Those are maternal hands. Those lines. I couldn't stop staring at those lines in her palms. They told me so much about her. She was expressive in talking to the class. She was giving her opinion with her mouth and her hand gestures. I just wonder if the children that kissed those palms or were disciplined by them...actually miss them. I think I'd miss them, too.

2. I've started a new job. The job is familiar and I know the work I'm doing is trivial. It's a pink-collar job. I've recently found out what kind of job that is exactly. You should go find out for yourself. Anyway, I'm working for a paycheck. I'm working for men and women that mess up the work I've just done. How am I supposed to go "straighten up" an area that I just cleaned about an hour ago? The work seems futile. But then, so does the human race....at least the human idiots that walk through the gleaning double doors of the store where I work.

I speak in cliche topics and tones with my boss. I've pretended to sympathize with her. But, I guess that's all I can do. We won't grow close; we're on different life paths. I find myself working too hard just to pass the time quicker. I tell myself not to focus on my aching feet. Which makes the ache intensify. To pass the time, I familiarize myself with the policies and procedures. I take pride in how fast I can run a transaction. The work is trivial, the pay is little, the conversations are base-level, and I am there still.

3. I know and remember the things that I say to others. I generally can remember conversations I've had, even from months and weeks ago. I don't feel that I'm articulating quite what I want to say, but basically, I know that when you say something I once said, I recognize it.

I recognized a re-usage of a phrase I once told a friend of mine. It had a beautiful ring to it, I felt, and that's why I used it in that conversation. I told him that this was a "summer of uncertainty." The phrase is beautiful to me. It rolls off the tongue. I want to say it aloud, slowly, when nobody is around. I know it's odd, but, hey, you're reading my blog. I guess that means you have to accept my oddities. Anyway, that was a phrase I enjoyed using. Another phrase I love is a name. I have this name of this person whose company I really enjoy. I say it or think it and all these memories coat and wash over my brain, like it was dunked in water. Like one of those dunking booths at the fair. An immediate washing. Names have these associations. I know it's an obvious statement, but I still enjoy pointing this out. The name "Amy" will never be associated with anyone in my mind except for Amy Ellis. That girl that handed me my first cigarette and didn't care how social roles worked. She loved my weirdness and wit, and I loved that she loved that about me. Amy was that girl that took me to her boyfriend's apartment. We'd drink vodka with orange juice and sit on the couch, laughing like children.

The name "Sarah" will always be associated with Sarah Garrison. That girl that I met and befriended during my senior year of high school. She has a strong, heavy past and that made me weak in her shadow. She was so powerful, yet she was a fragile, petite blonde. I respect who she is today.

The name "Zach" reminds me of that first boy. He was just a boy. And sadly, he never lived up to any expectations I conjured in my mind. I guess I've been a grown woman waiting for a grown man for a very long time.

Other names have their associations....and maybe I'll disclose those later.

4. I'm nostalgic. I'm often too nostalgic. Sometimes I'm even nostalgic for something that never was, but only a feeling I had once. I miss the way that someone made me feel. I miss the street I first lived on. I miss the night I felt like I was alive and on fire, but instead I'd just drank too much. I miss my best friend. I miss having a steady paycheck. I miss having a car that was my own. I miss the cliche words and feelings I put into the memories I have of certain situations.

I know, I'm making barely any sense, but...tis my first blog.

Thanks for reading.