it's happening

Everything is coming down to an end. It's 11 days and I'm leaving the life that I know. That I have known. And sometimes it can't come soon enough and other times I'm scared out of my mind. So much has changed. This summer my classes already started--I did attend the University of Life. Taught by actions of others and consequences of mine. Everything I thought I knew was pretty much cancelled by those that I thought I knew. It's not ever what I think. I know that. Nor does it really matter.

And the other thing is Africa is okay without your mission.

I am sad for everyone but me, because I am convinced that my superpower is the ability to see it all.

Too bad for you.

High Windows

When I see a couple of kids

And guess he's fucking her and she's

Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm,

I know this is paradise

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives--

Bonds and gestures pushed to one side

Like an outdated combine harvester,

And everyone young going down the long slide

To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if

Anyone looked at me, forty years back,

And thought, That'll be the life;

No God anymore, or sweating in the dark

About hell and that, or having to hide 

What you think of the priest. He

And his lot will all go down the long slide

Like free bloody birds. And immediately

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:

The sun-comprehending glass,

And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows

Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

-Philip Larkin

If

On the main floor, the worry is nothing. Nothing. Looking around they will be on one side. All together, civilly. Shaking hands. That will be fine. There will be talking. They will call the names. It will be ok.

But then, outside. Everyone will be around. There will be cameras. The best part would be that it wouldn't be sick. There wouldn't be holes. The last two years would matter.

But none of that is real. Never.

I can't work in sales. Nor can I accept failure very well. Nor can I deal with unsettled issues. These things combined just make me more miserable.

This must stop.

18 isn't very old.

I started working as a bookseller at Books-A-Million. It's hard because people will ask me where books are and I will look in any section other than Fiction and it is seemingly impossible to find anything. One lady from Carthage asked for The Diary of Anne Frank. When I looked on the computer to see if we had it, I only saw no. So I told her that she would have to order it. She did and it cost her about $16.

Later that night, I was organizing the books, and I found 2 copies of The Diary of Anne Frank. One was $3.99... I felt very bad.

Selling books is hard. Next time you go to a bookstore, please re-shelve your books.

The incompetence of my neighborhood mailman is outrageous.

Bring me my mail! Snail mail has never been so true to me.