vaudevillian dreams

daydream and waste time.

i just completed my hourly stretch arms, crack back and sigh routine at my desk and glanced behind me out the window (yes, my desk faces the wall. aren't you jealous). i actually made it past my own reflection (this may surprise some of you. usually the reflective stares are in contempt or just ensuring that i'm still a real person. oh look. there i am in the window. i am alive today).

anyway, i focused in the building next to mine, usually bustling with other workers droning away at their desks. on any other day i would liken it to a zoo - only the animals are people and the cages are offices. it also makes me sad that i am yet another boring and slothful creature this side of the glass. but those thoughts didn't pass today. why?

THAT BUILDING IS EMPTY.

i think offices that remain open the week between christmas and new year play a cruel joke on their employees. this is the most unproductive week of the year for people like myself who want to focus all energies on the food and drink. if given the time to do so, i could potentially come back reenergized and ready for the new year (although most of you know this wouldn't be the case).

why can't i be at home drinking, eating and sharpening my motor skills with juggling practice?

on an absolutely unrelated note: church fight. thanks, a.o.d.

Stealing glances

My favorite commutes are the days when your eyes, locked in a book, take a break to monitor other passengers on the train. Sometimes the effort loses momentum and the critical glances fall back to the page. Sometimes they catch beautiful moments. Sometimes disagreeable moments. And sometimes they glue themselves to the subtle and unclassifiable beauties in other people.

One of my favorite pastimes lies in discovering hidden beauties that differentiate us from each other. I think the search has its roots in my need to transform the average into extraordinary, partially because it comforts me and strokes my confidence and partially because it makes me appreciate surprises all the more.

She wasn’t strikingly beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful that demands attention – the perfect symmetry, the body fat perfectly placed in all the right spots and in all the right proportions. Dressed in olive green cargo pants and an ill-fitting sweater reminiscent of the latest nursing home fashions, she did not don the most elegant attire. She didn’t fit the traditional beauty mold, but her eyes pierced the morning – black, perfectly shaped and unattributed to any ethnic group I could identify without more careful study. Her mahogany hair stuffed into a knit cap loosely spilled onto her shoulders. With thick, rose lips, she sipped a large drip coffee from 7-11 as her eyes scanned the crowd.

We were playing the same game that morning and caught glances three times. I smiled the guilty smile that accompanies making eye contact with strangers, closed my book, and gathered my things for the next stop.

She easily commanded the label of being the most stunning person on the train. I wonder if she knew.

my blog is retarded

i love how i drift from inane school girl to unmotivated and apathetic whiner. when will i grow up?

i had the best day ever yesterday playing yoyo with my roommates and learning to juggle. we think we might go on the road. we just need to get our band of merry harmonica players together, which will be all the more easy since two of the five roommates received a harmonica for christmas (i was one of the two...although i have to say the yoyo has afforded far more fun thus far).

it has been a while since i posted some pictures, so i'm just going to link you to ed's SF photo album from his trip out here a few weeks ago. there are three galleries posted, so be sure to click through them all, if you like. http://www.digressed.net/gallery/2005/sf1/

i have decided to make this blog much cooler. i have also decided to learn to love scotch. any recommendations are appreciated.

merry holiday to me...

i have a crush on a boy! more to come.

friends...

sometimes i'm completely overwhelmed by the number of amazing people in my life. times like these need big hugs, so virtual hugs to anyone who reads this (that means you, my DC cohorts). i love you! and can't forget my florida lovelies, but when was the last time you posted? hmmmmm?

*sigh* back to the job hunting.

(miss a. octavia - you would be jealous now. my roommate is showing us his daily footage from the tide pools: sea slugs, sea sacks, sea anemones, crabs, coolness. don't we all want to produce our own documentaries?)

I'm filmy like stale coffee…

(I wrote this a few days ago at work...I'm lazy with the posting....)

You ever realize it's 1pm and you feel like you just started your day? That was me today. I mindlessly reached for my coffee while I was reading and happened to glance down as the mug hit my lips. Cold, stale coffee rings. How representative of a morning that sped by and me not producing enough. *Sigh*

I decided that I am not going to put over 45 hours a week into work. I don't care. Fire me…California has great unemployment. I think it would be different if I were driven to something, but I have reached the infamous Shayla apathy – something that shrouds all of my efforts when I have to be somewhere at a given time. Now, I like routine to an extent – it makes me feel like I accomplished something. Ate breakfast – check. Went to the gym – check. What is my deal with work? Go to work – check with an accompanied grunt. Could it be flexibility? Could it be problems with authority? Could it be sitting at a desk all day staring at a computer screen? I see the same people, the same walls, the same building, the same muni trip. Granted, there is comfort in that also. But I need something more exciting.

I run away from things and I'm sick of it. I ran away from Florida and I have the same problems here. Now I want to run away from here and join a friend in Korea. Is it that I'm running into something that doesn't suit me? Running into office jobs?

Any thoughts would be appreciated. I don't mean to use this as a cheap form of therapy, but I always want to write when I need that.