transfer

2004-04-29 - 12:32 a.m.

today at work i found another check with blood on it, only this time it was splattered, like the opening credits of 'fear and loathing in las vegas.' i thought, 'someone must have been murdered with this check in their hand. then someone else picked up the check and deposited it.'

yes, i know that 'their' is improperly used, that i should have said 'her or his,' but 1.) the use of 'their' in a singular situation is becoming increasingly accepted as our society becomes more gender-neutral (not neutral enough, but i can be patient) and 2.) to record my thoughts as truly as possibly, i had to write 'their,' since that was the word i thought, and not 'her or his.'

yesterday at work i realized that the shirt that i was wearing smelled bad, like it had been left in the washer too long. it smelled slightly sour. a short time after this uncomfortable discovery, jeff appeared behind me. extremely close behind me. me, wearing the sour-smelling shirt. shit.

to explain: jeff wears a maroon hoodie every day, whether it be frigid or hot enough to wilt even the biggest southern bouffant. he's quiet, but when he speaks, he speaks clearly. he has dark hair, and his whole face is covered in a strange 5 o'clock shadow that always seems to stay the same length.

that's jeff.

oh yes. one more thing. for some reason every time i talk to jeff, for any reason whatsoever, i blush a furious rose. this fact displeases me. i enjoy being an international woman of mystery, but my blushes give the game away. even if i don't want to play the game at all, the blush makes me an unwilling contestant.

back to our hero, me, sitting in my chair, listening to my summer driving mix 6, wearing the sour shirt. jeff had a red flag in his hand, and he said to me 'i'm psychic.' i turned off my cd player and replied with a witty, 'huh?' though i'd heard him perfectly. 'i'm psychic,' he repeated. 'i knew you were going to flag something.' sure enough i was in the very process of red flagging some work at that very moment. (to send a red flag is merely a work term that has nothing to do with our story, so pay it no mind.) i smiled at him and said, 'you're right.' i wanted him to go far, far away from me, but to my horror he remained right behind me, waiting on me to finish. 'and i know what you're gonna do next, too. you're gonna put a rubber band around that bundle.'

'wow, you're good,' i said, working as quickly as possible to get the red flag taken care of. after doing as he said and putting a rubber band around the bundle, i handed it to him. 'thank you,' he said, and left. i turned to my cd player and blasted led zepplin's 'immigrant song,' hoping that would drive the blush out of my cheeks.

i hate blushing. hate it hate it hate it. no matter how many people tell me it's charming, i still hate that my face betrays me in those certain situations. not that i like jeff, or hell, even know him enough to like him. all i know is that there are two people in my building who make me blush, and jeff is one of them. the other is a sweet-faced boy who looks like harry potter and smokes. i rarely see him, but his manner and carriage please me greatly, which used to mean that he's gay, but now simply means that he has a girlfriend. unless he's married. have i moved on to married men yet? it was only a matter of time. my eagle eye can pick out the cream of the crop in just about any room, as well as decipher exactly how unavailable he is.

the harry potter boy would be my true secret crush, if i were to do that sort of thing any more, which i don't. but i like that he's around.

my paid vacation is coming up. i wonder what i shall do? i've never had a paid vacation before. all of my family is very busy, so i won't get to hang out with them. hopefully i'll use the time to re-establish contact with my local friends, whom i still love despite the fact that i never ever see them. ever. ever. and i'll visit my grandparents, because i'm shitty and i never visit them. so i can devote a couple of days to other people, to putting the love out there, then i can spend the rest of the time doing what i love best: my alone stuff. i read, i watch movies, i write, i sing, i bathe, i dream. i take naps and plan visits to other countries. i make playlists for every kind of mixed tape imaginable. i clean the kitchen. i bond with the cat.

i love these things. and despite the fact that i've cut down my human contact to the bare minimum, i still feel like i never get enough alone time.
ever since reading 'the loner's manifesto,' i've really taken that ball and run with it.

sometimes i wonder how many millions of others there are like me out there who have to endure the good intentions of co-workers trying to 'include' them, when really all they want is to be left the hell alone. and how many more millions of good-intending co-workers could never understand why anyone would choose to be alone in a crowd.

watching johnny depp in 'secret window' made me crave his life. at least, up until all the murders and shit start happening. but the living alone in a cabin by the lake, writing for a living thing? glorious. just glorious.