Sometimes I want to talk to you but don't.
I feel like you'll think I'm dumb maybe.
I don't talk to you because you're busy or I'm pretending to be busy.
Sometimes I just think you don't feel like listening.
And I also don't talk to you because you still haven't paid your phone bill.
Sometimes I want to talk to you but don't have to.
I feel like I can read your mind maybe.
I don't have to even see your mouth to know when you're smiling;
sometimes I just see it in your big blue eyes.
And I also don't have to talk to you because my words would only be superfluous in the moments we share.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I've started writing for Examiner.com as a Budget Fashion Examiner. I'm really excited about it!
Please visit my page frequently (I'll be publishing at least 3-4 articles each week) and let me know what you think. I'd love comments, suggestions, and feedback.
Here's the link to my page:
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Up until recently, I had not had the unfortunate opportunity of dealing with a crazy person. Some refer to this person as a "weirdo," and "psychopath", and even "stalker." (Stalker really scares me, so I choose not to use it.) I am not a psychiatrist, and mean no disrespect by using these terms. I am simply trying to illustrate the type of crazy I'm dealing with.
Maybe a few examples would help. While at work today, my phone froze because of the incessant texts and facebook messages this person was sending. In the past, I've had 4-7 voicemails from this person in one hour, going on and on about how in love they are with me, and that's after I have asked them to never contact me again. In the same day, this person will call me crying, begging for my help and friendship, then do a complete 180 and say the most disgusting, horrific things. (They're too vulgar to include...my stomach hurts when I think about it.)
If you recall, this is the same crazy person that contributed to ruining my day (Yesterday=A Good Day Turned Bad) a while ago. I'm trying not to let this person ruin any more days; I've even been convincing myself that all I can do is feel sorry for them. But it's gotten to the point where it's a little scary, and not too funny. Many have suggested that I get a restraining order, but what good would that do? Most of the harassing is done via phone, text, and e-mail. I really don't want to have to change my phone number, but it might come down to that. I'm so grateful that this person thinks I'm a horrible writer and wouldn't dare to read this blog.
Really, what's a girl to do? I need help!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Marvin is a short black man with a rough face and rough hands. He always wears the same early 90's navy and black windbreaker that looks like it should be accompanied by matching pants. Small children seem unsure of him when they walk by.
Marvin is a handyman, janitor, and basically a servant. He answers with "yes sirs" and "yes ma'ams" and refers to me as "Miss Rachel." He is constantly running somewhere or doing something for someone else. He used to hum the Superman theme song whenever he was not talking, and when he was talking he was talking 1,000 words/minute.
Marvin was very curious about my BlackBerry. He doesn't own a computer or DVD player. He told me if he had access to the internet he would download games and look up the reason why some sump pumps don't clog. He's always wondered about that. He had been wanting to watch Forrest Gump for for 15 years and finally did a few weeks ago because he caught it on TV.
Marvin is in the hospital. He has a huge cancerous tumor in his throat and they removed his entire voicebox. He'll never be able to speak again, and I feel sad that I never appreciated his voice until now, when I'm left without it.