The Soul is a unit of existence. Souls are attracted to energy. Energy exists in everything: humans, animals, inanimate life, inanimate objects. When objects collide, whether intangible or not, energy is transferred: thus, for example a road collects energy as more and more vehicles travel it. As a road collects more energy it attracts more souls; thus, a road that is the most traveled is a road with the greatest souls. Souls collecting in one place are collectively known as Soul; a hive of souls is collectively known as the Soul. It can be positive or negative. Human communities (body, a body collective) that process the most energy are the most attractive to souls, thus, a high-energy vehicle or movement is the one with the greatest soul.
Soul is a universal unit, anything and everything possesses it. Soul is attracted to different kinds of energy. An eighty-year old tree possesses greater soul than a recently constructed Naval warship, but with the energy exchange of At-Battle a Naval Warship stands to "amass" a great Soul. Humans are vessels with a wide range of Soul; a human is most attractive to the soul because of the opportunities presented by the human construction: multiple ports of communications, especially, allows the soul to communicate with itself in a way that is convenient and detachedly convenient.
The Soul exists anywhere and everywhere, and has more to do with it than we all think. We are not tuned into the Soul's wavelength, through Preacher-and-Bishop-types have been picking up on such a unique energy line in the last few months. Write be before you say, but know my support is entirely behind Brad and his future wife.
Saturday
There's a Bug in the Walnut
The title has nothing to do with anything, really. I have a glass of club soda here, right next to a stick of burning incense, and there was a bug in the club soda. But that thought isn't as interesting as one of a bug in a walnut, so there you go.
Why can't she take care of herself? Verano replaced her bicycle today and now she's trying to pawn it off on me so she can repurchase another one of her stolen model. If she does this she will spend nearly two grande on bicycles.
She owes a shitload more than two grande, and there's a civil complaint floating out there for some of that.
I envy her spirit, I really do. It's a bold spirit, a resolve of amazing Steele. So, where is the reason to match? I wish I had the ability to do whatever I deemed the most necessary, but her belligerent prioritization is going to cause problems in our relationship. One of the things I was initially drawn to was her individuality, but did I misinterpret what I thought was self-sufficiency? Because, as an aspiring adult, I find this latter quality much more attractive, and I'm tired of being linked to women who specifically lack it.
Why can't she take care of herself? Verano replaced her bicycle today and now she's trying to pawn it off on me so she can repurchase another one of her stolen model. If she does this she will spend nearly two grande on bicycles.
She owes a shitload more than two grande, and there's a civil complaint floating out there for some of that.
I envy her spirit, I really do. It's a bold spirit, a resolve of amazing Steele. So, where is the reason to match? I wish I had the ability to do whatever I deemed the most necessary, but her belligerent prioritization is going to cause problems in our relationship. One of the things I was initially drawn to was her individuality, but did I misinterpret what I thought was self-sufficiency? Because, as an aspiring adult, I find this latter quality much more attractive, and I'm tired of being linked to women who specifically lack it.
Friday
I don't remember writing this.
I would consider changing the general format and verbage of this blog, as I have [sic] successfully moved away from bartending and have at the ripe young age of twenty-four become a full-time restaurant manager; but, I'm a bad server in the regard that I don't check up on a table of campers, so Something Else remains as it is. Tonight sucked. I don't want this to be a webpage where I complain about my life or anything (wink), but I really outdid myself this evening. That much said, I'm home now, and safe, rethinking my decision to quit smoking (Surgeon General, eat your heart out) and second-guessing my initial thoughts about Ketel One vodka.
Also, listening to Queen. Let's share this anecdote!
Months and months ago, when I was but a wee restaurant manager, we hosted a Cast & Crew party for a group coming in after a one-off musical performance. They stood around in my back room, at least fifty people, every one of them a singer and/or dancer and/or involved to the extent that a fun time should be had by all. So, naturally, I put a buck in the jukebox hoping that within minutes I would have fifty or sixty well-trained voices in the dynamically emotional throes of "Bohemian Rhapsody" at its second, melodramatic-but-who-cares verse.
I was wrong.
My efforts were reconciled on Saint Patrick's Day, however, something about a bar-full of drunken psuedo-Irish idiots doesn't entirely fit the bill I was originally looking to settle. All the same, I was able to enjoy the choir while I stood downstairs, outside, out of sharp earshot, with two other employees who helped me cut down the friggin' Jameson banners that had been up all day.
Life is not good. Verano had a $700 bicycle stolen from here today, within a stone's throw of the restaurant. The kicker is that she would probably still have it if she had taken it home last night..
But, life is not all bad, either. I'll post an example when I have one, because right now I don't. Take care,
k.
Also, listening to Queen. Let's share this anecdote!
Months and months ago, when I was but a wee restaurant manager, we hosted a Cast & Crew party for a group coming in after a one-off musical performance. They stood around in my back room, at least fifty people, every one of them a singer and/or dancer and/or involved to the extent that a fun time should be had by all. So, naturally, I put a buck in the jukebox hoping that within minutes I would have fifty or sixty well-trained voices in the dynamically emotional throes of "Bohemian Rhapsody" at its second, melodramatic-but-who-cares verse.
I was wrong.
My efforts were reconciled on Saint Patrick's Day, however, something about a bar-full of drunken psuedo-Irish idiots doesn't entirely fit the bill I was originally looking to settle. All the same, I was able to enjoy the choir while I stood downstairs, outside, out of sharp earshot, with two other employees who helped me cut down the friggin' Jameson banners that had been up all day.
Life is not good. Verano had a $700 bicycle stolen from here today, within a stone's throw of the restaurant. The kicker is that she would probably still have it if she had taken it home last night..
But, life is not all bad, either. I'll post an example when I have one, because right now I don't. Take care,
k.
Thursday
Wednesday, March 21st.
This is how I start my nightly reports, the shift notes I send to the owner and the other managers. It's not a terribly creative title, and to even call it creative would be a misleading advertisement; but, as a title, it gets the job done.
Last week I did something that is uncharacteristic, but not entirely without precedent: I kissed another woman. I can't describe why it happened, and I don't have to do much justice to how it happened. It wasn't a deep or passionate kiss so much as it was hesitant, unsteady, and, of course, belligerent. The other party is a kindred soul that I've worked with since I started downtown; a writer and career waitress who probably could have made better decisions in life, but seems instead merely exhausted by the decisions which have made her. We both have significant others who are important to our lives, so there's no immediate fear of exhumation, nor any reason to pursue this matter we've shared any further. And, the coworkers who were barhopping with us not only missed the little scandal in its progress--the two of us sitting quietly close together at the end of the bar--but would have so many more adventures fill the rest of their night that nobody could remember the Kiss if her or she even wanted to.
I'm her manager, which makes the circumstances awkward in a tiered sort of way--I push this particular element of our relationship out of the way of a greater philosophical curiosity, but I'm not sure if she does. What I spent an entire weekend trying to unravel was what the gesture meant to me, and what it meant to her. She's much older than I am, has lived longer, and yet makes a half-drunken pass at me in a bar that I stupidly reciprocate--what damage am I looking to do, either to myself or to her? The Kiss took me back to a different time, a wide, small-town river on a hazy Southern afternoon, two pairs of legs splashing for the bank and then step after sucking step through knee-deep mud to an abandoned factory on the hill above; and, wary that people get stuck and even die for stupidity like this, but too young and daring and oblivious to care about it; and, her boyfriend is at work or out of town, I don't remember, and my girlfriend lives out of state, because I'm on summer break from school; but none of the greater details stop us, or me at least, from etching the lesser details onto a space of memory that will never fade away...
It is a lot that I'm not prepared to admit I rewound back to, but big surprise: I did, briefly. It's weakness. I'm upset with myself now, and I feel a little silly about the aftermath, letting myself get caught up in a flurry of emotions that I thought had withered long ago, or that I had at least gotten control over.
Instead, I'm aware of a bigger problem, which is that I'm not ashamed of what's happened. I don't know if it's affected my relationship with Verano or not--subconsciously, I mean. I'm afraid to go back out with coworkers, but Verano is not a parole officer, either. I am going to have to check myself in the future, of course, but if I can't behave for somebody who is not worth losing over such a personally interpreted experience, then I probably shouldn't be living with her, either.
I sent my play to two different people who have offered to read it, and one of them works at a great big theater company only two blocks away from the restaurant that I manage.
I'm tired.
I guess, I shouldn't have told her, the Other, about a deep feeling I've embraced on and off lately, because of an old pain in my heart that flairs up every now and then, like the one in my arm that moans when it's under stress. That, Verano is not the Love of My Life so much as she is the One, the One who is everything I need in a business partner, intimate contact, and best friend. These two are very different legacies. After watching the Notebook and other love stories, I feel sadly empowered by my convictions because I see my ideologies resonating in different, timely[?] places. I probably shouldn't have alluded to a reservation I have that Verano may not be the Love of My Life, just as I probably shouldn't have cheated on my [best] friends with their girlfriends in scenarios of various intensities. And, at the same time, while I sometimes feel rotten, I secretly don't mind it at all. I'm always open to anything once, and even three times. I'm full of surprises.
Last week I did something that is uncharacteristic, but not entirely without precedent: I kissed another woman. I can't describe why it happened, and I don't have to do much justice to how it happened. It wasn't a deep or passionate kiss so much as it was hesitant, unsteady, and, of course, belligerent. The other party is a kindred soul that I've worked with since I started downtown; a writer and career waitress who probably could have made better decisions in life, but seems instead merely exhausted by the decisions which have made her. We both have significant others who are important to our lives, so there's no immediate fear of exhumation, nor any reason to pursue this matter we've shared any further. And, the coworkers who were barhopping with us not only missed the little scandal in its progress--the two of us sitting quietly close together at the end of the bar--but would have so many more adventures fill the rest of their night that nobody could remember the Kiss if her or she even wanted to.
I'm her manager, which makes the circumstances awkward in a tiered sort of way--I push this particular element of our relationship out of the way of a greater philosophical curiosity, but I'm not sure if she does. What I spent an entire weekend trying to unravel was what the gesture meant to me, and what it meant to her. She's much older than I am, has lived longer, and yet makes a half-drunken pass at me in a bar that I stupidly reciprocate--what damage am I looking to do, either to myself or to her? The Kiss took me back to a different time, a wide, small-town river on a hazy Southern afternoon, two pairs of legs splashing for the bank and then step after sucking step through knee-deep mud to an abandoned factory on the hill above; and, wary that people get stuck and even die for stupidity like this, but too young and daring and oblivious to care about it; and, her boyfriend is at work or out of town, I don't remember, and my girlfriend lives out of state, because I'm on summer break from school; but none of the greater details stop us, or me at least, from etching the lesser details onto a space of memory that will never fade away...
It is a lot that I'm not prepared to admit I rewound back to, but big surprise: I did, briefly. It's weakness. I'm upset with myself now, and I feel a little silly about the aftermath, letting myself get caught up in a flurry of emotions that I thought had withered long ago, or that I had at least gotten control over.
Instead, I'm aware of a bigger problem, which is that I'm not ashamed of what's happened. I don't know if it's affected my relationship with Verano or not--subconsciously, I mean. I'm afraid to go back out with coworkers, but Verano is not a parole officer, either. I am going to have to check myself in the future, of course, but if I can't behave for somebody who is not worth losing over such a personally interpreted experience, then I probably shouldn't be living with her, either.
I sent my play to two different people who have offered to read it, and one of them works at a great big theater company only two blocks away from the restaurant that I manage.
I'm tired.
I guess, I shouldn't have told her, the Other, about a deep feeling I've embraced on and off lately, because of an old pain in my heart that flairs up every now and then, like the one in my arm that moans when it's under stress. That, Verano is not the Love of My Life so much as she is the One, the One who is everything I need in a business partner, intimate contact, and best friend. These two are very different legacies. After watching the Notebook and other love stories, I feel sadly empowered by my convictions because I see my ideologies resonating in different, timely[?] places. I probably shouldn't have alluded to a reservation I have that Verano may not be the Love of My Life, just as I probably shouldn't have cheated on my [best] friends with their girlfriends in scenarios of various intensities. And, at the same time, while I sometimes feel rotten, I secretly don't mind it at all. I'm always open to anything once, and even three times. I'm full of surprises.
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