I think I know part of why I haven't been writing lately. And it's going to sound like a lame excuse - probably because that's exactly what it is. While I'm on the internet often enough to write something, I choose not to because I can't think of what I want to write. I want to write something that was important or funny to me, an anecdote that has a good ending. But I don't feel like my stories have endings - I feel like I'm in the middle of all of them.
I could tell you about how the summer, AKA shorts season, has made me want to swear an oath of pants for the rest of my life. I'll get questionable compliments from middle-aged balding men who saw me walk to work in said shorts and have this smile on that just assures me oh-so-sweetly that they're thinking of me in those shorts right at that moment. Or Lenny who rides the bus the same time as me on Thursdays and begins every conversation with questions about my workout routine, until he shows me his college transcript for some unknown reason and I change the subject by pointing out to him that he was in college the year I was born.
I could tell you about the night that Dave met that old Chinese couple, Shuzhene and Ziping, after work. Shuzhene, the grandmother, was leaving Giant Eagle the same time I was walking towards Dave's car. We gave her a ride home (a block and a half away) and she dragged me by the elbow up to the house, beckoning to Dave from the porch with her other vein-studded hand. Walking to the kitchen and chattering to her husband Ziping elbow-deep in dishwater, she explained who we were and with these squinty wrinkled eyes lost in the folds of a broad smile he gave our coupleship an emphatic thumbs up. And then there was that moment when Shuzhene patted my arm and kissed my cheek soundly, declaring that I'm a "good daughter" as she is fond of saying. And Dave, smiling uncertainly at the broken English and kindness, replying "She's a good girl. I'm a lucky guy."
I could tell you a million little things that amused or touched me, but I couldn't tell you stories about them because the encounters were brief and I probably couldn't always explain the why behind my emotional reaction. I could tell you about breakfast with Josey this morning and how happy I am to see her every Saturday morning over a plate of scrambled eggs and toast at Jack and Benny's, able to keep this friendship with someone I feel so comfortable with. After telling her one of my half stories, she laughed and said, "You have such an interesting life! I wish I could trade shoes with you for a day...just not on a Thursday." I laughed loudly at that.
And that was one of those moments that doesn't have a story really, but touched me. Perhaps I do live an interesting life. Perhaps I do have stories to tell and just need to find a way to tell them. I am planning to go have dinner with Shuzhene and Ziping sometime soon; I am planning to ask my manager to keep an eye out for that one particular customer for my sake; I am planning on having breakfast with Josey next Saturday morning and having more half stories to tell her. All ongoing, all continuous tense. And if you're ok with that, I'll tell you some half stories as well. And sooner this time, I promise.
I could tell you about how the summer, AKA shorts season, has made me want to swear an oath of pants for the rest of my life. I'll get questionable compliments from middle-aged balding men who saw me walk to work in said shorts and have this smile on that just assures me oh-so-sweetly that they're thinking of me in those shorts right at that moment. Or Lenny who rides the bus the same time as me on Thursdays and begins every conversation with questions about my workout routine, until he shows me his college transcript for some unknown reason and I change the subject by pointing out to him that he was in college the year I was born.
I could tell you about the night that Dave met that old Chinese couple, Shuzhene and Ziping, after work. Shuzhene, the grandmother, was leaving Giant Eagle the same time I was walking towards Dave's car. We gave her a ride home (a block and a half away) and she dragged me by the elbow up to the house, beckoning to Dave from the porch with her other vein-studded hand. Walking to the kitchen and chattering to her husband Ziping elbow-deep in dishwater, she explained who we were and with these squinty wrinkled eyes lost in the folds of a broad smile he gave our coupleship an emphatic thumbs up. And then there was that moment when Shuzhene patted my arm and kissed my cheek soundly, declaring that I'm a "good daughter" as she is fond of saying. And Dave, smiling uncertainly at the broken English and kindness, replying "She's a good girl. I'm a lucky guy."
I could tell you a million little things that amused or touched me, but I couldn't tell you stories about them because the encounters were brief and I probably couldn't always explain the why behind my emotional reaction. I could tell you about breakfast with Josey this morning and how happy I am to see her every Saturday morning over a plate of scrambled eggs and toast at Jack and Benny's, able to keep this friendship with someone I feel so comfortable with. After telling her one of my half stories, she laughed and said, "You have such an interesting life! I wish I could trade shoes with you for a day...just not on a Thursday." I laughed loudly at that.
And that was one of those moments that doesn't have a story really, but touched me. Perhaps I do live an interesting life. Perhaps I do have stories to tell and just need to find a way to tell them. I am planning to go have dinner with Shuzhene and Ziping sometime soon; I am planning to ask my manager to keep an eye out for that one particular customer for my sake; I am planning on having breakfast with Josey next Saturday morning and having more half stories to tell her. All ongoing, all continuous tense. And if you're ok with that, I'll tell you some half stories as well. And sooner this time, I promise.
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