Some things I've written at work, in lieu of a spontaneous entry, on this, the Ides of September.
Thursday, Sept. 15, 2005 - 19:01

Oh geez, that cute boy.

I will get things I've written at work in the last few days. Otherwise there's nothing I can write tonight, except, oh, that cute boy, what to do, what to do.

I am stymied, I stop myself.

Here is a theory: If I don't try I don't fail. Thus far I am an unrealized genius with limitless potential, oh the potential, oh just you wait I will make your jaw drop, one of these days.

One of these days I will find my club of genius friends and our productivity will shoot the roofs off of all the buildings we enter. Until then I will just quietly grow older, surrounded by all my crap.

I would like to find the most delicious thing ever in a cup, something hot and delicious. But not coffee - coffee tempts you and tricks you but that is not the deliciousness I want - I want nothing to do with caffeine addictions and coffee breath and stained teeth. Tea offers me no enjoyment now - it is thin and acidic and doesn't hit me like it did in Australia. Hot chocolate - but sugar! This delicious thing I seek is not full of sugar, it is healthy and delicious. It is not yerba mate - that makes me sleepy.

Delicious thing in a cup, I will find you someday and drink you up.

As it turns out, I am a doctor. I did not know this, I must have forgotten, but it's true, there's a message on my phone confirming it. "Hello Dr. Regina Toowomba" it begins. It is a message about my patient Stephanie Miles. They needed me to take her drain out. But I haven't. And for all I know she's walking around to this day with a drain in, dripping away, drip drip drip. When she goes to the store drip drip drip.

I wonder what kind of doctor I am. Do you think I'm a surgeon? I wonder where I went to school. How much do I make? And why am I working as a clerk in a law firm?

The cute boy walks up. I'm not looking at him but even with headphones on I know how his walk sounds. I look up and he's looking at me. We smile, he tilts his head. He sits down, I turn around, we say something, we laugh.

I live this moment. I say, "That was beautiful" and I realize it is. I want to capture it. I write it down.

I live in Seattle, I work downtown, fall is coming and I am so excited.

My eyes well up with tears and I will one day choke up and bawl for the loss of this. But the gains for now, the laughs and smiles and glances are so nice.

I am a tactile person, I've told him many times while touching him.

He walks by me, puts his hands near me, nearly touching my head or arms. I give him a questioning look. "I'm just being inappropriately tactile," he says. We resort to high-fives. His hands are cool, slightly sweaty. I love his hands.

Heading for heartbreak at full throttle. There are bugs on the windshield but I see clearly as I step on the gas.

That metaphor is worth at least fifty cents. Or forty - it's mixed - the throttle, the gas. I don't know what I'm talking about.

p.s. I'm still alive.