... You have my respect, in fact, for holding that opinion so securely to yourself. A person who bends their opinions to match the shade of the room loses all dignity in my eyes. Kudos, two kudos, in fact, to you.
I wish that we still had such a pliable mass consciousness that even little ol’ me could bob to the top like a cork.
But our blind spots are bigger and deeper and white. Not black like the kind that suck you down to the ground. White. Like diesel fumes and heat waves on a flat Texas drive. Those kind of blind spots that make you taste puke.
How was your day? Did the responsibilities of your day leave you with enough time to sit down and eat?
I work in an office within a bigger office inside a building shared with another office divided up into smaller offices. Minimum wage is being increased so that those a bit less fortunate than me will be raised until they are equally unfortunate as me. God bless the world, and God bless me.
I have been employed by that office since May of this year. Now, it is October. One week until the 19th. The twins will be two.
May.
June.
July.
August.
September.
October.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
Six months.
“Good morning, Jim.”
“Good morning, Anthony.”
“Good morning, Kevin.”
“Good morning, Chandler Properties: This is Amie.”
I started working for Jim Chandler at the same time my mom stopped. It was also the same time Anthony started. We started working for Jim Chandler at the same time. May. Six months ago. Half a year.
The twins will be two next Friday.
They were eighteen months old when I started working for Jim Chandler, at the same time Anthony did.
Anthony got a brand new desk moved into the office and a new Dell computer because he was filling a brand new position. I got my mom’s desk and computer because I was filling the position she had filled for the past couple years while I filled the position she filled before that.
Before May, I managed a candy store at the corner of a one-mall town’s mall food court. I had never done anything like that before.
Work for my mom?
Oh, yeah. I’ve done that.
See, she finally left my dad after twenty-six or so years of marriage. She drove forty-five minutes in the rain with a couple of her things and most of her clothes wrapped in black trash bags until she got to my apartment where I had fixed her a little room. A tiny room, actually. Very, very small.
I felt guilty about that, but it looked really cute when I got done decorating it.
She had called me crying.
She lived in Bowie, and I lived in Wichita Falls.
In Texas, we reference distance in minutes it takes to drive. I’m forty-five minutes away. (Or, like I told my oldest son, Benjamin, Nanny will be here in forty-five minutes. That’s the same amount of time as watching a Blue’s Clues video without skipping the previews.) Now, my lingo is an inbred version of leftover Amie and leftover babies. She’ll be here in a Blue’s Clues plus previews.
“Country. Think about it…”
Lloyd Ashley would say that. Lloyd Ashley wouldn’t know my name if saying it would grant him a wish, and he damn sure wouldn’t know my face. But, I can quote him. Just like you can quote me.
Lloyd Ashley would end his sets with a cock-eyed, over the mike, good ol’ boy grin, and he’d say, “Country. Think about it…”
I like that.
So, I say it sometimes.
Friday, October 12, 2007
10-12-07 Apple Turnovers - off - 78 degrees - Breeze
Dear, Sweet, Dear Old Apple Pie Friend,
Dear fiddle cat, hunt and peck, the eye vo reez with me,
The Ivories, the eye vo reez, with dear old me
Hunt and peck the ivories with dear old, dear old, dear old, sweet ol’ me,
A garden is growing, a garden is growing, a garden is growing
‘neath you and ‘neath me
A garden is growing, a garden is growing, a garden is growing
you’re underneath me
You’re underneath me if wings fly me above
I’m underneath you if they do or they don’t
I’m underneath your underneath me
and the world is still spinning between
the world is still spinning the moon’s son is beaming and shining and glinting and sweet
the world is still spinning your hair is moonbeaming your sweating I’m sweating your sweat outta me
Dear fiddle cat, hunt and peck, the eye vo reez with me,
The Ivories, the eye vo reez, with dear old me
Hunt and peck the ivories with dear old, dear old, dear old, sweet ol’ me,
A garden is growing, a garden is growing, a garden is growing
‘neath you and ‘neath me
A garden is growing, a garden is growing, a garden is growing
you’re underneath me
You’re underneath me if wings fly me above
I’m underneath you if they do or they don’t
I’m underneath your underneath me
and the world is still spinning between
the world is still spinning the moon’s son is beaming and shining and glinting and sweet
the world is still spinning your hair is moonbeaming your sweating I’m sweating your sweat outta me
10-12-07 Jack Johnson, no voice, Pot Roast, Black-eyed-peas, Sweet Potatoes
Dear Friend,
It giggles me to wonder through how many hands this will pass until it rests in yours. It twinkles me to guess how many black and white letters you’ve read this life before mine. It pleasures me so to know that right now your neck feels uncomfortable and now you will glance up and to the left and look around to assure yourself that you are not observed.
Shut the door.
This is good.
Peace, Love, Friend
It giggles me to wonder through how many hands this will pass until it rests in yours. It twinkles me to guess how many black and white letters you’ve read this life before mine. It pleasures me so to know that right now your neck feels uncomfortable and now you will glance up and to the left and look around to assure yourself that you are not observed.
Shut the door.
This is good.
Peace, Love, Friend
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
06-20-2007 The King and I am
Once upon a time there lived a King with the most beautiful mind that ever was. His mind was so regal, so majestic that it was universally known. So much so, that if a man were to be walking down a path and he was to overhear a lady speak to her companion about something beautiful, and he was to see she and her companion touch the thing of beauty and hold it to the light to see it sparkle or shimmer or shine, that man would know without question that the lady had gotten that thing from the King.
Everyone lived to find pleasure in the King’s eyes. The King lived to find pleasure for his eyes. And his mouth. And his ears. And his nose. And his Kingdom. The dominion below his throne.
Above his Kingdom, this King, he slept.
While he slept, he dreamt, and while he dreamt he slept and he filled to full his big, empty fish bowl belly of pleasure upon pleasure of clear liquid lust. All he saw he licked and ate, and all he ate he loved. With dawn he rose all covered in dew of spilling over licked up lust. His belly was full; it was filled past filling and his skin leaked it out like sweat. All he saw he licked and ate, and from his throne he saw it all.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
06-13-07 I am 27 now
Dear Friend,
“I am.” I remember being a small child in rural Baptist church and hearing the pastor quote the Bible while his human mouth feebly attempted to explain why God is the great “I am.” I was so little my feet barely stuck out past the edge of the pew, but I was big enough on the inside to be completely engrossed. I didn’t comprehend it all, but I did understand that if “I am” was God’s answer when questioned about his identity, then it must be a big deal. I tagged that information “high priority” and went about being six.
I have always wondered, like most, I guess, what I am … who I am. Sometimes, the thinking hurt my head. Sometimes, I ended up more confused than when I started. I always ask questions, and this one seemed like an important one to ask, so I stuck with it. My entire life.
I came up with some good answers, or beginnings of answers, but I felt drained, not energized.
My natural self-awareness morphed into a vague form of self-loathing over the years. I thought that the bits and pieces that made up my history, my existence were too vanilla, too plain, too ordinary to do anything great. I developed a fervent distaste for the era in which I lived – I hated what I saw around me. I interpreted the modern world as frivolous in manner and motion. I constructed a belief that there was no meaning in any of the pursuits available to me. These principles, no matter how wrong, were truth in my head, and I let those statutes serve as filters through which I poured all of life before I tasted it. Life through those filters was a meaningless struggle. I wore that struggle as a private badge of honor. Having never lost a vehement belief in Karma, I was self satisfied, thinking I would be well-rewarded for putting myself through such misery here on earth to do the right thing.
I have engaged in meaningful pursuits without gleaning understanding. Always a deterrent in my quest for self, was my belief that I had no qualities for greatness in my makeup: my location was too rural, my age was too young, my skin was too white, and my past was too plain. I did not see any clues when raking over my statistics that I was meant for anything other than what the other girls and women and people around me did. This caused great despair because I could find no happiness in (what I considered to be) a mundane existence. If I was supposed to be ordinary, shouldn’t I be content with it?
That was then. Something has happened. Now, I am.
I am. I am what? I am 27. I am Amie. I am happy with that and that is enough because there is no limit to the energy I have tapped into in defining myself. Yes, I grew up in rural Texas and stayed hungry for culture and experience that never came, but there is no denying it. It is where I was dropped. Yes, it’s 2007 and my history is cluttered with Americana pop culture that will not ultimately quench my voracious mind, but there is no denying it. It is where I was dropped. Yes, my skin is white and I have not found much about that to be grateful for, but there is no denying it. It is where I was dropped.
Something has happened. Now, I am. I remembered a time in my past when I could melt and fuse with all that was and just … be. I was. Period. I was not trying to do something or meaning to do something or planning or charting or plotting, I just was. Something has happened, and I remember now. I am.
I have been injected with a rapacious appetite for understanding, and have relearned how to embrace that appetite and fuel my existence.
I look for inspiration. When I get tired, I put those examples of people I admire in front of my eyes so I will not tire. You inspire me. Wrong or right, each of our versions of truth are treated as ultimate truth in our minds, and so they are. Wrong or right, in my mind, you are a woman who has pounded life out of every bit of living you have. Wrong or right, I see you as a woman who wrings meaning and enjoyment and truth out of your environment. This encourages me.
I know that to pass on encouragement to others, that it must flow through you. I know that you work to keep yourself encouraged. Motivated. Stimulated. Inspired. That amazes me. I am still learning, but you are a great model to emulate. To be …, put things in your path that make you …
I am.
Maybe not great. Maybe not historic. Maybe not …, but there’s no denying all the bits that make up me. The journey ahead gets more exciting by the day. Lack is only an opportunity to gain. When I discover a lacking in myself now, I am excited to shift my environment, to poke, to prod, to manipulate the correct arrangement to fill that lack.
Life is beautiful.
Thank you for staying inspired.
Peace, Love, Amie
“I am.” I remember being a small child in rural Baptist church and hearing the pastor quote the Bible while his human mouth feebly attempted to explain why God is the great “I am.” I was so little my feet barely stuck out past the edge of the pew, but I was big enough on the inside to be completely engrossed. I didn’t comprehend it all, but I did understand that if “I am” was God’s answer when questioned about his identity, then it must be a big deal. I tagged that information “high priority” and went about being six.
I have always wondered, like most, I guess, what I am … who I am. Sometimes, the thinking hurt my head. Sometimes, I ended up more confused than when I started. I always ask questions, and this one seemed like an important one to ask, so I stuck with it. My entire life.
I came up with some good answers, or beginnings of answers, but I felt drained, not energized.
My natural self-awareness morphed into a vague form of self-loathing over the years. I thought that the bits and pieces that made up my history, my existence were too vanilla, too plain, too ordinary to do anything great. I developed a fervent distaste for the era in which I lived – I hated what I saw around me. I interpreted the modern world as frivolous in manner and motion. I constructed a belief that there was no meaning in any of the pursuits available to me. These principles, no matter how wrong, were truth in my head, and I let those statutes serve as filters through which I poured all of life before I tasted it. Life through those filters was a meaningless struggle. I wore that struggle as a private badge of honor. Having never lost a vehement belief in Karma, I was self satisfied, thinking I would be well-rewarded for putting myself through such misery here on earth to do the right thing.
I have engaged in meaningful pursuits without gleaning understanding. Always a deterrent in my quest for self, was my belief that I had no qualities for greatness in my makeup: my location was too rural, my age was too young, my skin was too white, and my past was too plain. I did not see any clues when raking over my statistics that I was meant for anything other than what the other girls and women and people around me did. This caused great despair because I could find no happiness in (what I considered to be) a mundane existence. If I was supposed to be ordinary, shouldn’t I be content with it?
That was then. Something has happened. Now, I am.
I am. I am what? I am 27. I am Amie. I am happy with that and that is enough because there is no limit to the energy I have tapped into in defining myself. Yes, I grew up in rural Texas and stayed hungry for culture and experience that never came, but there is no denying it. It is where I was dropped. Yes, it’s 2007 and my history is cluttered with Americana pop culture that will not ultimately quench my voracious mind, but there is no denying it. It is where I was dropped. Yes, my skin is white and I have not found much about that to be grateful for, but there is no denying it. It is where I was dropped.
Something has happened. Now, I am. I remembered a time in my past when I could melt and fuse with all that was and just … be. I was. Period. I was not trying to do something or meaning to do something or planning or charting or plotting, I just was. Something has happened, and I remember now. I am.
I have been injected with a rapacious appetite for understanding, and have relearned how to embrace that appetite and fuel my existence.
I look for inspiration. When I get tired, I put those examples of people I admire in front of my eyes so I will not tire. You inspire me. Wrong or right, each of our versions of truth are treated as ultimate truth in our minds, and so they are. Wrong or right, in my mind, you are a woman who has pounded life out of every bit of living you have. Wrong or right, I see you as a woman who wrings meaning and enjoyment and truth out of your environment. This encourages me.
I know that to pass on encouragement to others, that it must flow through you. I know that you work to keep yourself encouraged. Motivated. Stimulated. Inspired. That amazes me. I am still learning, but you are a great model to emulate. To be …, put things in your path that make you …
I am.
Maybe not great. Maybe not historic. Maybe not …, but there’s no denying all the bits that make up me. The journey ahead gets more exciting by the day. Lack is only an opportunity to gain. When I discover a lacking in myself now, I am excited to shift my environment, to poke, to prod, to manipulate the correct arrangement to fill that lack.
Life is beautiful.
Thank you for staying inspired.
Peace, Love, Amie
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