the 21st week

Reading and an Iced Bourbon Latte at 1215

Monday. Blake took me to work since my car’s out of commission. Sarah called off, so things got pretty crazy. I discovered the Skywalk—confusing but cool!—and chilled at 1215 for a bit. Ams picked me up, and we did hot dogs and baked beans for dinner. Monday Nights involved Waterboy and Mario Kart. John and Brandy haven’t been participating: softball.

Tuesday. Ams took me to work this morning, and then Sarah ferried me to the shop so I could get my car. The fix cost $740. The owner saw my book, A Short History of World War One, and his eyes lit up. “I majored in history in college!” he exclaimed. I spent the afternoon hanging out with Sarah and her dogs at her place. August,  timid and cowardly English bulldog, practically crawled into my lap and tried to eat my face. I certainly have a way with dogs. I got Subway for dinner and Ams came over for a bit.

Wednesday. Eric and I opened, a solid morning. A beautiful, sunny day, too: I rolled down my windows and the sunroof and ran to Barnes & Noble to get The Importance of Being Foolish by Brennan Manning (we’re reading it for Small Group). The car’s running much better, and it’s quieter. “When we put your car on the lift to work on it,” the man told me yesterday, “the damnedest thing happened: your exhaust pipes just fell apart.” They patched it up, a far better job than Dad and I pulled off (our patch fell off within days, leaving a gaping hole between the pipes). The owner also told me, “Your car is first place for our Mileage Award. 319,000 miles! Those Toyotas sure are something.” I went to The Anchor for coffee and writing. The place was abandoned, I had it all to myself! I spent the evening watching Youtube videos and pondering the goodness and love of God: he sabotages our own self-sabotage. I still think about Mandy K. A LOT. I’m considering deleting Facebook just so I won’t see her status updates or pictures of her in my newsfeed. The memories (more like fantasies) don’t hurt like hell anymore, and it’s certainly not torturous. Nothing like I experienced with Julie or Courtney, or even Sarah G. I’m a lot more mature now, believe it or not. But I know I HAVE to forget her to move forward: she stands as a shibboleth to disappointment, and the shibboleth must be torn down. Harsh-sounding language for the godly woman I quite possibly love.

Thursday. Eric and I opened together, and after a trip to The Anchor I picked up Amos and we headed to West High Street for Small Group with the Gang: Eric & Tiffany, Ben & Stephanie, Karen, Andy, and of course Amos and me. We drank coffee out back around a fire and talked about faith for two hours. Andy boasted about killing a giant centipede with The Faith Once For All, Adler tried climbing a tree, and Lennon got put in timeout for almost burning Andy with a fiery stick. Andy crossed Adler by ignorantly stealing her princess coffee cup, and she was raging mad. We talked a lot about church, how this Thursday Night Small Group is our church. We encourage one another, support one another, learn from one another, and share life together. We red the scriptures, we pray, we celebrate Christ together. Eric said he and Tiffany decided to start this thing because they felt so disconnected in mainstream churches, wanted the intimacy of community rather than the Sunday Morning show of it. I’ve been wanting to “get back into church” for so long, but have been fearful of the social dimensions. Now I find that I belong to a group of Christians who know and love one another and it’s like God’s saying, “Obviously you’re making an effort, so here you go.”

Friday. Isaac and I opened together, and Sarah and I polished off a Rock Bottom growler during the lunch rush. Blake & Andy went to a Bill Callahan show 2 ½ hours away, and before they left Andy and I talked World War One history while Blake took a poop. The “Love” battles of Verdun & the Somme, Canadians kicking Boche ass on Vimy Ridge and at bloody Passchendale. Andy’s one of the few I can seriously talk history with, and I treasure that. Ams came over around 6:30 and we watched Youtube videos by “Of Mice & Men” (err, Of Monsters and Men; I do that, like, every time). Damned Steinbeck! We played Call of Duty and watched SVU and picked up Subway for dinner. I ate so much I felt sick.

Saturday. I slept ten hours last night. Went by UDF for coffee, and there was a super cute girl there buying cigarettes. But when she opened her mouth, she wasn’t too cute after all. Ghetto Appalachian speak isn’t a turn on for me, though I do miss White Trash Wednesdays with Dylan and Tyler, when we would drink beers and smoke Pall Malls on the front porch in Dayton. Mo called me today, updated me on her life: she’s dating a guy named Steve and is very happy. “Are you dating anyone?” she asked. I told her, “No, but I’m not making an effort. Besides, girls don’t exactly like up to be with me.” That first part is a half-lie: I do have a POF account, and I’ve been messaging women off-and-on, but my replies have gone from scant to nothing since I stated my devotion to God and desire for a Christian woman and a Christ-centered relationship. It seems no one, at least on POF, is into that. Hearing that Mo’s moved on and is happy gives me both (a) relief, especially after all that I put her through, and (b) invites rumination. She’s moved on to better things, a better relationship, and I’m treading water. Her boyfriend has a “real” job and is in a band. I’m stuck at a shitty job, barely have a working car, and am surrounded by people whose dreams are coming true while mine rot in the trenches. Rumination threatens to turn my world dark and cold, the questions and insecurities about my life, myself, and God growing louder. Mandy K. was wise not to be with me, and Mo’s better off without me; so why should I try to make any effort at all? Why should I entertain hope? Exaggerated and irrational thoughts that MUST be put down through persistence and prayer. I went to the Loth House for afternoon festivities: beer pong and hanging in the backyard with John & Brandy, Aaron, Sabrina, and Sarah S. I went to The Anchor for a bit and returned to Brandy’s birthday bash to devour some pizza, kick ass in Mario-Kart, and enjoyed the company of Blake & Traci, Ams and Josh, and of course Andy & Amos. Edith was HAMMERED off vodka, drinking it like beer, and she was all up on me. I kept trying to avoid her, eventually gave up and just went home.

Cinco de Mayo! I ferried Dad to and from The Flying Pig, and Ams met up with us at The Anchor for lunch: a goetta omelet smothered in onions and cheese. Dad headed home, and Ams and I spent the afternoon watching The Colbert Report. She left and I went to The Anchor for a second time, and I spent the rest of the evening reading.