Vibrating

Admittedly I am not sure how I intend to begin this post. Sorry to dash your hopes but a story about vibrators would make for an inappropriate blog post. No can do. There are future positions of employment at stake!

Now where do I go from here… do I discuss the industrious spiders who have determined that spinning a web about 5 feet 4 inches off the ground is worth their time and energy on a daily basis?

Or do I share a wonderful discovery? Said discovery was made at approximately 6:45a at Evergreen Hospital in Kirkland. Ok, the time and location is somewhat irrelevant, fine but I’m trying to write a story here. I love meaningless suspense; I integrate it into most of my stories. If you really get going, no one notices because they are responding to the delivery rather than the story. And let’s be honest, my stories can lack some substance from time to time. Like this one. (zip it, you know who you are)

Every morning, at the end of my shift, when all of you have been sleeping soundly (I’m not resentful), I ask myself an important question. What would be the ideal treat for staying up all night in this job? I respond really well to rewards (and attention and validation… in case you were wondering and don’t already know me well). So back to the question at hand. WHAT is the best reward for wrecking your sleep schedule? What is the best treat for a highly caffeinated, slightly nauseous individual daydreaming of back massages? What will suffice when your job poses an obstacle to engaging in normal interpersonal relationships with people who have NORMAL sleep schedules?

Today, my friends, my brain happened upon the answer. It is simple and so obvious. How I overlooked it in the first place boggles my mind. How I deprived myself of this simple pleasure for two years straight… beyond me. All this time, I could have been stopping to get a sandwich on the way home. WAWA! I mean, AH-HA!

I know, dumb story but I appreciate you making it this far. Today, I spent the entire drive across the 520 bridge thinking about how I was going to get a sandwich. It kept me awake, it kept me alert, it kept me focused. What a relief. This has been a burning question. Sorry to drag you along for the ride!

So I park at QFC, head in, note that the cranky guy is working the cash register, he’s so cranky. Is it worth a sandwich to take on his energy at this point in the game? Yes, sigh. I proceed to the sandwich counter (preparing myself for rejection), um, are you taking orders for sandwiches? BRACE YOURSELF. “Sure.” SIGH of relief.

It doesn’t occur to me that they might fail at constructing a decent sandwich until I watch the process unfold. I love sandwiches and observing someone else make me a sandwich can be painful. (My Dad is cringing right now, he’s worried I am going to tell the story of the WAWA employee who made us sandwiches on a fateful Saturday afternoon, he’s shaking his head, he can imagine me going into great detail about the number of… nope, not going to do it.)

Now this is a different type of unanticipated disappointment, while they are actually making me the sandwich, they are not making me the sandwich I had built up in my mind… between Kirkland and Seattle. I had already described it in great detail to a coworker who (I’ll have you know) enthusiastically endorsed the sandwich as an appropriate post work treat! Who wouldn’t?

It was fine. I am washing it down with a beer. Writing a blog post about sandwiches.

There were several topics swirling about in my head as I sat down with my sandwich. The list of activities I generated for myself a mere hour ago – what to do with one week off?

Oh and the meteor shower is coming! Who will sit in a field with me until 4a to see the most brilliant and fantastic flashes of light streak across the sky? I’ll bring beer.

Perhaps I should have written about conversing with Kobe and Jazz in a French accent. Le chat noir et le chien.

Or maybe I should ruminate on writing as I did when taking the exit ramp from 405. Could I write songs? I sing homemade songs as I move through my daily chores but what would happen if I put my mind to it? Blank.

Or perhaps I should go a little deeper to address what really stole my thoughts.

Deeper. A little more deep than I thought I would go driving home. You see, I’m developing a (yes, deep) resentment for Adele. Her song, her voice, and the timing. One song. Evoking. Extracting a precious commodity from deep beneath the earth’s surface. I feel nauseous all over again, all at once. I left those emotions behind, a few times over actually, thank you very much. I am reminded of my capacity for intensity.

So here I sit, vibrating with this tension, feeling it ripple through me. Not to be quelled with a sandwich and a beer.