The ties that bind

I didn't go to see the city I went to see it around you.

And that's so true. I was looking for happiness more than a tourist shot. I wanted to figure this out. All of it. Instead we watched too many episodes of Intervention and I've never felt so much anxiety. But then too much time passes and now I feel awkward and sad and have no idea how you, or your new girlfriend, feel. I look back on that time with fondness and often wonder how that all happened. It's a good story, well, for everyone but me.

In unrelated news, this weekend was hard. I'll probably never forget that 6 a.m. text that said "please call me, i need help." My phone was on vibrate but woke me up, of course I called immediately. "I'm in the hospital and I don't know how I got here or what happened." Panic set in and then relief, simply because you were ok enough to make a phone call. And as the day went on and the details unfolded, I felt every emotion a big sister could feel. I was angry at how high your BAC was & how you went to a frat party with idiot girls. I was furious at whatever frat douche canoe asshole decided to slip GHB into your drink. It broke my heart when I had to ask if you'd been raped. I laid there in my bedroom, which had flooded last night and kept me up until 2 a.m., so thankful you were fine but so disheartened of what happened. I wanted you to be 3 years old again and take your hand because you were too scared of the slide. But now I'm hundreds of miles away and begging you to call our mom. And as much as I want to be angry, so angry at you. I can't be. The things I see in you that I'm most angry at, those are things I see in myself. I never ended up in a hospital, but I sure had my own nights that led to mornings of how the hell did I get here? But, damn. I couldn't imagine. I still can't. But the relief, the relief that you are okay.

The Opposite of the Chyrsler 200 Commercial

My job is hard. Not in the way that the actual act of doing the job is hard, because it's not. It's not at all. You drove drunk and sideswiped a car, you are at fault. Your car was hit while parked, you aren't at fault. Simple. It's being busy because all the time because people are awful drivers. It's being called a blind jackass or a worthless bitch by the driver of that 1999 Dodge Neon who didn't call the police after an accident or carry collision coverage. For the former, I'm just tired. Tired of working 7 am until 6 pm. Tired of working Saturday, the best of all the days. For the latter, I'm sad. I just don't like being yelled at. I don't want to be called those names and screamed at and hung up on. I'm just a girl in a cube in Kansas working long days. The days, the weeks, the months, they blend. I don't know if it's February and we're working on your 2002 Honda Civic rear ending or if it's April and we're talking about your 2004 Ford Focus failure to yield.

P.S. Mazdas & Pontiacs are rarely in my wrecks.

Bullshit Monday

Find yourself one day unexplainably really happy – but not extremely happy, and find yourself one day unexplainably really fucking depressed, but not that fucking depressed. In turn, just find everything completely predictable and safe – nothing can happen outside the structure you’ve come to understand, and let this depress you greatly, and let it be the source of your motivation and happiness. @thoughtcatalog

To me, this is life.