moving, gin, work (the fuck the holidays edition)

What is it about the holidays, man? It’s a fucking beast. At work people walk up foaming at the mouth, growling orders, staring a little too hard, challenging and short. Me and the girls are taking beatings, frantically moving, putting up the hard faced walls we need to protect ourselves. I mean, we try to smile through the angry rushes but that one person walks up again telling us what they need, skipping the thank yous, texting and snapping gum and suddenly our eyes are losing focus again and the red flushes our cheeks giving us away. When you walk up and the girl in the stained apron has the dead behind the eyes lord make it stop look and her hair is going this way and her hands shake a little, know that you did this. You did this to us. It may be why you get an edge the rest of year. Sorry. The holidays. Dramatic I know. But fuck it.

I’ve been really into gin lately. Again, fuck it.

I’ve been stealing into the night. Trying to forget the ripping pain of the man I’ve spent the last 2 years with telling me he doesn’t really want to know any more about me. What’s in a past anyway? I have strange secrets now. But whatever. I'm exploring.

Moving out feels exciting. First time since the duplex with the blue floors. This should be interesting. Council Bluffs, Iowa. How the fuck did I end up here?

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