Day Sixteen: Showoff

Note: I was unable to post last night because of a thunderstorm power outage. Actually, my grandparents just unplugged the internet router.

I woke up in one of my token hate-the-world moods. I don't know why, but I'm blaming you.

I went to the interview early. Thirty minutes, giving me time to wander around downtown Laconia and take snapshots. I took 189 pictures today, most of which I deleted and not all from downtown either. I haven't uploaded even a quarter of the total I've taken here, averaging about 50 pictures a day.

The interview went well. He was pretending to be nice to me, I was pretending to be a hard-worker. Showing off. I am already very familiar with how a newspaper works and all, so I kept spouting off random jargon. AP Stylebook. Feature story. Word-count. They seem to want to baby me, which I'm fine with. But still, I want them to know I can write the news. They asked if I could sometime do an online feature with a less professional, more personal spin. "You mean a blog?" I do that in my free-time, for fun!

So I easily got the internship. It pays. I didn't ask how much.

I took way too long to apply for this position. I wasn't really sure I wanted it. I wasn't really sure I wanted to even work as a writer anymore. For a couple months, I was having some serious doubt about where I wanted my life to lead. But today I was so excited and happy and at peace with myself for this minor accomplishment. I think I was right about this, at the very least.

I will be doing two primary things: data entry, which I am already doing for my uncle's company. Which I hate. Which is mind numbingly boring. But I'd much prefer doing it for the Citizen than the Man.

It's been hot and humid lately. My cousin Matt came over and we swam in the lake. It was still cold for me and gross as usual. Big oil spills of pollen were gushing everywhere and it got all over me. I poked at a dead fish. It looked cut up from a boat rudder, its guts unfolded, its eyes missing.

Later, my cousins and I took another bike ride. We set off firecrackers. For a Desert Child like me, where these toys are illegal, I was really excited. I love being destructive. We took our canes and hit them at each other, spraying sparks at our knees. We tried to make a few modified firecrackers, but they barely worked. Except when Mark taped a dozen sparklers together and lit them and it launched into their trashcan and set it on fire.

Most of these crackers were bells and whistles. Showing off. Nothing special. They make these things too safe nowadays.

I drove home, as the clouds were lighting up with a thunderstorm. Showing off. But not entirely. It's raining now, and there's that occasional clap, and this is the sound I will fall asleep to.

Day Three: Opium Eater

I've discovered quite a lot in that basement. I found Do-It-Yourself Strip Tease. I wonder if they have strip teases where you don't do it alone. I found an old Bible. Provocative Piano by Dick Hyman. No better name for that album. A collection of Gregorian chants.

A bunch of short stories, including Confessions of an English Opium Eater by Thomas De Quincey. It is such a dark, beautiful memoir. It is exactly how I want to write A Link to the Past, a short story I'm kicking around.

I want to read and and do nothing but educate myself. In college, I was too busy to learn. I researched Agent Orange. The pictures are horrifying but they fascinate me.

I went with my grandpa to take food to an invalid woman. Weird how all the invalids I've known smell the same. I like working with them tho.

Ate Syrian food. It's where I'm from and my grandparents cook it a lot. It was good.

They don't refrigerate their butter. Their jams are the best. Learned how to cook bacon.

Fell asleep in the car. Me and my apneas.

Got a callback from someone. We'll see if I get the job.

Met a woman named Rhonda. The first thing she said to me, "Do people often tell you you look like your father?"
"Anyone who knows us."
"Cuz you do." She chuckled. "Your father used to yell at me for not singing into the microphone."

She invited me to lead a Bible study with her next, for the youth. The kids are about my age. We're reading a book that questions how anyone knows God exists. I like it, but it's pretty elementary.

I would take more leadership opportunities, but no one offers them to me. I have a heart for service, but I won't pursue it. It's not laziness; it's fear. Who cares? It's probably for the best.

There are spiders in my house. They watch me shower and defecate. I won't kill them because they get the skeeters. They are my friends.

I went to a greenhouse to buy flowers. I found it really pretty.

This could be my diary. My personal journal has been neglected since I landed. I could write about my life like this all the time.

But I won't.