All Bets Are Off

If there were any damns, craps, or flying flips to be given, there are none left now.

A war is on its way. I feel it rumbling underneath my feet like a train about to pass by.

And I think I’m the only one that knows it’s coming.

Crash and Burn

Everything just came screeching to a hault. It started with a vague text message, which wasn’t all that vague if you’re in the loop. I knew instantly what “I need to talk to you about something” meant, I just decided to be optimistic and hope that someone broke a leg or lost a baby or that I was expected to pay my own cell phone bill in the future. But no, alas, twas not any of those. And I’d much rather pay my own cell phone bill than what followed.

Words went spewing past my ears and down my neck and into my socks. Puddling around my feet and splashing around as I tried to make way in this new environment I’d been thrust into. But they couldn’t make it into my brain. I heard the first sentence containing all of the information I needed, and everything else swirled around me like a dust storm as I stared into nothingness and tried to form coherent thoughts and words. I couldn’t, but I tried.

I keep muddling through thoughts of what the future holds, or better yet, what it doesn’t. My emotions are changing by the minute: sad, angry, furious, anxious, apathetic, devastated. Mostly it goes between furious, devastated, and apathetic. I went shopping for groceries and sat down on the floor in the frozen food section and cried because I couldn’t keep moving. Everything around me is in pieces, all the time. Dreams and wishes and relationships. This was one thing that has lasted, but has crashed and burned in a staggering explosion. There are scars laid within my bones that are erupting and bleeding down my legs with the words spewed onto me. They are aching and swelling and making hard to breathe. Interrupting my sight with visions of a puzzle that can’t be put together.

Family is supposed to be the most important thing. Wedding vows are supposed to be permanent and everlasting. Blood is supposed to run thicker than water. But I suppose that if your family is shitty and broken, those are more of guidelines.

I’m so obsessed with families and connection and being close to the ones you’re related to. And no matter how much effort I put into this fucked up family, nothing changed. Divorces are soulcrushing to me. That’s when you know things are really going in the other direction, and that the past 7ish years of your life really were as awful as you thought you remembered them. I struggled and tried and prayed, and prayed, and prayed for family unity. I exhausted myself with the effort. It was in vain. Because obviously, our family was not meant to be fixed. It’s pretty clear that this was a lesson to be learned from and used to grow, not a fragmented glass meant to be glued back together.

I refuse to crash and burn.

Conclusions I have made in the last 4 hours.

• The decisions I have made that I feel really cruddy about after facebook stalking people who are doing “the norm” with their life (i.e. college, sororities, real jobs) are decisions I made for a reason. And I can’t lose sight of those reasons from simply seeing pictures of people in caps and gowns.
• I really do love coffee and serving people enough to pursue a coffee shop of my own. 
• I need to keep more food around. The unprepared kind of food. Like bacon and chicken and ground beef and steak. Learning to cook will be good for me. I love feeding people more than I know how to express in words. Also, I need to eat more. And having things like that around will help. Because fast food is expensive, unfulfilling, and fattening. Even if it is delicious. Go ahead, judge me. My name is Caitlin, and I love french fries, and I need help. 
• I need to sleep more. Not getting enough sleep makes me weepy. Silly things get to me, and I’m more stressed out, and sleep is capable of fixing about 80% of my mental problems I think. Because right now I am sad for virtually no reason. And I’ve been running on approximately 4 hours of sleep since 5:00 this morning. And this being-sad-for-no-reason hasn’t happened really at all since last semester when I never got any sleep. Lack of sleep ~ cranky bitch. It had to be said.
• I need to save money. Because a coffee shop won’t buy itself, and Colorado won’t move me there itself. Which reminds me:
• I need to move somewhere. Not even necessarily Colorado. That is the ultimate grand supreme dream, but I’m open to other possibilities. I just want to live somewhere with fresh air, snow in the winter, warm summers, and lots of grass and trees. Somewhere where I can grow an orange tree in my backyard. 
• I am tiny and insignificant and that is not a bad thing. 
• Perspective is healing.

Today’s Letters

Dear sleep, I miss you. Very much. I took you for granted when I still worked at Marco’s and rarely had to be there before four PM and never before ten AM. I’ll let you in on a secret though: I don’t work until 2:30 tomorrow, and we are going to have quite the reunion. Dear ten-thousandnth soft drink to hit the floor of my car while making a left turn, I can’t say what I want to you on here for fear of who reads this and might be offended by the severe foul language I want to shower you with. Thanks to you, my car will permanently smell like Dr.Pepper and/or it will forever have a sticky film directly under my feet. I must say, you sure know how to make a crappy day crappier. Dear coworker, if you are not even just a little bit nicer to me tomorrow, I really might lose my mind. I don’t think I can handle feeling like complete shit for another series of eight hours. What’s worse is that it’s not even plateaued or gotten better. Instead your blatant distaste for my presence is gradually growing larger and larger. Personally I think I’m pretty okay. I know that new people suck, but you’re not making it any easier for me not to suck. I am begging you to bear with me until I’m not new and awful anymore. Dear Caitlin, pull yourself together. Now is not appropriate time to be placing any worth in what people think.

On Work Days

So I’m at starbucks, on a thirty minute break, but I don’t have a car or money, so when my manager told me to go eat some food I chuckled. Food.

Also, it’s raining. So my first plan to walk around tiger town to waste my time was foiled. So I’m sitting on the patio with absolutely nothing to do for the next twenty-three minutes. It’s smells like dogs and cigarettes out here, and I want very much to just go home, but unfortunately I have to stick out the last three hours of my seven hour shift.

Somedays Starbucks is comfortable and I feel like I have a grasp on the place, but then there are days like today when it is clear that I am new and not wanted. So even though I hated Marco’s, the comfort and familiarity of everything there makes me sick to my stomach when I compare it to how uncomfortable I am here.

I’m sitting just close enough to the edge of the roof that stray drops are hitting my head. Normally I’d care, today I don’t. So I let them continue to hit me. I feel like I’ve been learning a lot about myself recently, but I feel like I have no way to express it. No venue.

I could, of course, express it in my writing, but every time I’ve tried it hasn’t felt right. So that won’t be happening, at least not yet.

I’m only 15 minutes in. Probably because I had nothing special to say in this blog. All of the good juicy blogs take about a half an hour or more. Oh well.

I hope your work day is far better than mine.

On Not Giving A Damn

My belly is full, and my heart at ease. This moment is untainted, this moment is a little bit of bliss. Sitting in my bed on top of crisp sheets, and under the feathery shelter of my down comforter. HGTV in the background, taunting me with what my home will never look like. Sipping on a doubleshot on ice that was free, because I happen to be a barista now. Just enough pillows to support me without making my neck hurt, and the smell of my cappuccino candle burning in the corner.

This is not an uncommon scenario, but this being blissful and relaxing is.

Peace is not something I come across often anymore. Before, it was Marco’s, Marco’s, Marco’s. Drama, stress, overworked, under-appreciated, m0re drama. Now it’s Starbuck’s, Starbuck’s, Starbuck’s. How many pumps of Mocha go in a frappuccino? How long do you steam milk for? How do you aerate the milk? I’m supposed to steam apple juice? There’s no tea in a chai tea latte? How many shots of espresso do I need? I’m supposed to put the shots on the iced caramel machiatto after the ice? Why do I have to say  ”no whip white mocha frappuccino” instead of “white chocolate mocha frappuccino with no whip”?

There’s also that constant fear that I’m pissing off my boyfriend, even though he’s never claimed to be pissed. But the fear is ever present because I’m stupid and well, afraid.

And then there’s Young Life or the lack of. Encountering people from Young Life is funny. Because they break out the cancer voice and skirt around my feelings and avoid talking about Young Life alltogether. Which kindof makes it worse. It’s okay to talk about it. I am sad, I do miss it, I do miss you. But I’m not damaged and I’m not dying. I’m a big kid now, I can use my words. And you can too. I think some of this might be due to the fact that they really wanted me to be a leader. I suspect I might have made some people angry. Also no one has called me since I quit, and I’m having flashbacks from leaving Cross Pointe Church in Georgia. Where you were in such a tightly woven community of people for 3 or 4 years, and you leave, and no one even asks you what happened or where you went. I moved to Alabama, Cross Pointe small group. After attending faithfully for 3 or so years every Sunday, I didn’t come back one Sunday and you never called me. A fifteen year old girl starving for love waited on you to ask what happened, and you never did. Oh but thank you, for still sending me tithing envelopes to this day.

But today is good, my mind is not too weighed down. I’ve been trying to tap into my creative juices and make them work again. Because I forgot that creating makes me feel better.

I’m confused by the world and our economy and politics and why people can know me for four years and forget me overnight. I’m frightened by a lack of knowledge and my new job and the state our country is in. But if there’s anything I’ve learned recently it is about not being anxious, and being forgiving. Because obviously I harbor hard feelings for long periods of time.

I forgive you small group leader who I will not name. I have stalked you via facebook since I left, and I know that even if you didn’t call me, you did good things with other girls, and that’s all that really matters.

I forgive you Young Life people, who seem to think I have a terminal disease. I do not, I am well, but thank you for your concern. I miss you, and it’s okay to talk to me still.

I refuse to be anxious about my job. I absolutely will not be anything but adamant when it comes to learning how to make the 500 drinks they offer.

I refuse to worry about my boyfriend being upset with me any longer. I will not tolerate such thoughts. He loves me. I love him. The end.

Today is good. Today I am thankful and forgiving and not in the least bit anxious. And I couldn’t ask for anything more.

I’m well aware that this blog lacks what you would call “flow” or “clarity” or perhaps “a point”, but frankly my dear, I just don’t give a damn.

I hate-a the mushrooms!

As much as I detest my place of work, for it’s lack of organization, structure, communication, functionality, the one thing that’s worth it is the customers. Not all the time. There are, of course, the typical complaining customers that nobody likes. And the ones that don’t speak clearly on the phone. And the ones that call before they know what they want and waste ten minutes of my time on what could have been a 30 second call.

But there are the few that really brighten my day and make customer service worth all the agony.

On Saturday morning I met the sweetest little Italian man ever. He strolled through the door right as we opened our door, with a smile. His face was worn, weathered, and tanned from years spent in the sun and smiling. The creases and faults showed a life well lived. His hair a lovely pot of salt and pepper and he walked up to me to begin his order.

“Hello, young lady! I need a pizza!” His accent was thick and enticing. I smiled back at him and laughed. I took his order, and as he was paying he began to explain why he needed the pizza. “My daughter, she is coming from Italy today! She is bringing my grandchildren and my new grandson to meet me!”  I gave him my congratulations as I saw his eyes welling up with tears. “I was going to make my own pizza for them, but they came a day early so I said, ‘I will get Marco’s for them!’” I told him he made the right choice and that I would personally make sure his pizza was perfect for his daughter and her children.

“Thank you, bella, thank you.” He wiped his eyes. And for the record, I thought Italian people only called girls bella in the movies. “You know, I used to make pizzas too, in Italy, when I was a little one like you!” Then he acted out the process of throwing dough, and I nearly died laughing. “There’s only one man in Italy who makes good pizza, everyone there says they make the best pizza pies, but no. There is only one. Do you know who that is?” I shook my head and told him no. “I will give you a hint, he does not live in Italy anymore.” He leaned forward and winked at me. “It is me!”

Seriously the cutest little old man I’d ever seen. I asked him why he was in America and not in Italy making the best pizzas. He explained to me he had to come for work, to make more money because his daughter was accepted into some prestigious university that he could not afford. “And now, bella, I have a different heart that has metal. They will not let me fly with it. That’s why she is coming here. Do you buy your family pizza when they come to visit?” I laughed and told him that most of my family lived here and got pizza from me very regularly. “Good, good. You have to show them that you love them. And for me and my family we show love with pizza. You see I got her favorite, mushrooms! I hate the mushrooms! But I love her and I’m happy she’s here, so I get mushrooms anyway.  That’s what you have to do for your family if you love them, you get the mushrooms anyway.”

I went about making the pizzas, stewing on what he had said. I’d had a coffee date with my dad earlier that morning that made us both teary eyed, and it seemed to be no coincidence that this man would come in to Marco’s to tell me about family and how important it is. When I was taking the man his pizzas, (one of which I made sure to include a piece without mushrooms) he grabbed my arm and told me to make sure I never lose contact with family. He never did, but his ex wife did, and now she is sad and lonely and no one brings her pizza. “Bella, people will always bring you pizza if you sometimes call them or mail them happy birthday cards. The little things count for big things.” Then I showed him the piece of pizza with no mushrooms and he hugged me and thanked me. He winked at me and said, “You understand.” Then he shouted a goodbye to the whole store, even though I was the one in there and yelled, “Imma going to meet my grandson! I’m the happiest man today, bella!”

I haven’t been that happy at work in a long time. He is right, you know? The little things count for big things, and you should sometimes get mushrooms on your pizza for the people you love. Even if you “hate-a the mushrooms!”

Cheers

Today is nothing special. It’s a Tuesday. I go to work in three hours. My coffee’s lukewarm on the verge of cold. I’m sitting in bed, with the boyfriend next to me – he’s reading the Hunger Games. Thanks to me, I guess that’s pretty special. How many of you have convinced your boyfriend to read a chick flick of a novel? But I digress. We’re contemplating the idea of chinese food for lunch, even though it made him sick last time. There is nothing extraordinary about today. At all. It is, in a sense, exactly the same as the last 500 days of my life. With the exception of a few minor details. Like the boyfriend and his reading a girl novel.

Even though today is somewhat indistinguishable from the rest of my life, it feels different. I feel aware. Alerted to certain things. My life is nowhere near where I wanted it to be. Hold up, don’t call the suicide hotline, I’m fine. Some parts of the plan would have been good, but I ruined them with bad decisions. And that’s okay. I guess I deserved it. A lot of those changes in the plan were pleasant surprises, though. It’s not what I wanted, what I imagined, what I so carefully plotted and dictated and tried my hardest to stay in control over. We all know I’m not really in control over anything. I just happen to be obsessed with pretending like I am, and trying my damnedest to take control.

It’s funny, really. To account for how far I am from where I wanted to be. There was a time when I was so engrossed with my clever plan that I wasn’t even moving. No progress. None. It’s interesting to me that since I have taken my eyes up from the map things have forged ahead without my consent. Not where I wanted to go, that’s for sure. But this is nice. And I am happy.

I know that I am happy, because I cried last night, and again today. That sounds slightly off. But during that time when I wasn’t getting anywhere I was so upset, and so stressed out, and so messed up that I was past crying. I could sit there and be sad, but no tears ever came. Being a girl, this is strange in and of itself. To be beyond crying. But crying last night and today over somewhat small matters reminds me that I’ve come so far. That I’ve progressed, and that I’m happy.

Sometimes you just need to be reminded that you’re happy.

So while control is something that I battle with and yearn for, I am at ease with where I am because it is good, and I am happy. If I had control, if it was up to me, things would be far different, and probably far worse. It’s quite humorous, really, to  line up my original plans with what I have now. To see what is better, what is the same, and what I could have avoided.

Tomorrow I will wake up, and it will be much like the past days. I’ll probably do some laundry though, and that will be a nice change. I don’t know if I’ll feel the same sense of alertness or even remember if I’m happy (especially after I clock in at work). But I will try to continue to relinquish control, because really it’s brought me great things. Better things than I designed within the confines of my wild and somewhat rampant imagination. Such as but not limited to: boyfriend who reads the Hunger Games, an agreement to start this coffee shop thing idea, a lease signed for a little brick house in the fall, a ukulele, the rediscovery of a love for art – making it that is.

So here’s to not getting what we want and instead getting what we need. Just like the song or whatever. Here’s to being okay with that. Here’s to crying to find out that you ‘re happy. Here’s to ten thousand more days that feel just like today, and just the one that finally feels different. And here’s to boyfriends reading the Hunger Games.

Cheers.

Why I’ve Been Sucking Lately.

Let me just start this off by saying that I am dumb. For more than a few reasons, but we’re only talking about one of those today because we don’t have that kind of time.

I am dumb because I thought I could do this alone. I have learned this lesson too many times to be learning it again. It has come full circle too many times for me to have fallen into it again. But, here I am.

Somehow I convinced myself that I was too far from the Lord to bridge the gap. I told myself that we both “needed space” and that I was just gonna do things on my own for a little while – dumb, I know. Like what is this? A silly high school relationship? My forgiving, merciful God doesn’t need space. I may have wanted the space. Because I was feeling convicted and in the wrong about too many things. We grew further and further until I was so frustrated with myself and him that I quit Young Life. Which besides writing and coffee may be the only thing I’ve ever been really passionate about.

Since then I have slowly tumbled down the stairwell of self-resentment, isolation, and exhaustion.

I have been pushing myself somewhat to the extremes trying to be good at things. And the silly thing about that is that because of my “break” with the Lord, I’m not really good at anything. Everything is twice as taxing, and twice as difficult to achieve. Which is mainly because of my attitude towards everything and everyone. And my horrible attitude is mainly due to my lack of time spent with the Lord. Oh. I can’t do this alone. Duh.

How many times am I going to have to learn this before I learn this.

“Since we live by the spirit, let us keep in step with the spirit. Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other.” Galations 5:25-26

BAM. Conviction. I suck.

I’m sorry for passing judgment instead of extending love. I’m sorry for being prideful instead of helpful. I’m sorry I was too worried about myself to care about anyone else.

Today’s Starbucks Letters

Dear girl at Starbucks, you are obnoxious. You have asked the poor guy making drinks to remake yours twice. And then your dad came up and had his sent back. And then the girl you were with had hers modified. And you were loudly complaining about his service. I could tell it was all he could do not to freak out on you. Dear frustrated Starbucks barista, I peeked in the tip jar. And there was like, maybe 60 cents. I’m sorry, I paid with the last three dollars I have. Please ignore those awful girls, because my drink is delightful. People here screw it up a lot, and this is so tasty. Kudos.  Dear guy sitting in front of me on the patio, you’re reading the Bible and praying. And this makes me feel guilty and ashamed of my lack of time in the word. I mean really, really guilty. Part of this guilt is derived from the fact that I spilled water all over my bible this morning right before I was about to try and force myself into reading it. I took it as a sign that it would be a better idea to wait. Dear loud girl on the phone, you talking about your success after college makes me feel very small and insignificant as I make pizzas for a living. Dear boyfriend, I’m only here because you told me to. Because I asked you to tell me to. Thanks for reading all of my secret “crazy” blogs from that period of time when I was, well, crazy. And telling me that it helped you to get to know me better. I’m glad you don’t think it’s nearly as shameful as I do. All you do is keep on surprising me. I’m glad you’re nowhere near as predictable as the boys I’ve encountered in the past. Also, confession: I’m writing this blog to avoid writing my book. Sorry. Dear Starbucks, thanks for being a safe writing environment. I define you as such because I am significantly less distracted here. Writing in my apartment proves to be a fruitless endeavor as I seem to live only in my room. Writing elsewhere is subject to many things, mainly my roommates. Who at any given moment can be seen parading through the apartment with curlers in their hair, listening to music at a somewhat obnoxious volume, or squealing with excitement about [insert fairly insignificant event here]. It’s not their fault, I’d probably do the same, but for whatever reason I can’t seem to get comfortable there. No worries though, soon enough I’ll be in my cute new house that I hope will be a safe writing environment. Never fear, Starbucks, you will always be my first choice for writing. Because after that 89 page start of a “novel” I wrote when I still lived in Atlanta, I learned to write well here. Through observation, quiet, the comforting aroma of coffee beans, a perk of caffeine, and a relationship with the baristas, you became my writing sanctuary. Dear dream of owning my own coffee shop, I haven’t spoken of you seriously to anyone except my boss when I asked him for advice. I haven’t told anyone that I am serious about it actually. I don’t think anyone knows I surf the internet when alone looking at business plans and budgeting ideas. Also, I don’t know how feasible you are. But if you happen, if you come to pass, I will call you “Perks*” with the asterisk. I don’t know why the asterisk though. Also, I thought asterisk was spelled “asterick” and I feel dumb now. Dear novel I’m avoiding, you’re the first piece of work I’ve ever been proud of. Also, you scare me in ridiculous amounts. Dear Bailey, I think I just asked you to read it. What? Also, you might be a key reason why Starbucks is my writing asylum, why I’m addicted to coffee, and why I take writing seriously. I couldn’t thank you well enough if I tried. Dear “also”, I used you way too much in this blog. Time to expand my vernacular. (Did you see what I did there? “Vernacular”? Pretty fancy. A nice start to the expansion of my knowledge of words if I do say so myself.)