Squeal and Squeak

I drive a Saturn, manual transmission car. It has four cylinders. Sometimes I hit the gas pedal a little harder than I need to or ought to, and my tires squeal. I giggle every time.

Yesterday, I told one of the salesguys at work that he'd offended me by calling me, "Giggly." And then I laughed so hard I hyperventilated.

When I meditate on my throat chakra, one of my mantras is, "I'm only as socially awkward as I think I am." I'm not sure it's working.

What I still can't figure out is why I don't go home sick when I get sick at work.

Nationalism

Zach came by on his fixie and we walked to the store to buy me some cigarettes. I was wearing lazy-woman's jeans (saggy, holes in the butt) and the shopowner saw my tattoo, which is written in Arabic script.

He asked where I was from, because of my tattoo. I said, "Around here." So he asked where I got that word from.

I said, "It's from a book about a shepherd in Spain who sells his sheep because he has a dream that there is treasure in the Pyramids. Why, can you read it?"

"Yes. Maktab. Do you know what it means?"

"Maktub. Destiny or fate."

"No, it means 'office.'"

So, I asked him where he was from (I think my interpretation is only true among some Muslims, not the whole of the Arabic-speaking world). He said, "I'm from the oil." And I couldn't understand him, so I asked him to repeat himself. Then, I laughed and said, "I was looking for a country...?" He said, "I am Iraqi."

I said, "I hope you have a more positive view of your nationality when you aren't around Americans."

He confessed that he'd come here as a refugee ten years ago. He then said something very bitter which I couldn't understand. I said, "So, you don't support the war in Iraq?" in as droll a way as I could manage. He laughed bitterly and said no. I asked him if he was happy that Saddam Hussein was out of power. He said, "I'll tell you something. Saddam Hussein is still alive, and the men in my country are dying."

I wished him good care and left. I hope that ... we can fix what we've done.

Absentee ballot.

Wow, it's been a while, huh?

For those of you wondering, I didn't die. Just been a little depressed, and had a few things happen that I couldn't talk about here. Besides that, I've been trying to put a little more of my life into my non-Internet life. And, my computer's still broken, so I don't get the same level of enjoyment out of it.

So, work is getting better, I think. I worry, though, I'm handling the new concepts pretty well, but I keep making sloppy mistakes. Like copying one line but forgetting to make both changes to update one unit's information. I bet typos just drive my boss nuts. I've always been a bit sloppy, it was just that I was right often enough that I didn't need to go over things one hundred times. Now, not so. So, I'm dealing with the blow to my ego of not knowing everything (can you believe it? and i'm 24!), and with having to do a lot of work over again, which just kills me.

Besides that, I worked out in the shop this week. I was really excited about it, but it was an old boy's club, and they left me to coat drain pans while my male counterparts got drills, electric screwdrivers, and roofs to assemble. And when I finished after about 2 hours, the guy sent me to lunch early and then only offered crushing boxes when I returned. I was so pissed off, I forgot to keep my thumb on the outside of my fist and sprained the thing punching out a box with copper staples in the bottom. I have a new appreciation for all the great things a functional thumb does for you.

I talked to the guy who manages production about working out in the shop some more (I'm gonna prove myself to those well-meaning chauvinists if it kills me! And, you know, it just might). Sounds like a good possibility I'll have another chance. I have been dreaming of caulk guns since I was 6.

The worst part about the day was that I knew everyone thought I was just pissed off because I got that shit in my hair. I hate being treated like a girl.

* * *

I started seeing someone. He's an old friend of my older bruvva's, which makes me more than a little nervous. I like him a lot, but I'm worried I'm not ready to try to make something happen with him. And it's only the second time we've hung out, but all my old insecurities are already bothering me.

* * *

I'm having lunch with my mom tomorrow. I had lunch with her a few weeks ago, and she mentioned that she always thought I didn't like her when I was young. It made me feel terrible, but I know that the reason for it is that I'm not always honest about my affections (I'm actually afraid to show affection, isn't that silly? My fear of rejection is absurd), and she has insecurities of her own. People say that kids never appreciate their parents until they have children of their own, but I'm doing my best to learn to before that happens. I think it's good for my soul.

I'm also hoping to interview my grandpa to learn about his life. He's a wonderful man, and I'm worried his mind is starting to fail. The only reason I hesitate is that I keep thinking I'll quit it after two weeks like I seem to be doing with everything these days. I think I'm being too hard on myself, though. If you're not failing, you aren't taking enough risks. And I think they would really enjoy hearing from me more. Would you think it was weird if I told you that I'm so unaccustomed to talking to other people that I don't even know what to say anymore?

* * *

I'm reading a great book right now. It's called, "Things Fall Apart," by Chinua Achebe. It was on my recommended books list in AP English, and the title appealed to me (I don't know if it's the source, but the book opens with a quote from one of my favorite poets, W. B. Yeats: "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold."). This quote sums up the whole book for me:

"There were seven drums and they were arranged according to their sizes in a long wooden basket. Three men beat them with sticks, working feverishly from one drum to another. They were possessed by the spirit of the drums."

It's a beautiful, humble but not heavy, book. I have to go to Africa, I just love the way books set there read.

Oh, yeah, and my new boy was in the Peace Corps in Africa.

* * *

My football team lost today. And me, I've been following this club a week and I think about dropping them. It's just that I really thought this match was a sure deal. It just seemed like they couldn't keep any momentum going to the goal, like they were a bunch of ball hogs and everyone wanted to show off their ballhandling skills. That's great in the midfield, but when the whole field is compressed into the goalbox, you gotta learn to take your shots when you can get them. But hey, maybe Man City was doing a better job of covering Arsenal than it looked.

We had everyone over to my place for the match. I got over-ambitious and made omelettes for all 6 present, and it took so long that I missed half of my game. I got chided by Mary (also, who chides you for making them an omelette?), "Next time, we'll bring food and do the cooking. You can't be doing this every weekend." It was hard to argue, though, omelettes take a lot of mental energy and I was wiped. Weird, it's like I'm not a short order cook or something.

Mary's birthday party is tonight. It's a wine party, and wine gives me heartburn, so I'm going to bring Red Stripe ("Beer. Hooray beer!"), which I think is Mary's favorite beer. Hopefully I won't be kicked out for not being a conformer.

I hope my readers are doing well. Ken, thanks for the message. Got the email, you'll be getting one from me.