Felicity's chasing imaginary mice in the kitchen again. Or maybe she's just practicing her technique. Either way, its almost as amusing as when there is actually a mouse scurrying around. Actually...I thinks its better this way, since I don't have to listen to the poor mouse squealing in terror. Ugh, I feel really bad for mice now. I'm glad I'm not a mouse.

I had a bizzarre time in CC today, all I could think about why "Why do we have eyebrows? Do they actually serve a purpose?". I finally broke down and asked Heather, who has an uncanny knowledge of such subjects. I felt enlightened the rest of the day. Well, except when I was irritated by every person I crossed paths with (( I'm very very sorry Martin that I didn't stay after, but I figured I wouldn't be much of a help if I was in a bad mood screaming at people. I think it was better this way. Less bloodshed.))

Mrs. Geisetto wants to submit one of the things I wrote for english into her college writing thingama. I wrote a sketch on this guy who comes into the diner. This is it if you want to read it:


Ron

We all know Ron. “He’s a nice guy,” all the waitresses say. He comes in every day, two or three times. Sometimes for just a cup of coffee and the company. You never see his car drive up- I don’t even know if he has one- but you’ll look up from the table you’re clearing and see his old coat hanging lonely on the rack, heavy and worn around the edges, kind of like him. He’ll be there at the counter, hunched over his reflection in the Formica, already with a mug in front of him because all the waitresses know what he drinks. “Hi Ron,” we’ll all say, “how are you?” Ron isn’t the type of person that you notice right away…your eyes just drift over him, not really taking in the flat gray of his military haircut or his twitching hands with their short, straight nails. You don’t really see his glasses with the thick yellowed lenses that exaggerate his eyes and the creases in his skin, making him seem years older than he probably is. But he never forgets your name. “Hi Ashley,” he replies, “how’s school going?” The conversation keeps up for a while longer, but you only have so much time to talk when you’re working. You’ll walk by him a couple times before you realize that he is talking softly, reciting muffled war stories and curses in raspy monotone. Soon you don’t even notice him anymore, his voice melding with vague conversations and the dull rattling of fiestaware. The next time you pass the counter and think to look up, the only thing that proves he was ever there is an empty coffee mug and his smudged fingerprints on the countertop. “He’s a nice guy,” all the waitresses say as someone else sits down. “He’s harmless.”



Yeah, that's it. I don't really think its the best thing I've ever done, far from it, but Geisetto liked it, so... I'll go with it. We'll see what happens.


I won't get to post for about a week, so have an awesome Thanksgiving. Tell your family and friends you love them. It's a good holiday.

ash @ 10:46 PM