Bus Thoughts 9-11-14

Is summer is for Courtney, then fall is for Liz. I reveal more of the soft intimate as I layer clothing. Or I should get checked for bipolar again.

This will be 2 buses and a light rail commute. More disjointed writing. More windows for life to peak into and see me finger typing. Oddity meets application.

I am resolving myself to waiting tables. I am planning ways to make life meet my standards, and ways to not reverse who is in charge here. It’s me. I’m in charge here. I can run my life in the way that is best for me. I’m the first and last word on my own happiness. And I deserve happy.

Pro Tip: Hang on to moments like the above, where happiness feels deserved. Reminder: reissue at next wave of fear.

The light rail is so much more accurate with time than the bus. I know it might just be me, but I want to credit Penta with that. That will always be one of the best jobs I’ve ever had.

I’ve never been so happy for 50 degree weather, tingly fingertips, and thick socks. Denver has a hushed tolerance of cloudy days, but I feel brought alive by the break from direct sunlight. Too many hurricane seasons leave me longing for days of misty grey. I enjoy my sunshine too, but I like to have a foil in my climate. Today the cloud cover is white, light longing to reach these tanned mountain towns. The sky stays bright. A marriage of my swampy storms and the ever-present sun.

I give far less than I used to. I wonder if it’s a sign of using my reserves for myself, or if I’m not as good of a person. Some experiences over the last three years have changed my core values.

I want to get my earrings fixed. I should really figure out that allergy. Maybe a charm will be my next body modification. I’m thinking a chess piece lately. A knight or a bishop, a 3 point piece. Probably the knight. Or maybe I just miss my grandpas.

Now I’m 40 minutes early to the interview. I have a bench and flowerbeds to keep me company.

Maybe being a Millennial has made me think I am the exception to the rule. I was discussing this with Matt while floating over South Broadway. I have to learn to be the rule. I gotta figure out this cog-in-society act. That idea should comfort me, that I am outstanding and beyond the pale, but instead it leaves me out, standing, beyond any color platte that blends.

I’ll take my layers that comfort me against the cold, and color my future with vibrancy.

Or it could be wholly different, and I fit firmly within the pale. Not a freckle of difference. I am already playing my cog role, and I do it so well that I am oblivious. Now we’re getting all Shutter Island, and I’m left in another insane alyssum analogy. Curse you, mind fuck movies. How I do love you so…

Eight minutes to write, then upstairs to be eagerly early, but not 30 minutes/desperately early. But cool, professional, the “I have places to be but I respect your time, too” amount of early. Cross your fingers for me.

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