A Tale of Two Bananas

I had to go grocery shopping after work on Friday night. First off, Friday was the first day of the roughest weekend I've had in a long time. At the time I was in relatively good spirits so we'll leave it at that.

Anyway, I'm just walking around the produce section with my newfound desire to eat more healthy. I remembered that bananas were on sale for $0.38 a pound. I like bananas so I figured I'd get some. 

So I picked up a smaller bundle thinking I wasn't going to eat that much. After figuring out the price I realized that if bananas were so cheap, I might as well just get some more. I put the first bundle down and grabbed a bigger, greener bundle of bananas. I placed them on the scale and figured out the cost and went on my merry little way. 

I got home some time later and started putting my groceries away. That's when I noticed they were missing.  Did I leave them in the cart? Were they still at the store? 

I pulled out my receipt and glanced over it.  I didn't even buy them. What did I do with those bananas? 

It hit me. I'd left them sitting on the scale in the produce section! Now I have no bananas. That's why you don't go grocery shopping at 11:30 at night. 

One moment...

I was working tonight when a little boy, okay so he was like 9 but that's not the point, was goofing around with his older brother and hit the back of his head in the Zone. I was bagging the groceries for him mom when he came up with blood streaming down the back of his neck. He had a gash in the back of his head. I immediately felt an adrenaline rush and called my manager over to take care of the problem.

My heart was pounding in my chest and my hands were shaking. I tried to stay calm and I did everything that I was expected to do. But even afterwards my hands were still shaking, I almost wondered if I might faint. Now, the sight of blood doesn't make me squeemish but something about where the wound was just took me to another time and place.

Suddenly I could see myself nine years old barefoot in long pants, running the short block to the church house. My mom had just recently been put in the Young Women's and I think my dad was involved with scouts or something like that. It was just me and my two younger brothers, who were six and three at the time, left at home.
We were watching Mary Poppins. I've only seen Mary Poppins once since that day. Landon, the three year old, and Logan, the six year old, were goofing around. I think I was just hanging out in the chair enjoying my newfound 'adulthood'. I think this was the first time I'd ever actually babysat my younger brothers. Mom was only at the church.

Landon bounced from the edge of the couch onto a metal pot which held a large house plant. Most of the details are a blur. I remember seeing blood on the back of Landon's shirt and my blood started racing. What was I supposed to do? Apparently, there is only one thing to do. I left my six year old brother with my three year old brother who had a bleeding head wound, and ran to the church. I think I was panting and half sobbing when I found my mom.

There is more blur. Mom ran home, tried to take care of it herself. Lost her keys in our bathroom. Found a ride to Aunt Diana's house, which was just past the church, got Aunt Diana to take us to the emergency room.  Me and Logan sat and waited in the waiting room. Mom found her keys in the sink in our bathroom, when we returned home with a newly stitched up Landon.

The part I remember most: Running to the church. I had no shoes on. I was crying. I'd left my SIX year old brother there because I didn't know what else to do. This was the day before Cell phones were really that common. I remember the relief I felt as I walked home, my mom running in front of me to get to my little brother. My little brother that I should have been watching better so he wouldn't have got hurt.
All it takes is one little moment to bring back an old memory. It's been 12 years. But some of the details from that day are so clear. One little moment...

Feels like an uphill battle

I'm trying to sell my contract for my apartment. I really didn't think it would be so hard. I thought there would be enough people that would jump on the chance to get a decent apartment. I've had two people contact me. I guess my biggest problem is that I am impatient. I want it to be sold. And now! In all honesty, there is no big hurry for me to move out. My rent is almost all paid for the year and my roommates are really quite nice. I just don't want to wait anymore!!

I've posted my info everywhere. Campus- the TSC and the Institute, Online-KSL.com, The Statesman online, Craigslist, logan.biz, Facebook Marketplace, and just on my status! Only two people have gotten back to me and it was from Craigslist. I think I lost the one girl after I told her that there isn't a washer and dryer in the apartment.

The other girl is... well very interesting from what I can tell. She'd from Finland and she is a "young professional". I don't think she understands what exactly I'm offering. And because her grasp of English is very... limited (she's apparantly lived here for 13 years) it's very hard to make her understand. At first she thought she was moving in with me. I think she now understands that I'm moving and she's taking my place and that she's moving into a furnished apartment with three other girls, who are students. I feel bad about foisting a foreign roommate on my current roommates. But student housing is a crap-shoot. Unless you have all your roommates picked out before hand you don't really know what you're going to get.

Whew, now that I have that all out. Maybe I can breathe. I'm really hoping that something works out. Whether with this Finnish girl or with someone else. I'm ready to move on. Wish me luck.

When I grow up

I'm going into my fourth year here at USU and as I get closer to graduation the more I get asked about my future plans. First off, I don't think it's really anyone's business what my plans are. But usually I humor them by telling them something. Usually it's along the lines of me saying that I'm thinking about editing. Well I've only been in my editing class for a week and I already know that I don't think I'd enjoy it, at least not professionally.

All I want to do is be a librarian. I want to be surrounded by books and the Dewey Decimal system. I don't want to be a copy-editor. I don't want to layout magazines. I don't want to create/design websites. I just want to be... Marian the Librarian.

I feel like I'm only going through these classes to get a degree. I don't even really want to use the degree. I recognize that the skills I get will certainly be helpful to me as I go out into the world. I just hate when my professors say that when I'm an editor or when I'm a technical writer I'm going to do this or my boss in going to have me do that. Blah blah blah. I don't want to do that.

When I first started in the program I really thought that I would use the degree and get a job in that field. But as I've gone along I find that I don't really enjoy it. I do enjoy using Illustrator and Photoshop to create documents. And I enjoy creating documents. But to do it professionally... not so much. I want to write fiction. I think I'm good at that.

So in conclusion; I want to be a librarian and write my fiction. Is that too much to ask?

Rednecks

I was watching a show with my dad last night on the History channel. It was the most redneck show I think I've ever seen. It was about guys in Louisiana who hunt alligators. That should be all the explanation you need. They would talk and every heavily accented word they said just confirmed their Redneckiness.

You know that part in Napoleon Dynamite where that old farmer is talking when Napoleon goes to work at the chicken farm? Well imagine something similar to that. As my brother pointed out, they had a tendency to not finish their words.

Now, I have nothing against rednecks being that I'm practically half redneck myself, on my dad's side. It was just such an obvious display of redneck tendencies. Thank goodness I can tamp down those urges. Ha ha ha.