sWell (shakewell) wrote,

i thougth i saw zeb on campus today...

... but it was just some fat dude with bleached hair.

i guess i must constantly have this look on my face that says to people, "please tell me your deepest, darkest, dirtiest business. i'm dying to hear every last detail." i'm not sure i'd recognize this look if i saw it, but everyone else seems to. maybe it's like how my mom complained that i was always frowning when, in actuality, that's just what i look like.

speaking of frowning, i saw this despondant girl at penn station today. i watched her squeeze lemons for 20 minutes. she was definitely putting some effort into her sad face though. poor thing.

anyway, this woman at work (whom i've only met once before) came up to tell me i had something on the seat of my pants this morning. she went on to tell me that she doesn't just go around looking at butts, but she does just see those kinds of things because she's so short.

i don't know about you, but i make a conscious effort not to look at people's butts, groins and breasts. sure, there are unavoidable situations where you accidentally look or you must look, but it's certainly not all the time. i don't care how short you are. well, unless your a midget. then i suppose it's hard not to look.

back to the story... inside of five minutes this woman somehow manages to swing the conversation to the night she caught her husband cheating on her. i will spare you the graphic details, but it was entirely disgusting to me.

but what was more disgusting was that this woman was even telling me this at all. maybe she just needed to get it off her chest. maybe she really was checking out my butt and she wanted me to pity dyke out with her. i mean, she couldn't have been expecting me to feel sympathy for her or anything. she's still with the prick!

so i just walked away. i may have said something like "gee, that sucks." or "huh." but that's all she got. sheesh. i don't even tell my friends that kind of stuff. you can't dump on people you don't know. you've got to allow them to buy into the value of a relationship first.

but, you know, i don't think she even wanted my advice. she didn't ask me what i thought or anything. hell, maybe she just wanted to seem cool. but i can't imagine why anyone would bother trying to impress me.

so, whatever. too many people talk to me about too many personal issues. maybe i should go into psychoanlysis or something. or social work.

i remember when ben told me he wanted to go into social work. i was so surprised at first. i just always thought he'd go into some aspect of the music biz because he's such a fan. but the more i thought about it, the more it seemed to fit. and when joe and i broke up he was definitely a big part of my support system. ben's got a big heart.

but now he's selling cars. it's probably better for him that way. more money i'm sure. more love for his little family and close friends. social work seems hard on people. exasperating. but maybe that's tv. the social worker at the clinic is way too happy most of the time. though i have heard her go off once or twice.

sometimes i think about how hard it will be to be a teacher. i'll be so broke for so long. i'll be like mrs. eberts driving shitty cars to school that break down when i drive in from out in no man's land where real estate is cheaper. and i'll be paying off my student loans for ages. so then i can get a 30-year mortgage and blah, blah, blah...

but then i remember spencer-pierce and mr. jones. mr. nemeth, mrs. cummins, mrs. forness (goodman), mr. gavin, mrs. harrell, madame hill, mr. kuppler, mr. lindquist. even deffenbaugh, carpenter, herr keach. people who gave a shit and made at least a little different.

and i just don't think i could live with myself if i passed that up for money. then again, i don't need money at the moment. ask me again when my parents get cancer and die. ask me when my sister needs someone to pay her gas bill the next winter.

i'd sell my soul if i could for the people i love.
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