Skip to main content

I'll Move Out of the Way for Her, Too

I need a hug.
Not because anything has happened or because I am sad or whatever.
I am just craving human contact. Some personal attention. A fucking warm, comforting hug.
I'm lonely.

I'm not sad today--today is a good day. I actually had a good week, for as long as it was. Worked with some wonderful people who I truly enjoy being stuck on a truck with, that made things so much better.

I kind of got the day off on Sunday, and got to hang around corporate getting paid to watch Dexter. What gets better than that? I did run a little around the hospitals, and I did have to drive a firefighter home and then turn back around because the same crew that ran the code he assisted on, left their BP cuffs on scene and the fire captain picked them up. Other than that, I didn't do much, and it was good.

Today is my day off this week. Bonnie is back, so after two shifts on HPC tomorrow and Thursday, I'll be back with Bonnie on our regular shift.

Two weeks from today, classes start.

That's pretty much it. I am going to try my hand again at writing something profound or intelligent or, at the least, eloquent. I am not going to post it here. But, I am hoping it will become something worthy of showing people.

No unsettling dreams last night, but I still didn't sleep soundly. I don't know what it is, but I wish it would stop. I wish I could just sleep straight through.

I think I am lonely, and I don't know how to remedy the situation. Some days, I just wish I could find love. 
Love and nothing else.

I Never Know What to Do With My Hands

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

I-5

On a chilly Sunday evening in mid-January, two young women rolled up to the TransAmerica Title Building on the outskirts of Salem, Oregon, just off Interstate 5, to clean the office. It was their usual Sunday job, though today they had gotten a bit of a late start, having to shower and stop for gas, so they didn't arrive to the business complex until after nine p.m. The office had wide, welcoming windows on every wall and, with the bright florescent lights flipped on, the effect was to create a fishbowl-like scene, the women bustling around in their duties like two busy, little fish. They'd left the door unlocked and entertained themselves by chatting to each other, the two of them best friends. They were Shari Hull, twenty-years-old and the daughter of the owner of the housekeeping company with which they were both employed, and Beth Wilmot, also twenty and a fairly recent transplant to Salem from Spokane, Washington. She'd come for work, and along with steady pay, she

By the Barrel of a Silver Gun (I-5 Part Two)

In early February of 1981, authorities from Salem flew down the Interstate 5 corridor and assembled with detectives and law officials from northern California and southern Oregon. Each detective had a crime, or two, in their jurisdiction matching a particular modus operandi , and the list of incidents just kept growing. When they gathered, they had no idea the scope of the mystery they were unraveling or just far it was going to reach. It started with a robbery. On December 9, 1980, in Vancouver, Washington, a gas station was held up at gun point, the female attendant left alone in the store. A man entered wearing a brown coat and a fake beard. He demanded cash and brandished a small, silver gun to prove he was serious. The cashier obliged.  A few days later, in Eugene, Oregon, on December thirteenth, a Baskin-Robbins was robbed by a man holding a silver gun and wearing a fake beard and a band aid across his nose.  In Albany, Oregon, a drive-in was hit on December fou

Wah Mee Massacre

On a chilly February night, five days after the start of the Chinese New Year, 1983, three young men walked into one of the most renowned, high-stakes gambling dens in the heart of Seattle's Chinatown International District and walked away with thousands of dollars of cash in their pockets and fourteen lives hanging in the balance in their wake.  The club was the Wah Mee, a sixty-year-old casino and bar that catered exclusively to Chinese clientele and hosted the highest-stakes illegal gambling in the Pacific Northwest. The men were 22-year-old Kwan Fai "Willie" Mak, 20-year-old Benjamin Ng, and 25-year-old Wai Chiu "Tony" Ng.  Willie Mak was born in Kwangtung Province in mainland China and immigrated to the US with his family in 1975 when he was fifteen. By 22, Willie was a high school drop out, working various jobs in and around Seattle, and had a penchant for gambling. He was well-known in the International District gambling clubs, including the Wah Me