Curiouser and Curiouser
Do you ever want to find the world undeniably beautiful. Where things happens for a reason. And true honest love exists.
Sometimes I feel like my love and feelings for other people are like a guilt trip sorta thing.
Over the last two days the smell of deployed airbag smoke has been swirling in my mind.
I had just got off work and gotten food and coffee ice cream that I am fond of. I tried to smile at everyone I saw. Some smiled back and others kept eating pizza bagel samples. The very attractive women cashier smiled at me. I feel that she was obligated. At my old job, When I worked at In-N-Out burger, I remember that we were obligated to smile and be interested in all of our customers. This is what I think the cashier is exhibiting with me. Her eyes were green, maybe contacts. Although she did seem too old to be worried about her less attractive dull brown eye color. My voice only spoke, "Thank you" or "Awesome" when she gave me my change.
I thought about her when I put my groceries in my car and when I almost hit a woman backing out of my parking space. The cashier had africanized features such as a widen nose and plump lips. And her skin was pale like a lilly. She wore thick makeup over her acne marked face and her bushy hair was in a function enabling ponytail.
My car eventually, under my control and without me really thinking about it, emerged out to a refreshingly clear 101 freeway. Then again without thought it merged on to the 405.
My old car struggled up the hill, going away from the valley. Going up the hill at about 55 miles an hour. Other cars whizzed past me going 70 at least.
Having a job where I rarely have any contact with people other than video editing their interviews to make them seem interesting, I find I remember and recount the times I do interact with new faces. I remember faces quite well. A replay conversations way to much.
"Would you like it all in one bag?" she asked me. I am still going up the 405.
I said, "Whatever work." I tell myself over and over I need a new job. Somewhere they have christmas parties and sex scandals.
When I arrived at the peak of my ascension I sped my car up to 65 miles an hour. One symptom of me not having a lot of contact with people is that I have to get love in glances and conversations in hellos and goodbyes. Cannot be good for anyone to fall in love at first sight every time you see another female face.
My car is speeding down the hill. I have my eyes on the road in front of me and my mind trying to figure out what is wrong with me.
How do I say something other than just the surface. Crash into crater stricken skin that splotches under peach make up. How do I make myself presentable in a world that I sleep and wonder about more than walk or create hypothetical conversations more than talk. Her "green" eyes come to mind again as the car in front of me whizzes out of our lane. Then another car whizzed from in front of me. Now there is a white car. The white car is at a complete stop. Quickly dunked into reality, I stomp on my breaks.
I remember now that am traveling at 60 miles an hour. And I am going down hill and the car that I am screeching toward is ten yards away.
My tires skid on the asphalt and my voice strains to scream. I see the white vehicle grow larger and larger. I turn my wheel, but in retrospect I am glad my car didn't waver in it's trajectory. If it did, I'm certain other cars would've been involved or worse I would've been t-boned.
So... I collide. My front passenger side bumper hits the rear driver side bumper of the white car. My air bag exploded open with smoke and what seemed like fire. I didn't have my life flash before my eyes. But something was true and ran through mind behind terror and guilt. I have never loved.
Our vehicles were sat in the middle of the still busy freeway. I call 911 and my voice was jumpy.
It could have been worse. I see auto accidents and extrications almost everyday at work. On screen. On a computer screen. I am a video editor. If you're wondering what editing program I use, Avid Media Composer. Week after week I edit people on their worst days of their lives. I edit for a reality show for firefighters and EMS workers. Basically like Deadliest Catch but with first responders (they hate that term). My employer records 24 hours with a fire department and interviews them. Just questions like, "Why did you become a firefighter?" or "What emergency incident changed the way you view your profession?". Basically asking them when did you start to turn off your emotions, crave fire and the smell of deployed air bags.
First Responders are numb to car accidents, burnt flesh and splattered brains.
The short hispanic man that arrived in the tow truck asked if I needed medical attention like I used to ask "Do you want onions on that?"
The police officer smiles when he asks, "Do you need me to file a police report?"
The girl who I hit's name is Farrah and her last name was from Israel. She was sweeter than she needed to be. Again her skin was pale and hair was curly. She was from the valley and complemented my drafting pen. I instantly want to hate for being nice. She had this ironic vernacular when her father arrived on the accident scene.
She introduced me, "Hey dad, this is the guy who hit me."
I wanted to laugh, but I smiled instead. Her father smiled under his beard and checked out Farrah's car.
I didn't call my mom for a ride until Farrah and the police had left the scene.
My mom screamed and asked if I was okay about 50 times.
We had to exchanged each others information. I got her number. I fight my will to call and ask if she is okay. She had no complaints on scene and I hope nothing came up.
I feel like a creep. I wonder constantly am I human.
Do you ever want to find the world undeniably beautiful. Where things happens for a reason. And true honest love exists.
Sometimes I feel like my love and feelings for other people are like a guilt trip sorta thing.
Over the last two days the smell of deployed airbag smoke has been swirling in my mind.
I had just got off work and gotten food and coffee ice cream that I am fond of. I tried to smile at everyone I saw. Some smiled back and others kept eating pizza bagel samples. The very attractive women cashier smiled at me. I feel that she was obligated. At my old job, When I worked at In-N-Out burger, I remember that we were obligated to smile and be interested in all of our customers. This is what I think the cashier is exhibiting with me. Her eyes were green, maybe contacts. Although she did seem too old to be worried about her less attractive dull brown eye color. My voice only spoke, "Thank you" or "Awesome" when she gave me my change.
I thought about her when I put my groceries in my car and when I almost hit a woman backing out of my parking space. The cashier had africanized features such as a widen nose and plump lips. And her skin was pale like a lilly. She wore thick makeup over her acne marked face and her bushy hair was in a function enabling ponytail.
My car eventually, under my control and without me really thinking about it, emerged out to a refreshingly clear 101 freeway. Then again without thought it merged on to the 405.
My old car struggled up the hill, going away from the valley. Going up the hill at about 55 miles an hour. Other cars whizzed past me going 70 at least.
Having a job where I rarely have any contact with people other than video editing their interviews to make them seem interesting, I find I remember and recount the times I do interact with new faces. I remember faces quite well. A replay conversations way to much.
"Would you like it all in one bag?" she asked me. I am still going up the 405.
I said, "Whatever work." I tell myself over and over I need a new job. Somewhere they have christmas parties and sex scandals.
When I arrived at the peak of my ascension I sped my car up to 65 miles an hour. One symptom of me not having a lot of contact with people is that I have to get love in glances and conversations in hellos and goodbyes. Cannot be good for anyone to fall in love at first sight every time you see another female face.
My car is speeding down the hill. I have my eyes on the road in front of me and my mind trying to figure out what is wrong with me.
How do I say something other than just the surface. Crash into crater stricken skin that splotches under peach make up. How do I make myself presentable in a world that I sleep and wonder about more than walk or create hypothetical conversations more than talk. Her "green" eyes come to mind again as the car in front of me whizzes out of our lane. Then another car whizzed from in front of me. Now there is a white car. The white car is at a complete stop. Quickly dunked into reality, I stomp on my breaks.
I remember now that am traveling at 60 miles an hour. And I am going down hill and the car that I am screeching toward is ten yards away.
My tires skid on the asphalt and my voice strains to scream. I see the white vehicle grow larger and larger. I turn my wheel, but in retrospect I am glad my car didn't waver in it's trajectory. If it did, I'm certain other cars would've been involved or worse I would've been t-boned.
So... I collide. My front passenger side bumper hits the rear driver side bumper of the white car. My air bag exploded open with smoke and what seemed like fire. I didn't have my life flash before my eyes. But something was true and ran through mind behind terror and guilt. I have never loved.
Our vehicles were sat in the middle of the still busy freeway. I call 911 and my voice was jumpy.
It could have been worse. I see auto accidents and extrications almost everyday at work. On screen. On a computer screen. I am a video editor. If you're wondering what editing program I use, Avid Media Composer. Week after week I edit people on their worst days of their lives. I edit for a reality show for firefighters and EMS workers. Basically like Deadliest Catch but with first responders (they hate that term). My employer records 24 hours with a fire department and interviews them. Just questions like, "Why did you become a firefighter?" or "What emergency incident changed the way you view your profession?". Basically asking them when did you start to turn off your emotions, crave fire and the smell of deployed air bags.
First Responders are numb to car accidents, burnt flesh and splattered brains.
The short hispanic man that arrived in the tow truck asked if I needed medical attention like I used to ask "Do you want onions on that?"
The police officer smiles when he asks, "Do you need me to file a police report?"
The girl who I hit's name is Farrah and her last name was from Israel. She was sweeter than she needed to be. Again her skin was pale and hair was curly. She was from the valley and complemented my drafting pen. I instantly want to hate for being nice. She had this ironic vernacular when her father arrived on the accident scene.
She introduced me, "Hey dad, this is the guy who hit me."
I wanted to laugh, but I smiled instead. Her father smiled under his beard and checked out Farrah's car.
I didn't call my mom for a ride until Farrah and the police had left the scene.
My mom screamed and asked if I was okay about 50 times.
We had to exchanged each others information. I got her number. I fight my will to call and ask if she is okay. She had no complaints on scene and I hope nothing came up.
I feel like a creep. I wonder constantly am I human.
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