Rooted, I used to think.

Profile - Archive- RSS
Notes - Email - Diaryland

Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Day Fifteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Fourteen - Saturday, Feb. 09, 2019
Day Thirteen - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019
Atonement - Thursday, Feb. 07, 2019

2002-05-13 @ 10:36 p.m.
Over, over, o v e r

I wore nice clothes to work on friday. My 'office kitten' uniform of baby blue button down shirt over white tank with tight black pants. Plus I actually did my hair instead of pony-tailing it. Not sure what inspired me, but the effort did not go unnoticed. I walked into the lab to talk to a tech about donating blood (we get $4 a vial, and it's used in the lab instead of buying it from the hospitals) and I walked by this guy who's on my R&D team. As I walked out, he said "Hey! That's a nice outfit. I like it." I quietly said thanks, trying to minimize what he had just said; my boss was beside me at that point.

On my first day, I decided that I like the look of this guy. Mini-crush. But then later I discovered he'd been married, divorced, and remarried, now with toddler son. So he's obviously off-limits. Perhaps the attraction is mutual. Anyhow, it was nice to get a genuine compliment from an attractive 30-something male. Too bad he's old, all hooked up, and with a messy past.

So I went down to read on the sand of the beach yesterday. Sun shining down and breeze blowing ever strong from the west. It was a moving painting. The dogs leaping to catch frisbees in the air. The children with the pails of sand, building sandcastles and hoisting flags of seaweed. Couples hand in hand over the hard-packed sand. And the waves, oh the waves, how they roll in and break in a series down the shore. Ever lapping crashing breaking waves. Over, over, over. Gulls screaming. And the kites flying high, way up above the gulls. Heron with his long neck gracefully skimming the surface of the sea, his croak a contradiction to his beauty. Such a place. Over, over, over.

And back I went at dusk, to see how the land transforms to the tranquil night. Fires spotting down the beach, shadows dancing across the sand. Laughter in the night air, guitars and voices hum. I walked side by side with Dave. Ex-psycho-Dave. And he repented about his actions in the past. And touched my hair. And hugged me tight. But I left him standing with his dog and his truck. I drove off into the night, home, alone. And he went home too, to smoke pot for sure.

Roots | Shoots