i need another story

December will be a busy month.

Christmas - gift hunting, wrapping and giving, get-togethers, dinners, stuffing my face, etc.

Car hunting - my trusty Plymouth Breeze blew a gasket, causing it to leak oil like a --. For now, I am continuously pouring oil down its throat until I can find a replacement/the engine seizes.

House hunting - Taylor and I's lease is up February 1st, and he is moving back in with his parents to go to school full-time. I'll be moving in with Celeste, the girl who took his room for three months while he was gone in Peru. I will miss Chaircat, but not her endless amount of loose fur. My couch will also not miss Chaircat.

and around all of that - Packing! As I will be leaving for Portugal Jan 1st and not returning until the 27th (yes, yes I am doing it - I am going on my adventure!), I must pack up my life this month so when I return to this side of the world I can move on out to my new digs.

I believe I can do this. Fortunately for me I work in a coffee shop. Caffeine will be ever-present in my body the next few weeks.

Wish me luck and above all, productivity.

moderate astigmatism.

When I was about thirteen, I noticed I couldn't see as well as I used to. 

I first noticed while I was writing an exam in the gym. Whenever I looked up from my paper, I had a serious problem focusing on anything more than ten feet away from me. 

I thought it must have been a combination of the florescent lighting, stress of my Social Studies exam I hadn't studied for very thoroughly, and the inordinate amount of 'Jolt' Cola I had consumed during 'Health Snack Break' (or whatever the School District had decided to eversocleverly re-name Recess as to subliminally coerce us into choosing more 'nutritionally conscious' snacks from the vending machines. They also later made the rational decision to cover the offending vending machines in black construction paper until Lunch Time; when our developing bodies would be much more able to process and properly digest refined sugar and saturated fat. My only qualm with this message - besides becoming unable to purchase my beloved Caramilk bars - was that a new, fresh piece of paper was used EVERY DAY to obstruct the demon junk food from our piggy eyes. So, really what SD34 was telling us underhandedly is that delayed gratification>environment and fiscal responsibility.)

I seemed to have been pleased with my self diagnostic abilities and stopped questioning my need for glasses.  Later that day I failed to recognize the "Men's" symbol on the upstairs restroom and walked in on my Woodworking Teacher using the facilities. Why was he in the student bathroom? Why did my grade suddenly jump 20% in his class?* These unanswered questions still haunt me sometimes while I lay awake in bed. That and the sordid amount of caffeine I consume on a daily basis. 

I began to accept that my eyesight was totally normal. As I began to drive, I noticed a distinct difference between my response time at recognizing signs and pedestrians and my mother's, but figured it was because I needed practice as a 'learning driver' and that she was overly paranoid. I had passed the 'eye test' given at the time of my L test at any rate. Did it help I could see the answer sheet? Maybe. 
 
As Highschool came and went; many exams in brightly lit, overly caffeinated environments came with it. Same thing. Focus too hard on paper, become unable to properly distinguish faces or depth beyond ten feet. Normal. 

It was only when I started to work at Starbucks after I turned 18 that I came to terms with the fact that I, indeed, probably needed glasses. My fellow baristas kindly let me know it is a problem when you are unable to distinguish between cuteCaramelFrappuccinoguy and oldcreepyGrandeAmericano man from ten feet away. Hawkward. 

Okay, okay. I need glasses. I agreed. 

But I should sign up for Starbucks benefits first. Why should I pay full price? Silly. 

Three years and countless incidences of failure to recognize family members or curves in the road later, I booked an eye test this last October. 

As I stood just outside the examination room in Costco,** massive eye-testing contraption perched on my face - I could see. I could see the glimmer of bulk Heinz three aisles down. I could easily spot my mother perusing the selection of Garth Glasses - fifteen feet away! 

I walked out the proper set of doors that afternoon with a newfound sense of self congratulatory pride. Look at me, mom! Look! MOUNTAINSARENTTHEYBEAUTIFUL! 

Glasses off. Blurry blue lumps in the distance. 

Glasses on. MOUNTAINSMOOMMOM.

 Glasses off. Mom? Mom? Where did you

Glasses on. Oh hi mom. 

Glassesonglassesoffglassesonglassessoff

I wore my glasses for about a week. 





*just kidding, mom. Please don't call the School Board. 

**it turns out that my 'moderate astigmatism could have been fixed at an earlier age if I had been diagnosed and wore corrective lenses throughout my early Highschool years. Oops. 

don't mess around.

I never learn.

Today marks another tally on the countless amounts of times I have fallen for my own tricks.

Take four AM shift.

Agree to go out the night prior.

Come home in the wee hours of the morning.

Sleep. Nap.

Wake up. Cry a little.

Go to work.

Ingest inordinate amounts of caffeine.

Make a fool of myself (but be miraculously efficient making drinks)

Become a Starbucks Zombie in the home stretch of the shift.

Return to bed.

Nap. Sleep forever.

and they don't even know.

I wish there were more hours in the day, I truly do. Or, perhaps that I had a time-turner like Hermione. I wouldn't use it to save the lives of convicted murderers or Hippogriffs, but to do laundry and go grocery shopping. Maybe what I really need is to ingest more caffeine. That's it. I don't need more hours in the day, per se - just more hours I am awake during the day. Good thinking. Good thing I work at Starbucks. Coffee at my fingertips (and all over my body by the time I'm done a shift). Oo, all over my body. Its not as sexy as it sounds. Unless you like the taste of stale dairy. That would be troubling on a number of levels.
Speaking of Starbucks/caffeine; I have most recently become one that I hate. Three weeks ago, I finally came to the conclusion that I am lactose-intolerant, and probably have been for the entire three years I have been employed at Starbucks. Brilliant. So, I began to drink soy - and my regular drink order started to become more complicated.
See, I don't mind making 'complicated' beverages. It's my job. Using a different syrup, steaming the milk a little hotter, scooping off the foam. Big whoop. It's what we're here for. I'm just embarrassed to order my drink in front of other people. Specifically, non-partners.
Once upon a time, the most 'specific' beverage I was known to order was a double tall mocha. That's a tall mocha with an extra shot of espresso. NBD, really. Now,somehow since I started drinking soy, it would appear to the general public I am some kind of high-maintenance, pretentious princess.
Are you ready? My new favourite drink of choice is a: double tall, three-pump, soy, extra caramel, extra foam caramel macciato. To the barista creating the drink, its nothing, really. Like I said, just an extra shot, extra pump of syrup, etc. But to the register partner punching it in (especally with our new systems) and the customers behind me - boy do I sound like a monster. I'm not, I promise.
But I will be if you give me regular milk :)
Haha, just kidding.
But really.
I will have a stomach-ache.
And I will find you.
Sirius Black.