About the pacing woman with the funny hat

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It was about two in the morning when I decided to go out for a smoke. I was visiting relatives in the mid west and since the last two nights it had been below freezing and when I came back inside it had caused my ears to sting I bundled up in my tackiest winter gear. I walked outside and like an idiot almost slipped on the ice again. I’m still not used to icy floors fuck this weather.
Anyway I’m visiting my grandparents at an independent living old folk’s home, so I always walk a distance away partially because I like to think I don’t want my smoke to somehow magically find it’s way into the ancient one’s ventilators or something and kill them in their sleep and partially because I just want to go for a walk. The holidays are always pretty stressful.
I’ve been going out to smoke in this parking lot area where there’s a roofed alcove with cars parked in it. Usually I’m alone except for occasionally a nurse about three hundred feet away on the night shift smoking a cigarette.
There was a woman pacing back and forth underneath this alcove smoking a cigarette and wearing an eared hat that reminded me of the one Holden Caulfield wears in Catcher in the Rye.
She kept pacing back and forth. She wasn’t wearing scrubs or anything, so I didn’t think she was a staff member.
It would have been kinda funky for me to just leave so I took out a cigarette and lit it, dooming myself to company which I didn’t feel bad about at all because subconsciously I wanted somebody to talk to.
Of course I kinda forgot that I was an adult because I still think of myself as a kid and if a woman sees a man and she’s alone in a parking lot and two in the morning then she gets scared because adults tend to rape each other, which kind of made me feel awful for not doing anything.
She was definitely wary when she saw me but she seemed pretty tough and her nose was red and there was some red hair peeking out from underneath her weird hat. She had on red nail polish too and I wondered for a second if that was a thing that red haired women could pull off well.
I smiled at her and tried to be as nonthreatening as possible and when she came round to me on her track of pacing I said hi, but I really didn’t know what to say after that. I was glad that she was able to get a good look at me though and see how young I was and know that there would be no raping going on unless she wanted to do some sugar momma shit.
After she said hi back and we shuffled around a bit and her cigarette ran out and she went to get another and I offered her a light and wondered if that was a thing people did I said something fucking ordinary like “So why are you out here so late?”
She quirked her mouth in a weird way around her cigarette and exhaled. Then she said, “Can’t sleep when you’re in love.”
Which I knew to be true.
It might have been a really random thing to say but I completely got her for saying it so I didn’t care.
I asked her if she was here with family for the holidays and she said she was. Then I asked her if she was here with the person she loved and she said no.
I said that was rough.
I asked her about it and she just waved her hand and ash fell out of her cigarette and I looked at her red nails.
She took a pretty vicious hit off her cigarette and blew it out and I did the same except less viciously. It was cold as balls.
I wondered if maybe she was some kind of free spirited chic who did hippie shit. I wanted to ask her but I kinda felt like she didn’t want to talk.
So then I just said, “It’ll all be ok. Eventually in some way.” As if I had the answers instead of being an eighteen year old child with absolutely no knowledge about anything.
She nodded and said probably. Then she smiled at me, finished her cigarette, said it was nice talking to you and left.
I smoked out there for another ten minutes and felt ok.

About being a piece of shit in Catholic school

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When I was younger like from the ages of seven to thirteen I went to this Sunday school type thing on Wednesdays for Catholic kids.
I didn’t mind going at all and actually really liked it. I got to see all my third grade homies and shit and that was p swell. I got to eat free cookies hell yeah. And generally everyone was really nice and weirdly loving. I mean sure the lessons were pretty boring but the teachers knew the fucking scoop on how to deal with younger children. So it was like going to regular school I guess.
Most of the kids that went to this school also went to a catholic elementary school, so we didn’t see each other at regular school. My dad being ever the scientist even before the Christian, opted to send me and my brother to public school which had better ratings for success than any religious school in my area. Which I didn’t really give a shit about at the time because I’d heard in Catholic school you had to have mass every day and I wasn’t really for that.
Anyway while most of my teachers liked me, they also at the same time thought I was a little shit.
Being a little shit isn’t the same as being a piece of shit though. Like if you’re a little shit and you’re young, it’s something you might grow out of. If you’re a piece of shit there’s not hope for you don’t pass go don’t collect two hundred dollars.
I actually was a little shit though. I was loud and really like a kid so I would giggle and kinda be the class clown. I’d say the reason I really embodied the annoying essence of childhood is because I was really fucking curious about everything. But not in like a wise brat way I legitimately had a huge wonder for the world.
Anyway I was one of those kids that always asked a lot of questions. I was especially confused with Job’s story. I didn’t question it because I really did think there was a man in the sky who thought about what was best for us, but the story also made him seem like God was being kinda a douche to people to prove a point.
If you don’t know what the story of Job is, basically God punishes this man Job even though he’s done nothing wrong to prove a point that Job will still believe in him. The point of the story is to say why bad things sometimes happen to good people.
Now one thing that my dad had taught me about the bible which had done him remarkably well at preserving his fate as a scientist was that the bible was just a book of stories and legends to help us be better people and were not necessarily true, especially the story of Adam and Eve.
One time I asked my teacher about Judas. Did Judas go to heaven or hell because he betrayed Jesus? And then he committed suicide which was a no no I guessed.
She was a little taken aback I think, I don’t really know I was eleven or something, but she answered she didn’t really know because she didn’t know everything. She looked really affectionate when she said to me that Judas probably did go to heaven because he repented heavily. Of course I had more questions about that, but that’s when she said she really had no idea and she couldn’t answer any of my questions and wanted to move on.
I was always afraid of God, but I thought Jesus was the coolest dude. I kinda wanted to be Jesus and like get Jesus hair and eventually have a really sweet beard. Jesus is the one I would ring up when I was praying. But sometime’s God would answer so I’d ask hey Mr. God it’s Timmy from down the street is Jesus home? And God would be like no, he’s out right now but you can talk to me! And I’d say oh, well uhm no thanks Mr. God, well actually ok. That’s fine.
Anyway I guess I was some kind of Tom Sawyer because one time in class I was actually pretty bored so I started talking to Jesus and asking him if it would be ok if I had some fun. Jesus, being my homeboy at the time said it was cool. So I whispered over to my friend that we should play hangman, which is a game I had just recently grasped as being the coolest thing ever because you could play that shit anywhere. She asked if we were supposed to be paying attention, she was probably just not paying attention either, and I said yeah Jesus said it was ok. She was totally down with it then.
We were given these work pages at the beginning of every class so I scooted closer to her and drew the frame in a margin. We were playing for a good four minutes or so before the teacher stopped the class and said, ‘Timmy and Trisha, what are you doing?’
To which I responded, ‘No it’s okay, Jesus said it was cool’.

I want this blog to funny but also kinda sad too

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So I don’t really know how to run a blog, but I like to write and sometimes I have a lot of shit I want to say and maybe that’s enough to try and give it a shot. Doesn’t mean I’m good at it though, the writing stuff. And that’s pretty much the only disclaimer you’re going to get.

Anyway so I’m trying that thing where you write drunk and edit sober. I forget who said that, some famous writer probably. Getting a vibe it’s F.Scott Fitzgerald. Think about it later. The case in point of that is that you’ll be meeting a bastardized blend of drunk sober me put that shit in a Jamba Juice cup and mix it with a cardboard straw. Truthfully though, the two stages aren’t much different to people checking up on me.

I don’t really feel like saying my real name, so I’m just going to say it’s Timmy. I don’t have a best friend or a friend that would constantly pop up in my stories, but if I did his name would be Marcus (but not really). See the trend here. Sorry I’m not that great at explaining things sometimes.

Even though I’m a technical young adult, I’m really a kid living in a college dorm with a festering nicotine addiction, a growing list of different kinds of things I don’t tell people, and a sense of complete and utter confusion about everything.

How long are these posts supposed to be? Is it cool if I keep on writing? Whatevs.

Usually blogs have a point or something too, I think. Like to teach people how to cook or to share information on marine mammals or chronicle some young white hipster and his musings and poignant adventures in the big city. Too bad I’m not white or a hipster I don’t think. I don’t think I’m not white I just don’t think I’m a hipster. But I dunno, I just want to write about stuff I think about. Sounds kinda fun to me. Plus, maybe it’ll help like how when therapists tell their patients to start a blog.

Anyway I’m getting rather sleepy, so I think I might turn in. It’s six in the morning and I pulled an all nighter yesterday with class in the morning. So long and goodnight my niggas.