Cold Hard Cash...or how none is made on icy days

And so it snows, and sleets, and rains, and freezes and soon the roads are empty and the schools are closed. The current conditions would suggest the necessity for most places of employment to close as well...right? Wrong. This little cashier still braved the roads and freezing temps to make it to work on time. Only to wander around an empty store for 5 hours and then drive back home in the sleet. Honestly, it amazes me that stores that don't sell necessities would even stay open when it's blustery and icy out. I don't know many people that would fight ice and snow to buy a $20 can of hairspray, but perhaps I'm wrong. Nonetheless, we opened, we walked around, and we watched as two, exactly two, customers entered the store and purchased something. Man, what a waste.

There's something about cold weather that makes people crazy. Not just crazy, but rude and petty as well. It's like the temperatures drop and suddenly a three dollar coupon is worth making an ass of oneself and causing the cashier to cry. It's as if the very act of bundling up causes people to prepare for battle, not chilly weather, and the parking lot becomes more chaotic than a war-torn country. Heaven forbid you have to walk a few more paces to the store; honking at someone because they got a parking spot closer than yours is simplify justified because of the weather. Seriously though, when the weather outside is frightful, the tempers inside places is far worse. It's enough to make most cashiers, managers, miscellaneous works, etc. actually wish they were outside; after all, you're less like to get verbally assaulted by a mother of three over the length of the line when you're standing outside in the snow. Give me summer heat and spring showers any day over dropping temperatures and raging customers. I don't know why everyone's so angry...I'm pretty sure the cashier who just rang you up isn't responsible for the 20 degree weather outside, nor did she steal your parking spot (we have to park farther away either way). The only thing she's responsible for is checking you out in a swift and (mostly) accurate fashion and sending you on your way so you can go verbally attack someone else. Some days just don't make sense.

He sat there, and shuffled his feet as the sky turned dark. "Does this mean we're over?" he asked, stuttering slightly. The words hung in the air, looming like daggers, prodding her to speak.

But she stood there, unable to make a sound. The truth is always the hardest to say. It's much easier to fake a smile and make things better. But better isn't fixed.

He stood up and paced, like a smoker needing a fix. But his addiction was much worse than nicotine; he needed the girl in front of him, needed her like he needed another breath. But that was wishful thinking. He sighed again, shuffled his feet..again, and tried to find the words to ask her...again. But how can you keep repeating yourself to one that won't make a sound? What's the point?

"I need to know," he said pointedly, the first signs of anger filling his body. With he hands clenched, he stared at her, as if trying to read her mind.

She remained silent and still, like the night that was developing around them. All the words she had said in anger moments before had left her. She had started this, but finishing it was another matter. More time passed, and he grew angry. Silently, she hoped he would just walk away and save her from this confrontation. She wished that she would simply freeze over, never to talk again. She wished that she would that he would yell, or scream, or storm off. Even that would be far better than what was left to be said.

He grabbed her arms, forced her to look him in the eyes, forced himself to see the truth. And on that cold night, everything changed. He finally saw her, the real her, and it broke his heart. Trembling, he let her go and she stepped away, preparing to leave.

"yes," she said, and with that, the world came crashing down.

Even the stars stayed away out of mourning.

Sharp

It's the rush, the feeling of pain. That stinging sensation that continues to gain intensity. A sharp knife against the skin, a rush of blood and another scar. The pain lets you know you're alive. It makes you feel in control. And just when you think you're done doing it... you do it again.

You make excuses. You blame it on being clumsy. You lie again and again to cover up your secret. The scars are there, the bruises too. You can't stop. It feels good to hurt. To have the pain and the constant throb of hurt. You want to stop, to end it. People would think you're crazy if they knew. So you tell no one and do nothing. The only thing that's possible is pain.

and you continue to hurt.

Call me a nomad but every so often I get that itch. The itch to move, or run, away and do something new. Life gets boring some times and it's certainly too short to stay bored for too long, so why not just keep moving? I feel like I'm in a rut, and try my hardest, the rut isn't getting any easier to get out of. So, I just have the urge to start fresh somewhere else. Preferably somewhere that doesn't get so humid in the summer, or isn't a location nicknamed "tornado alley." And even if it is, it won't matter. I just want something new.

Everyone's working towards something and I'm just wandering... like a nomad. Perhaps the world needs people like me. To wander around aimlessly until they stumble upon something amazing. Maybe that's what I'm waiting for. That promised epiphany that will come one day. The one that will mark a turning point and things will later be referred to as pre-epiphany or post-epiphany.

oh perhaps.

Inspiration

There's an old man that walks through the neighborhood. Some days he walks with two crutches, some days with one. Regardless, he is out there. Every day. Not a day goes by that he doesn't hobble off his cobblestone porch and begin the tedious task of tackling the sidewalk. He battles pain and fights off frustration. He has more perseverance than most and he battles his handicap silently. He could just give up. Stay inside and say "the hell with it." But he doesn't. He simply gets back up and staggers outside again. No matter what day it is, you can count on him to be outside. Cane or crutch in hand, he lights a cigarette and begins the daily journey.

He's always there.

There was a shooting yesterday. Another one, and although America grieved, no one batted an eyelash because we're simply used to it. People asked why but no one asked how. How to stop it. Death rates rise, students are buried, and life continues as normal. We don't question how such a thing could happen because it happens so often and obviously the world doesn't stop for a few shots on campus. Our "leaders" keep making money, spending money, scaring us into believing that the threats are outside of our borders. But the shots don't stop, the violence never ceases and because everyone goes about their life as normal, nothing gets changed. Just a few drops of blood in the snow and crosses near the sidewalk.

But then it gets closer, perhaps the shootings hit home. More lives are destroyed as senseless acts are committed and the government turns a blind eye, too smitten with power to do anything. We all absorb the information and then we check our myspaces. Security is "increased" to no avail, yet more people die. Perhaps if we all just got off our asses and decided to give a damn, things would be different.

Who's to say. I sit here just the same as you, immobile. But something struck a chord this time. I don't want to be the one who wishes they had done something sooner when they're burying a loved one. I don't want to think of others that are in the same plight. We can't keep believing that ignorance is bliss and that it won't happen to us. It will.

Something must be done.