As my big trip gets closer and closer (t-minus 4 days now) my emotions are switching between very excited and very nervous. I have found, and this is quite terrible, that thinking about Hunter, looking at his facebook, and being reminded that he is avoiding me really makes me want to get the HELL out of here. Healthy strategy? Maybe not. But two months away will do both of us some good, I'm sure.

But on a more positive note, there is hope left in the world, and I am not completely unlovable. So far at least. I think I am very slowly beginning to like someone new. I was HELD last night. I had no idea how much my body and my soul were CRAVING that feeling. And he makes me laugh, too, which I have also missed - much more than I thought I did.

And I have to run, but my last thought is this. Why is there so much last minute crap to buy before a trip????

He had a swastika tattooed on his hand

Joy, Elissa and I were driving home from North Carolina today, and our car broke down near Richmond. Literally five seconds after we pulled off the road, a little red pickup pulled off to help us. The two most redneck men - guys - got out and asked if we needed help.

Just picture the situation. Joy wasn't even wearing a shirt when the car died. The a.c. had stopped working an hour previously, and she was down to her bikini top, driving along 295. My sister was showing so much cleavage I kept waiting for her entire boob to fall out, and all of our shorts were appropriate for the trashiest country concert.

One of the guys was covered in tattoos, and they were either prison tats, or they were from a non - professional source, or maybe the art was just damaged by the sun, because he had one hell of a tan. I kept noticing his skin though, because it was so damaged. He had one tattoo of a bomb on his arm, and it looked like it was about to fall off, like a giant scab. There were numerous scabbed over sores on his arms, too, but they were hard to see because of all the ink. And of course the nazi symbol on his hand, which was comforting in a ridiculously backwards way - because Joy has a good friend with swastikas on his fingers, and because after all we are all blonde-haired blue-eyed Germans and Poles. I shouldn't even think that, let alone write it.

When someone stops to help you like that, you want to think that it's basic human kindness. It's like the Good Samaritan. I listen to enough country music to almost implicitly trust anyone with a truck, some camo, and a confederate flag somewhere in the vicinity. And there is something romantic and appealing about the fact that these were two men who jumped at the chance to help three damsels in distress.

But at the same time. I really didn't trust the one guy. It's not that I didn't like him. Their names were Tom and Jim. Jim's brother died serving in Iraq, and he hadn't seen him since 9/11.

And then the tow truck driver was big and very black, and we got in the car with him, but there was a name and a number painted on the cab, so that means it was perfectly safe, of course.

Oh, and then we walked from the Pep Boys to McDonalds, past a pretty ghetto mall, scared to death of stepping on a needle, and trying not to catch anyone's attention. I'm not sure, but I think we stood out a little bit.

Going hiking today in Shenandoah national park. Why is there a cover charge to get into the place, it's not a club.

Huge country music fest party tomorrow, going to be a good time. I'm putting on my cowboy boots and rocking out to some Little Big Town and Montgomery Gentry.

Beach on Monday, here I come.

Good week coming up, starting right now.

Begin Again

I want to leave myself and start over. Different country, different people, no past. No nightmare Hunter crushing me and destroying my soul. I don't know what is up and what is down, what I am supposed to do or think.
All I know is that I want to be loved and I want to love. I also want forgiveness and someone to realize that I am good. I want to actually be good. My entire life I have made mistake after mistake, everything learned the hard way. How much do I have to lose before I finally figure out that I need to change?

My guardian angel was smoking a cigarette

Friends of mine who have gone abroad have all started a blog to document their journey. In one month's time I am going to be living in Ecuador for two months, so I thought I'd start a blog of my own.
This will be good for me, I think. I have always turned to writing to get my thoughts out of my head.

So today at work I was driving the big catering van. I always drive the oldest, most beat up van that we have, and here's why: I parked between another car and a concrete pillar, and somehow managed to get the van completely wedged in against the pillar. Now, if there had been another car there, that wouldn't have happened (I hope). My strategy for unsticking myself was to just reverse and hope for the best. This guy taking a smoke break came over and knocked on my window and was like, "Do you need some help? Because I just watched you take off half of your van." I always end up getting help from a stranger at these events, always. Half the time they even end up driving the van out for me. I just give up and surrender the keys to a complete stranger because anything is better than my driving at that point.
Anyway, this man of course knows exactly what to do and how to maneuver to get out of my mess of a situation. How do men know these things. The van is left with a couple major gashes along the side. These aren't just little scratches in the paint. These are metal baring wounds that will rust badly later on. Oh, and the door hangs even more crookedly than it did before - but it still locks, so it's good as far as I'm concerned.
I toyed with the idea of blaming on another car - I was in a parking garage, after all. But other cars don't leave gashes like that. And another car would have left their own paint residue. So I didn't lie. I told my boss in a text. I feel like that's worse than breaking up with someone via text message. But at least I did the right thing by telling her and not trying to lie about it. Right?