"My favorite fruit is grapes. Because with grapes, you always get another chance. 'Cause, if you have a crappy apple or a peach, you're stuck with that crappy piece of fruit. But if you have a crappy grape, no problem - just move on to the next. 'Grapes: The Fruit of Hope.'"
-- Demetri Martin
Speaking of hope, waiting to hear back from last week's interview. It's funny to think that I drove an hour to go talk to somebody for 15 minutes. Also, trying to plan out my summer, mostly in terms of which five-day retreats I'll be helping on. Early July is the local one, late July is Toronto, and I might fly out to Washington for their camp in mid June. So, if anybody has an extra $300 lying around and willing to donate to a good cause... I think I really can help some kids out. I swear I won't pocket it and run.
This is my fifth year of doing these retreats, which is way longer than I ever envisioned doing something like this. I wasn't really the volunteering type during school, and now I'm responsible for coordinating or leading the retreats for my organization (MI Youth) for 3 states. I'm feeling a little pressure to make the most of the limited time that I have with it, because part of the basic philosophy of the youth ministry is to have "youth evangelize youth," and at some point in my mid 30s, I'm going to get a little old for it. So I see five more years of doing this sort of active participation in this ministry, so I want to do everything that I can, while I can. Plus, it's nice to feel like you can add something substantial to something worthwhile.
Contreras one-hit the Royals last night. If the pitching comes around, and the way Thome's been yeast to the offensive dough, Sox could be straight up killin' the Central.
I need... something to write.
***
The middle-aged woman plodded over to the chair, gingerly sinking into the cushioned seat. She looked intently at the magazines laid out on the table before her, and carefully picked one after shuffling through the titles. She held it in her left hand and leafed the pages with her right, sitting upright to ease the pressure off of her feet, it seemed, her short legs crossed and tucked under the seat.
She sat until the nurse called her to the desk, asking her to fill out a form. She nodded and took the clipboard. She asked me what some of the words said, not that she didn't understand, but because she couldn't quite make them out even with her glasses.
I read aloud "patient history" and she once again nodded her understanding, filling out the information as briefly and efficiently as possible.
"Did you eat when you woke up?" she asked, concerned that my habit of fasting until late in the afternoon would eventually ruin me.
I explained that I had a little cereal, just to appease her. I did, I just didn't finish the bowl.
She nodded again. "The bills you had to pay, you should send them soon."
"I know." She can never stop being a mother, checking up on everyone.
"Do you need some money? Do you have enough to pay?"
"It's ok. I have enough."
