Sultry nights here in Michigan and throughout the Midwest. Nights of sitting with a cool drink while one’s entire body glosses over with perspiration. Nights of itching, scratching, wiping, whimpering, and little refreshment. I would wish to move much further north, so that the summers would be pleasant and the other extreme, cold, would be bearable as this is much more tolerant for my body. I am longing for the soft white flakes of winter.

I was sitting in one of the easy chairs in Barnes and Noble when I hear the telephone ring behind me, at the information desk, and one of my co-workers answers it. The employee at the information desk transfers the call over to Music, and another co-worker, Stacy, answers it. She speaks to the person for a moment and then begins to scream. “Oh my god. Are you serious? Oh my god. How did this happen? Oh god. He’s dead?” I walk up to the counter and ask her if she needs someone to take over, and she nods and waves me away. I run over and get the manager, who takes over her station. This reminded me too much of my father’s death. It still seems like he is watching over me, and that his death was something of a caution, or a message…something meaningful that is going to direct my life in ways that I cannot now understand.

I don’t have time much for writing or reading now that I have debate, school and a job to worry about. It’s kind of ironic. I got a job so that I would have money for things like books, but now I don’t have time for those things because of my job.