*May or may not be based on facts or nostalgia. You decide.
Engaged in, involved in, or reflecting deep or serious thought.
I blankly stare at the “Word of the Day,” (WOD) penned neatly in purple dry erase marker in the right-hand corner of Ms. Hall’s whiteboard. I guess I can say I am being pensive. But really, I am delaying.
“Five more minutes!” Ms. Hall announces as she glances at her iPhone, probably checking her Facebook while her timer counts down from ten minutes.
I let out a tiny sigh. I usually love Friday journals. But the upcoming weekend gives me little to be excited about. And I hate having to incorporate the WOD into each journal entry. It’s too forced.
But I guess I am being pensive if I’m thinking about him. That guy who basically ruined my weekend.
Ok, maybe I’m being a bit dramatic. I mean, it’s not like I am a saint in the entire situation. But when people give me motive, I usually react.
That’s a white lie. I sometimes act first.
I guess if I’m being pensive I would maybe admit that I tend to be a “glass-half-empty” kind of girl. I have to protect myself from getting hurt. As in, I always prepare for the worst.
Case-in-point: One time I am driving home from work (I waitress at “Opal’s,” which is a 30 minute drive, but worth it because I make hella tips), anyways, the sky is looking rather eerie. It is strangely pitch black to the west but a calm pink to the east. My foot feels like it’s cemented to the accelerator of my beat-up Honda Accord – I want, no, I need to get home quickly. My phone vibrates loudly on the passenger seat. I quickly glance (I don’t text and drive) and see this:
Dad: Where are u? Tornado warning.
Ugh. Go against my morals or face the wrath of dad for not responding?
I decide my morals won’t mind.
Me: Driving. 15 min. away.
Dad: Stop at bank in Carver. DO NOT TRY TO MAKE IT HOME! U MIGHT NOT.
My dad doesn’t mince words. I learned from the best.
(1 minute later)
Dad: DON’T PANIC.
Of course, I panic. I’m pretty sure I am going 100 mph. I don’t know for sure because I don’t look at the speedometer. What I do look at are the swirling clouds, ready to sweep me up Wizard of Oz style.
OMG. This is how my life is going to end. Driving on Highway 24 smelling of grease and old cigarettes (the smell is a permanent part of my uniform – Opal’s still “allows” regulars to toke up indoors. Shhh…)
I make it the bank, just in time to crawl into the safe with about 5 employees and a few passersby.
I don’t die.
But maybe I should have, considering how my weekend is now ruined. And maybe my life.