It's been three days and I've made over a hundred and forty dollars in tips alone. I don't even know what to do with myself. I could work just two and a half weeks and pay rent at this rate. It's absolute madness to actually be making good money. I guess it's pretty stereotypical that I've dropped out of college and become a waitress. I secretly always wanted to try being a waitress, but everyone told me it wasn't the job for me. Somebody has to be wrong, and I hope to high heaven it's not me because I actually like this job. It feels rewarding, even if some of the people I deal with are bitches and sons of bitches. Seriously, I want to smack some of these people, but I don't because I really do love just about everyone. I wouldn't be so spineless if I didn't enjoy bending over backwards to please everyone.

I need to start keeping track of the moneys I am making. I mainly spend money on gas, tobacco, and espresso these days. That's around two dollars for espresso daily, a little over three for tobacco every four or five days, and ten on gas every two or three days. Sometimes I will pay for food at Jan's, but mostly just gas, tobacco, and espresso. I am the most strangely high-maintenance person I know.

I need to decide how the hell I want to keep my hair, as in how long I want it to grow before I hack it off again. I don't know if I'm prepared for the massive mess of curls that my hair always becomes.

Today a regular customer pinched my arm and I just did what I always do: smile and laugh.

I don't have the urge to escape like I used to. I still want to see foreign places, but for now I am working towards a place of my own and that is enough. I am not as stray anymore, not as nomadic. My travels have ceased to be about experience and have taken an edge of urgency. I have to get from here to there, from one place to the next. I have goals and I don't know how I feel about giving up a life without points. Just in these past few days and weeks, I have come to measure my life by monetary means. I know that I earned close to one-hundred dollars in just these past two days and I know that leaves a two-hundred and seventy-five dollar gap between my present and my potential. I want that apartment so bad. I can feel it, spreading under my skin like the smooth bark on a dogwood.

I will hang mirrored tapestries from the walls and beads from the doors. I will layer the floor in cushions and rugs. I will cover the tables in ashtrays and potted plants. I will grow flowers in the windows. I will make it a home.

I need a home.

sometimes i dream i am not alone.

other times i dream i live by myself.

most times i can't tell the difference.

bahahahahahaha. I made over fifty-five dollars in tips alone. what the butt.

at this rate, I will actually be able to afford an apartment. gahhh.

this mix of reality and things working out is just too much to handle!

not only do i start on a friday, but i start on THIS FRIDAY. we're talking tomorrow. what the butt. that was only three motherfucking days of training. gahhhhhh. i better be ready for this shit. at least i get to keep all of my own tips.

I think it just hit me that I work from three to eleven. Yeah, forty hours a week, which means that my hours more than doubled as soon as I took this job. Ridiculous, but I do love it. Apparently the owner even likes me. Fresh meat, I guess.

I think my first day is a fucking friday. WHAT THE BUTT. WHAT THE BUTT. That, or a Wednesday, which seems just as rushy after today. Being in the restaurant business should tell me that I WILL NOT BE OKAY TO WAITRESS BY MYSELF FOR THE FIRST TIME ON A MOTHERFUCKING FRIDAY.

dear sir,
what the butt.
sincerely,
mia

done deal, bitches. motherfucking done deal.

I was informed that I had gotten the job at Jan's House after a brief conversation around noon with the owner. I was also informed that I would start today and work an eight hour shift from three until eleven. The waitress that helped to train me today was a total sweetheart. I apparently looked a little lost throughout my shift, but my cashier skills did come in handy. I made a decent amount of money, but not enough to cover rent. Apparently the average is fifty dollars in undeclared tips alone, plus the 3-whatever I will hopefully be making after my training is over, and that will definitely cover rent for the apartment I'm looking at. I am going to be a fish out of water for a while... or a chicken running around with its head cut off... but, I can do this. It will be so worth it. I actually felt good about all the work I was doing and not like it was useless. I even got a few compliments on my personality, and I did my damnedest to make sure I did my best. I know I'm "different," and I have a "different" personality, but I'm genuinely nice and I like to see people satisfied, maybe even happy. I don't like letting people down, but I know everyone makes mistakes and the best time to make them is now when I can learn from them. I've asked a lot of questions and I asked how I was doing, and everyone said I was doing pretty well. I mean, considering that I've never been a waitress, I feel pretty satisfied with how I did. There's always room for improvement, but it's always one step at a time.

I don't know how waitresses cope with the insecurity of fluid income. That is the one bit that worries me. I will work five days a week at Jan's, so even if I just work two days for TJ's, it should help a lot. That would mean working fifty-two hours a week, which is crazy, but I can handle it. I know I can. First, I'll get my schedule worked out at Jan's and get into the swing of things, and then I'll see about some extra hours at TJ's. After all, I got a raise to seven-fifty an hour and work six hour shifts most of the time, so that could really help. Either way it's better than nothing and it's better to have a job in Greensboro than not at all when I'm trying to move there.

GAHHH. I am still so excited, but I know that if the pay isn't enough than I can't keep it. Or, I'll have to get another job... or still work at TJ's, but I think I know a thrift shop that may hire me because I'm "adorable" and I know cool/weird clothes when I see them. Hell yes.

I think you're so, so beautiful.

classifieds make me nauseous, but commitment makes me sicker.



I want a studio apartment, and there might be an available one less than twenty minutes away from Jan's House, which is where I am currently trying my damnedest to get a job. I might actually get a place of my own. I might actually get a real job. I might actually have a place where I can do everything without feeling judged and nagged and pestered. Hell, I might hate it, but I think it could be really, really worth it. I am ill with this false sense of propriety. Yes, the world has been kind, but no, the sun doesn't give the moon its rays while expecting the payment to be tenfold. These are my pounds of flesh and I'm keeping them.

these days have been good.
-smoking my first rolled cigarette in ages while listening to Gogol Bordello
-knowing that my fur coat is indeed going with me on whatever trip I make
-packing all of my necessities and necessary luxuries into the back of my station wagon
-driving up and down the streets I know like the back of my hand and the veins of my eyelids
-seeing over ten cop cars in less than forty minutes
-understanding that sometimes it is more than a desire that drives me to be wild