Quit smoking and got a job.

Tired from waking.
Tired by the ritual of coffee, pills   that I always forget to take.
Tired of preparing food and eating cotton.
Tired of bones full of buckshot,   lead weighting limp wrists.
Tried from walking on legs that hate to stand.
            [too tired to care]
Tired from breathing.
Tired of my brain   dripping gasoline  -mercury smooth.
Tired of grabbing at thoughts that just slide off, down to my lungs.
And Tired     of coughing them out, sounding like that old, old man.
           [down by the liquor store? who can't hold his cigarettes?]

Dear Valued Customer,

Every day that I have to wake up and go to work I hate the idea of my job more and more. I hate working for a corporation. There is so much waste involved with the relative financial stability of large companies: small amounts of milk are poured down the drain every few minutes; trashcans have to be double bagged, and emptied when they are 2/3 full; all the boxes shipped to us involve ridiculous amounts of packing and packaging material (true story: we were once shipped a 2'x3'x1' box containing nothing but one large plastic bag and a roll of packing tape). I hate the blatant consumerism: the up-selling of mediocre food and the ridiculous prices attached to it; the thousands of cups that pass through our hands daily. I hate just saying "Yes," to people who force me to fill the (two) sugar shakers at least every hour. I hate the tone I take when I dislike a customer, but can't say anything. I especially hate getting up early to serve people who forget what a job like this is like.
The problem is - I really love doing my job. At least, when I'm actually being a barista. Things like perfect cappuccino milk - airy, but still velvety smooth and rich - thrill me so much that I can ignore the rest of it (at least until I have to get up the next morning).
So why then, do I get up every day, knowing that I'll come home in eight hours with sore feet and a backache, stinking of sour milk and strong coffee, burned, sticky and exhausted? Because I (speaking completely apart from my company and coworkers) want to make you the best cup of coffee that I possibly can. Which sounds, aloud, so...well, kiss-ass that you will actually never know this, because even if I told you, you wouldn't fully believe me. So, if I promise not to make you question how little I care about my menial job, will you occasionally pretend that I'm human?

Thanks! Have a nice day.

Recently seen in my room...

this is why you glow

slumped:  head     hanging, shaking.

And Still the laughter bubbles,   Breaking!    against your teeth,
jumping UP    orange.    fizzy.    confused.

Seeking    a way out.
Seeping    through tight pressed lips.

And still, you try not to spill
                                 one drop.
while it runs down lines, webs
across wrinkles,    soaking back into your skin.

Look what I found!

Isn't she fabulous?

I finally did it!

After months of sitting around and talking about what I wanted to do with The Dungeon (as we've nicknamed my studio), I finally woke up this morning and did it! Take a look! To the left is my painting area, and moving towards the right end are my sewing, jewelry and glass tables. Fantastic, no?

Process