Friday Mornings

I really don't like waking up early but it is almost my duty to do so on a daily basis. Today was different though, because today was Friday and I'm beginning to really like Friday mornings.

Even though today is about the only day out of the week when I could potentially sleep 'til 9 (that is the latest I could ever sleep these days. Crazy, I know), I'm giving that up to have breakfast with two friends of mine. And why would I ever do that?

Ever thought of something you really wanted to see yourself doing when you'd grow up? When I was little, I used to walk by restaurants filled with people doing business. Maybe important business or maybe they just wanted to eat kind of business. My point being is that I thought it would be cool to be one of them at some point.

At that was me this morning, talking about business over a cappuccino and a California omelet. It's happening one by one. The more I live, the more I see my dreams coming true before my eyes.

Quit reading this and go live!!!!

Luck Story

I really am getting used to writing daily but I am visiting my friend in Northern California and even being here right now writing this bit, I feel guilty for taking up some of her time to post something.

The friend I'm visiting is certainly a friend I wish I could see daily but thanks to a 400-something-miles distance, that is not quite possible- So I'll do a little bit of cheating and post something I previously wrote.

I will always attribute my love for reading to that one lady who randomly selected me to give me a book. As a kid, I rarely ever felt lucky. If anything, I used to think I had bad luck. And this wasn't a state of mind, it was a reality.

One day I went with my family to some sort of festival. In the crowded place, I found a booth advertised as "Colored Pets." I walked over to the man that seemed to be the one in charge of the booth and he showed me a cage filled with birds of all sorts of colors. "You can buy one for five dollars, or try to pick the blue ball," he said as he reached for a box with a circular opening on top of it, "out of this box for one dollar, for each time you try." I quickly searched through my pockets and found five dollars that I was given minutes earlier to wander around with. The way I saw it at my short age, was that if I'd play my odds well, maybe I could get three blue balls out of the five chances I'd have with the whole five dollars, instead of just buying one bird- "This way I won't have one lonely bird," I thought.

After my five tries, I was empty handed. No money but no bird either. Somehow I managed to pick the white ball every single time. Now I can't help but question if there was a blue ball at all, but that's off the subject. Because I didn't want to give up in taking a bird home, so I went over to my mom to ask her for money. When I told her what it was for, she simply answered: "It's not right to keep a bird captive. Your dad is the one that does that kind of things." (My parents are divorced and my dad DOES have birds 'til this day). So I never got the bird.

But that one day when my second grade class was receiving a visit from a new editorial company that wanted to do business with the school, my odds suddenly changed. The lady from the editorial walked in and was going to give away a copy of the book they were trying to sell the school. Everyone around me quickly raised their hands and yelled "me, me, pick me" in what it seemed like a chorus but I just put my head down, knowingly that there was no way in earth someone as unlucky as me would get the book.

Maybe it was the fact that I didn't ask for it that the lady decided to pick me and give me the book. But I chose to think that she somehow overheard my thoughts and how badly I wanted to be chosen that she decided to give it to me.

Once home with the book, I read it that same day. Then got another one, and another one. And another one. Perhaps it's some sort of celebration to my first glimpse of luck, or maybe books are just so damn good. Whatever it was this event marked the beginning.

So Damn Vulnerable

The knock on the door surprised me. I wasn't expecting anybody and I was hoping no one would come either. I didn't have any plans other than to sleep maybe. I just didn't want to see anybody- myself was enough company for the day.

When I opened the door, she stood there in tears. Before I could say a word, she reached for my torso and the next thing I felt was the wetness of her tears on my shoulder. I've never been really good at this kind of situations but I just stood there and held her.

When she let go, her makeup was just a blur in her face, and I was sure part of it was now on my shirt; but that wasn't a concern at the moment. She didn't look good. I felt sorry for her- I looked at her and I wanted to protect her like she were my little sister but whatever I needed to do, I was too late for it.

"Would you have a beer with me?" she said in the middle of a sob. I nodded and followed her to the kitchen.

When we were finally sitting, I sipped my beer quietly, hoping I'd know what to do when my time to do something would come. But what could have hurt so much for her to be like this? A break up? Someone close died? But that didn't make sense. She wouldn't come to me for that. We were never really that close. Not as much as we were right there.

"I was raped," she said. I think I almost felt the beer making its way back from my stomach. She was sitting there, in front of me. So damn vulnerable.

It's so hard to write this without feeling guilty in a way. I try so hard to tell my friends to do good, to take care of themselves, to be careful, to choose wisely and when something like this happens, I wonder if I didn't try hard enough.