June 23, 2003 - 10:26 p.m.

Over the years of being a pharmacy employee, I have compiled an extensive collection of promotional items from drug manufacturers. Of the more popular items, I have large quantities of pens and notebooks. (Irrelevant fact: the most highly prized items are Viagra branded paraphrenilia, and I have several proudly on display.) One would naturally assume then, I am never at a loss for ink or an acceptable writing surface.

Then why is it I had to copy down a phone number earlier on an expensive blank check using my $25 Mary Kay lip liner?

Math bothers me. I have never been very good at mathematics. Perhaps I should rethink my math-oriented career choice. Certainly I can do "street" math alright.

One carton of cigarettes + one bottle Absolut + phone bill = I do not eat again this week.

But for a doctor to prescribe a complicated dose of medication and leave me to figure out the quantity is just plain cruel and wicked. She is the college graduate. Let her figure out the goddamn equation.

I am actually going to apply for a job at another pharmacy on Friday morning. It is in the city Dan lives in, and is quite a commute for me currently. Hopefully I can find myself a place down there before the snow comes.

Dan's birthday is on Sunday. I have written him the Annual Birthday Poem. I certainly do not have a gift for poetry, but fortunately the point is to be stupid (an area which I excel) so here it is:

There is a man that I adore

Who is quite gay

He works at a pizza store

But that is okay

He bought a jeep and thinks he's cool

Has perfect makeup, bottle blonde hair, and spectacles

And to me, still resembles a stool

As he watches TV and fondles his testicles

The prickly new hair that grows on his face

Is silly, akward, and crude

When I catch him sleeping I soon will erase

Thus will improve my attitude

He criticizes my hair and assaults my boobs

Drives like a maniac and tries to get me killed

Always up for some AbFab on the tube

And with the needle he is quite skilled

When he dresses like a woman he puts me to shame

Slim, hairless legs and a skinny torso

I believe inadequate nutrition is to blame

In full drag he looks like a whore. So?

But never will find a better friend

With such a large heart

But beware! This message I send:

Beware of his fart

The whole beat of the damn thing is totally off. That is what makes it so perfect, I think. He'll love it. Definitely wont be winning any awards.

While I am on the subject of poetry, let me share one of my favorites. Obviously, I did not write it. In fact, I shall type the entire thing here. Ken is teaching me how to type properly without looking at the keys and I need to practice anyway.

*Not responsible for any inevitable typographical errors. I blame it entirely on my poor skills and the half bottle of zinfandel I consumed at dinner.

"After A While" by Veronica Shoffstall

After a while you learn the subtle difference

between holding a hand and sharing a life

and you learn that love doesn't mean possession

and company doesn't mean security

and lonliness is universal

And you learn that kisses aren't contracts

and presents aren't promises

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes open

with the grace of a woman

not the grief of a child

And you learn to build your hope on today

as the future has a way of falling apart mid-flight

because tomorrow's ground can be too uncertain for plans

yet each step taken in a new direction creates a path

toward the promise of a brighter dawn

And you learn that even sunshine burns

if you get too much

so you plant your own garden

and nourish your own soul

instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

And you learn that love, true love

always has joys and sorrows

seems ever present, yet never is quite the same

becoming more than love and less than love

so difficult to define

And you learn that through it all

you really can endure

that you really are strong

that you do have value

and you learn and grow

with every goodbye

you learn

Okay, so I am big fat cheater because I am still having a very hard time with the "L" key. Perhaps it is a medical issue. My finger does not seem to move that way. I'll just have to tell Ken that I quit typing lessons on medical grounds. My right hand may have been the one that was shut in a car door by my sister a zillion years ago. Although I don't actually remember what hand. Ken doesn't need to know that. My finger is deformed! I cannot use the "L" key!

Anyway, the poem has helped me out a lot over the years. I am also quite find of "Footprints" and most poems by Rudyard Kipling, but lack the desire or energy to share.

I have to call my friend Liz now. I have been chatting with her online for hours and cannot comprehend what it is she has to speak that is so important it will cost me 10 cents a minute.

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