Office life suits me. A receptionist's job is one of leisure, at least around this place. I read books and the news and funny things on websites, and I answer the phone. Sometimes I photocopy things. Occasionally typing is required. But mostly... I read. It is quite possibly the perfect job, and I am sublimely happy doing it, for these three weeks. Eventually the happiness will fade, and I'll go back to the frumpy, dust-covered book store, filled with hygienically-challenged customers who have every intention of picking something up, but absolutely no intention of paying for it.

Anyhow. The craziest part of this desk job is that one of the big wiggs is none other than my mum's ex-girlfriend. The woman I never looked at as a second mother, but more like a grown-up best friend who I loved like the real thing. My mom and A, they were going to be together forever. That was just the way things were going to happen - although I always kind of had a hard time imagining them as two old ladies together - the way my parents where never able to make work.
And then one night, I was in bed, reading, and my mom and A came downstairs to talk to me. I wish I could remember what exactly they told me, but obviously they were breaking up. I do remember crying until I didn't think I would ever cry again - not because I wouldn't want to, but because surely, this had to be all of the salty water and mucus my body could ever possibly create, and here I was, expelling it at a rapid pace.
I found out in the days to come that not only were the two people I loved the most not going to be together anymore, but my mom and my brother and I would be moving out of the house.
The House. The house I grew up in. The house I watched transform into something kind of ugly, into something completely comfortable and warm; the house I learned how to read in, had Chicken Poz in, had my first kiss... nearby to. It was the most perfectest place to me; still is, even. My own Shangri-La. Our life then, while nothing spectacular, was so blissfully happy, and normal. We were such a terrific family.
And then it was gone, one day, some of it packed into the boxes, the rest of it left behind. I cried a lot, that first week, because this wasn't my life, my life was in that house, why couldn't we still be in that house? Only it wasn't my life that had stayed behind, obviously; what had remained in that house was my childhood. I was only 13 when we moved, but the second we did, I couldn't be a kid anymore, I had to grow up. It had to be fast, and I had to be strong(er), so that we could make this work. We didn't, mind you. We had no money. We moved from place to place, always hoping that the next one would be better; we could afford this one, and we never could, and on and on it went. Scraping and fighting and struggling to keep our heads above the water, but it seemed were always just short. Worry became the biggest, most imporant word in my vocabulary, since that was all we did. Good god, that was almost 10 years ago, and here I am today, still scraping.

So I work with A now, and every time I hear her voice, it brings me back to that house. To that time of summer vacations and crazy birthday parties, of family dinners and dogs and that Sega Genesis. It makes my heart hurt. My first day, I got all teary, it came up on me so sharp and so fast, that sudden recollection of the happiest time of my life - localized entirely within the sound of her voice. She's so mean now, maybe it's bitterness, I don't know. There is so much about her that is exactly the same, though, it's like I'm 10 again, watching her, only we're wearing nicer clothes. It hurts a lot, I wish it didn't.

When I was a kid, I could never understand why A loved grocery shopping so much. Grocery stores were the most foulest place in the world to me, they were cold and filled with people and it was boring. But she always loved it, I thought it was crazy. Today she told me it was to get away from us. Perspective's a funny thing.