my heart is a glorious machine;

Today was odd. I cried watching the inauguration without meaning or expecting to, worked eight hours, was asked out by an Amish bloke, and secured a job.

(I am wary of being at all political in public, especially as my knowledge in most areas is rather lacking, but it was a lovely inauguration, and I liked that President Obama's speech had things in it like "this is what I'm going to do. And also, this is what you have to do.", and while I still have my reservations, if he lives up to the things he said -- especially the bits about cutting through the old ugliness of politics-for-its-own-sake -- then we will be in a good place. Elizabeth Alexander's poem is much better read on the page than when she read it aloud with all of the odd pauses and jolts -- "maybe the mightiest word is love". Oh dear, what is wrong with me? I am not supposed to be a weeper. Except that in the last year I seem to have become one, somehow, without very much warning. Was it only because I had just got out of bed? I didn't even vote for Obama; why am I weeping all over his inauguration? But whatever your opinion of the man, the fact that an African American is president now, when, only a few generations ago, African Americans couldn't go to the same schools as whites, is awe-inspiring.

I'm still not sure of him myself: but I am willing to be hopeful. Hope is a bit contagious that way.)

And then I went to work for eight hours, because someone had been unable to work the evening shift, and because I am ridiculously helpful and curse myself afterwards every time, I agreed to take over. Well, it wasn't as horrible as it could have been, I suppose: less dead than the last time I worked a double shift. I sang a lot -- I've finally learnt all the words to "Hopeful Hearts" (I'm in a very Sarah Slean sort of mood these days) just in time to get "Lonely Side of the Moon" stuck in my head, and that's a really lovely song to feel in your throat, too, but I've only got the first verse down. And I had a lunch break -- it was three-thirty, which was sort of irritating, as I was hoping for it to be rather later and more convenient for dinner and cutting my working time in half, but I had a sandwich and pudding (!) from Mum, and cheered myself up by buying a bottle of my very favourite Cherries & Cream soda, and I may have kind of waltzed to Ben Sollee in the back room.

Near the dregs of the evening, a young Amish fellow turned up in the kiosk, wandered around a lot, and eventually bought a calendar with Big Shiny Cars on. He did not talk to me, except to ask the price of something, I think, and he made a comment about the weather. Then he went away. Then he came back and wandered around aimlessly some more. And then he came up to my register, turned to me, and asked, "Are you married?"

I said, in the sort of voice that comes out of the vocal chords of the profoundly perplexed, "No-o ... "

"Would you go out with me?" he said.

I didn't mean to step hastily backwards, and when I blurted, "I DON'T DATE," it wasn't meant to sound shocked and faintly terrified, but I am afraid that I did not do as well as I might have otherwise hoped.

He went away (yes, just like that), leaving me to laugh hysterically into my shawl -- not the sort of laughter that signifies anything being funny, but the kind of breathless relieved laughter that consumes one when something deeply bizarre has just occured.

(In retrospect, as I am wearing my great-grandmother's engagement ring anyway, I will say "Absolutely!" the next time my marital status is asked after. Anyway Mrs Wyndham-Pryce is very catchy, no? ... Shut up.)

I have yet to have been flirted with or asked out by a bloke possessing more attractive qualities than the ability to walk on two feet. One had polka-dotted hair (no, really, he said it was a home-dye job gone wrong) and attempted to flirt with me by asking if I had read Twilight, or Nicholas Sparks (perhaps to his knowledge these are the only books girls read?), and commented that my brilliantly red hair was a weird colour for a homeschooler. Another looked to be emulating Kurt Cobain and mostly complained about the town at me while I was very cool and distant until he finally went away. A proper eccentric I mightn't mind -- I like eccentrics; I am one -- but no, I am plagued by weird people. -- Although perhaps the intelligent young men of this world respect other people too much to causally ask out strangers? It is a better thought than "I ATTRACT LUNATICS", anyway.
And the best news of the day: I AM A BOOKSELLER NOW. I have the rest of the month off, and then store hours in February! (Actually, I have store hours tomorrow, because it is the last kiosk day, and according to my co-worker the kiosk will be well torn down by the time I arrive at one thirty tomorrow.) I CAN INTRODUCE PEOPLE TO BOOKS. And before very long I should get to have my own slot on the Employee Recommendations display! And I don't have to give up my book discounts and getting to borrow books and I haven't got to look for a new job in the cold and I HAVE A JOB IN A BOOKSTORE. FOR REAL THIS TIME. :D :D :D

Dear Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,

PLEASE, JUST STOP SHAVING ALREADY, OKAY? ALSO, YOU ARE MADE OF AWESOME AND I THINK I AM MADLY IN LOVE WITH YOU.  (However, because of this I am afraid I have doomed you to a miserable existence (look at the statistics, yeah?), but now at least there is a distinct statistical possibility that you will reference T.S. Eliot (you're really such a "Prufrock" sort of bloke, you know), or at least, like, Dylan Thomas or something. Child Ballads, Welsh, I don't know. -- Actually, didn't you already reference something awesome and I forgot? (Yes I know everything has long been written and filmed, but though people assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, actually, from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff. So, you know.))

P.S.: Also you should get a long coat. Preferably something in dark blue wool, maybe double-breasted, with slits in the back? Yeah. Oh what, everybody else's got a coat, come on!