They say that life comes in seasons, eras maybe, and when those times pass, that they may never be reclaimed. They say that life comes at you fast. Whoever they are, I hate them. There, I said it.
Two nights ago, I made a somewhat, and by somewhat I mean frequent, trip to the local Waffle House, an edifice I've possibly spent more time in than even the house where I currently reside, and I uncovered some startling news. That's what happens when you go to a Baptist college and you and your friends lack the motivation to seek out more typical college activites or dare I say, date. And through our nearly nightly visits we made the aquaintence of a sweet waitress named Sharon who would eventually know us so well as to place our drinks on the table when our car hit the parking lot. Over the years, 5 to be exact, we've had our ups and downs, but Sharon has always been there.
Two nights ago, I arrived to find a somewhat somber Sharon who quickly informs me it is her last night on the job after 15 years of working the third shift. She tells me her husband is sick and "not doing so well" and that she needs to go and be with him in Illinois. Now, as rediciulous as it may or may not seem, I was devasted. She was on the verge of crying the whole time we were there; it's hard to see someone you've come to love, leaving a place she loves being, in no more than a literal whimper.
I hate to see her go and realize I probably wont see her again so farewell, sweet Sharon. When I go on medication for my high cholesterol, I will know you were an intrical part of it (you think I'm kidding, ask my parents, or my physician).
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