A LOVE LETTER:
Dear California,
Yeah, ok, so maybe I miss you. Finally. It took me long enough.
I miss the gentle caress of your salty ocean air, the way your roads are wide and vast. The little hills I took for granted all those years. God I miss your sweet, sweet hills. The curves and textures of them. Truly, I get excited even at the thought of those hills.
I miss the way the pollution taints the sunset over the ocean into exotic neon colors not normally found in nature. Neon pink? So beautiful. Only you can create such a feat.
I miss the faces I grew up with, the love of dysfunctional family, and the peace of lounging with a good friend on the couch and talking about nothing. I can do that in Chicago too, sure. But its different with you, California. Knowing I have to drive in order to "get out of the house" makes it that much sweeter when I just don't.
I enjoyed wearing a T-shirt in December. I could always do that with you. And flip flops have never felt better to my suffocated boot-ridden feet. Thanks for that. Thanks for just being your usual self the whole time I visited you. I apreciated that. I felt really close to you as a result.
And finally, after 2 years apart, I miss you. Sometimes it takes a while to realize what you lost. I know I gave up a lot to be without you. But we had our beef with each other and I know it is ultimately for the best that we be apart for now. Absence certainly made my heart grow fonder. You and I had our moments of greatness, but we are both better off for now. I know you can see that as clearly as I can.
But I just want you to know that I miss you, and think of you often. I hope you are doing okay without me and moving on just like I am.
You will always hold a piece of my heart, California, no matter where I go or who I end up with. I love you so much. Thank you for all you have given me. It was swell.
Good Luck!
With warmest regards,
Leanne
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Wow. Today I realized just how much I DON'T want to work at the place I have been working as a temp for the last 3 months. I went back and forth at first, when permenant positions came available, as to whether or not I could handle this being my life for a while. Sure, there are perks. No one seems to pay attention to you if you step out, leave late or stay late, flex your schedule to meet your needs a bit. You can wear jeans. There is always someone baking all night and bringing in tons of awesomely bad-for-you treats the next day. There is soda on tap. And coffee. And occasional free nice lunches. And the Xmas party was some place I would never go on my own, could not afford, and I drank effen vodka all night for free.
Then there are the lamenesses. Everyone is really dull and boring and from the suburbs. I still don't know half the peoples' names. My boss is a psycho hose beast. I can't look at the internet for more than 5 seconds, and most of the sites I wanna see are "Surf Alert Blocked!" I stuff envelopes all damn day and have the paper cuts to show for it. I feel like I am being judged secretly all the time. It's stupid work. blah blah blah.
But today...
Today really sealed the deal for me.
Yesterday my boss wanted me to stuff more Xmas cards. This entails me folding pre-signed cards from the President, sticking in a 150 dollar gift card (which I don't get as a temp and which makes me more bitter with each envelope I stuff), and sealing them into an envelope, then labeling all the envelopes. I thought we were done with the mass mailing Friday (the entire office took time out to power horse through them) but apparently the Toronto and Vancouver restaurants were still cardless. So, thankful to have something to do where I could read a book and mindless work my hands at the same time, I sat down and pushed through them quickly in order to please the boss lady.
I did notice that these particular cards were not signed by the Prez. They had her name printed in boldfaced type though, so I assumed we had run out of signed ones and who cares cuz its just the Canadians and the cards weren't even labeled personally anyway. The whole thing stunk of impersonality either way, so I just did what she told me, ignoring the urge to double check about the lack of signature. After I complete the task, there is this whole annoying misunderstanding due to my boss's lack of competancy about who and how they are to be mailed. Finally, the sweet office manager tells us it is complicated to mail to Canada so she will just take care of it for us. Very kind. Very Xmas spirit of her.
WHOOPS...
Today my boss comes barreling up to me (like she does) and says in her typical frantic spaz voice, "Did those cards I gave you yesterday have (nameless president here)'s signature on them?"
Mid-filing, I paused and stared at her with my best confused face, pondering whether or not to tell her the truth. Acting like I was really having to think back when I knew the answer was clearly NO, IDIOT! YOU GAVE ME BLANK CARDS AND NOW I KNOW YOU ARE GOING TO THINK I AM AN IDIOT TOO BECAUSE I DIDN'T NOTICE BUT I DID I JUST DIDN'T CARE!
So I finally say slowly, with much debate in my vocal quality, "I don't...think so. I would have to say no, I don't think they were."
She runs to check if they have been sent, and of course, our always-on-top-of-her-shit office manager has already taken care of it. They went out last night.
Then bossy lady comes back and raves about how we can't let them open them. "I have to get a hold of them and tell them not to open them," she mumbles crazily, "And (president) isn't here till tomorrow, so we can't send and new ones and..." she trails off, honestly looking like she is going to cry. Seriously.
"Sorry," I say, mustering up whatever ounce of sympathy I can find for something so stupidly trivial.
"Oh, its not your fault," she says. No shit.
I feel slightly bad about ignoring my urge earlier to question the lack of signature, but I let that go because honestly, its so incredibly idiotic to care at this point. In fact, why does SHE care?
"Her name is still on the cards," I offer. But she is too far gone at this point to recognize logic. All her tiny suburb-raised brain can comprehend is that these people, these Canadians so far away, with no other restaurant nearby to compare cards with, aren't going to have a shitty fake signature (which the president's assistant probably did for her anyway) on their mass produced, generic Xmas cards with 150 gift certificates inside them.
"Yeah, but..." she is at a loss. She proceeds to get to her office and return with a stack of cards that do have the signature on them. "These are left from the other mailing," she explains. "Just stuff these and we'll have enough for Vancouver at least."
She shoves them in my hands and I resist my intense desire to shake her. What I would say if I could would be:
WHO CARES???
These people are going to laugh at the attempt at personalizing, tear open the card, grab the gift card in glee and throw the remaining signed card away immediately. Then they will wearliy return to table 8 and ask if they need more iced tea. That's it. Seriously. I KNOW!!!
When I overheard my boss in near tears asking everyone in the office for advice about her predicament, and when said individuals all seemed to take her situation really seriously and offer the best advice they could, I realized right then and there that I could never stay here permenantly. I could not deal with small things like that being of vital importance. Perhaps that makes my boss more successful than I will ever be--her desire to be anally retentive about EVERYTHING. But I think I will be aware of things that are worth stressing about, and perhaps my blood pressure will be lower and I will live longer. Who knows.
And to think I get upset when I have to put more money into my car I don't drive. I freak out sometimes about that. Really. But even that looks valid compared to the ado I witnessed today.
Tis the season, people.
To get a grip.
Then there are the lamenesses. Everyone is really dull and boring and from the suburbs. I still don't know half the peoples' names. My boss is a psycho hose beast. I can't look at the internet for more than 5 seconds, and most of the sites I wanna see are "Surf Alert Blocked!" I stuff envelopes all damn day and have the paper cuts to show for it. I feel like I am being judged secretly all the time. It's stupid work. blah blah blah.
But today...
Today really sealed the deal for me.
Yesterday my boss wanted me to stuff more Xmas cards. This entails me folding pre-signed cards from the President, sticking in a 150 dollar gift card (which I don't get as a temp and which makes me more bitter with each envelope I stuff), and sealing them into an envelope, then labeling all the envelopes. I thought we were done with the mass mailing Friday (the entire office took time out to power horse through them) but apparently the Toronto and Vancouver restaurants were still cardless. So, thankful to have something to do where I could read a book and mindless work my hands at the same time, I sat down and pushed through them quickly in order to please the boss lady.
I did notice that these particular cards were not signed by the Prez. They had her name printed in boldfaced type though, so I assumed we had run out of signed ones and who cares cuz its just the Canadians and the cards weren't even labeled personally anyway. The whole thing stunk of impersonality either way, so I just did what she told me, ignoring the urge to double check about the lack of signature. After I complete the task, there is this whole annoying misunderstanding due to my boss's lack of competancy about who and how they are to be mailed. Finally, the sweet office manager tells us it is complicated to mail to Canada so she will just take care of it for us. Very kind. Very Xmas spirit of her.
WHOOPS...
Today my boss comes barreling up to me (like she does) and says in her typical frantic spaz voice, "Did those cards I gave you yesterday have (nameless president here)'s signature on them?"
Mid-filing, I paused and stared at her with my best confused face, pondering whether or not to tell her the truth. Acting like I was really having to think back when I knew the answer was clearly NO, IDIOT! YOU GAVE ME BLANK CARDS AND NOW I KNOW YOU ARE GOING TO THINK I AM AN IDIOT TOO BECAUSE I DIDN'T NOTICE BUT I DID I JUST DIDN'T CARE!
So I finally say slowly, with much debate in my vocal quality, "I don't...think so. I would have to say no, I don't think they were."
She runs to check if they have been sent, and of course, our always-on-top-of-her-shit office manager has already taken care of it. They went out last night.
Then bossy lady comes back and raves about how we can't let them open them. "I have to get a hold of them and tell them not to open them," she mumbles crazily, "And (president) isn't here till tomorrow, so we can't send and new ones and..." she trails off, honestly looking like she is going to cry. Seriously.
"Sorry," I say, mustering up whatever ounce of sympathy I can find for something so stupidly trivial.
"Oh, its not your fault," she says. No shit.
I feel slightly bad about ignoring my urge earlier to question the lack of signature, but I let that go because honestly, its so incredibly idiotic to care at this point. In fact, why does SHE care?
"Her name is still on the cards," I offer. But she is too far gone at this point to recognize logic. All her tiny suburb-raised brain can comprehend is that these people, these Canadians so far away, with no other restaurant nearby to compare cards with, aren't going to have a shitty fake signature (which the president's assistant probably did for her anyway) on their mass produced, generic Xmas cards with 150 gift certificates inside them.
"Yeah, but..." she is at a loss. She proceeds to get to her office and return with a stack of cards that do have the signature on them. "These are left from the other mailing," she explains. "Just stuff these and we'll have enough for Vancouver at least."
She shoves them in my hands and I resist my intense desire to shake her. What I would say if I could would be:
WHO CARES???
These people are going to laugh at the attempt at personalizing, tear open the card, grab the gift card in glee and throw the remaining signed card away immediately. Then they will wearliy return to table 8 and ask if they need more iced tea. That's it. Seriously. I KNOW!!!
When I overheard my boss in near tears asking everyone in the office for advice about her predicament, and when said individuals all seemed to take her situation really seriously and offer the best advice they could, I realized right then and there that I could never stay here permenantly. I could not deal with small things like that being of vital importance. Perhaps that makes my boss more successful than I will ever be--her desire to be anally retentive about EVERYTHING. But I think I will be aware of things that are worth stressing about, and perhaps my blood pressure will be lower and I will live longer. Who knows.
And to think I get upset when I have to put more money into my car I don't drive. I freak out sometimes about that. Really. But even that looks valid compared to the ado I witnessed today.
Tis the season, people.
To get a grip.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
A fax sent to the office I am currently temping at was asking for old cell phones to be donated to "Make the Call" or some group named something like that , a group whose mission is to distribute cell phones all over the place to those who need them to call 911 sometime (ie battered women shelters, homeless, elderly, etc), because I guess according to them, every cell phone can call 911 even without a plan. I found it odd, because we have really become dependant on cell phones these days. These people never had cell phones before. And neither did most of the population in America. So when did this need become so great and life threatening? Its weird to think we just keep finding new ways to make our lives easier. But when do we draw the line? When do we think enough is enough?
I can't remember a time when I didn't have a cell phone--how I managed, how I made plans, how I paid bills or had the time to sit at home on hold all day with a credit card company. But I know there was a time. And everyone was just fine, right?
So now some people have gotten together to ask us all to return our old cells we no longer use to their company, so they can do this selfless, important act of giving bums and poor people cell phones. Don't get me wrong, I see the impact. Maybe that battered woman can call 911 when her husband runs into the kitchen to get the frying pan. Or maybe the bum who is puking his innards out on the street and near death can call someone to take him to the hospital where he cannot afford to be saved. These are all important moments to try to prevent. I guess I just have a hard time comprehending that we are even at this point in society. That we are so dependant and fearful of a life without cell phones, that we feel it vital to make sure everyone gets to be "connected" as well. Not that these people aren't deserving of a way to get help. But I just feel that we have survived this long without EVERYONE having cell phones, and I think the world would still have tragedy and pain even with the access to a phone to call good old 911.
The weirdest thing about all this--
We keep creating so many things to "better" our way of life, and as we do so, we are constantly creating new needs we never even knew we could have.
Remember when our basic needs were water, food and shelter?
Those are some pretty heavy hitters that take a lot to keep up with.
Now there are other "things we just can't seem to live without..." ie. the Internet. Cell phones. Central Air. Cars. TV. ipods.
Its just really weird to think about. And this new selfless group, intent on arming the masses with cell phones to protect them, is the perfect example of just how far we have gone in creating more and more seeming vital "needs".
Maybe I will feel more supportive of the cause when I am walking by a homeless man coughing and wheezing and using my tiny little old cell phone to punch in 911.
We shall see.
I can't remember a time when I didn't have a cell phone--how I managed, how I made plans, how I paid bills or had the time to sit at home on hold all day with a credit card company. But I know there was a time. And everyone was just fine, right?
So now some people have gotten together to ask us all to return our old cells we no longer use to their company, so they can do this selfless, important act of giving bums and poor people cell phones. Don't get me wrong, I see the impact. Maybe that battered woman can call 911 when her husband runs into the kitchen to get the frying pan. Or maybe the bum who is puking his innards out on the street and near death can call someone to take him to the hospital where he cannot afford to be saved. These are all important moments to try to prevent. I guess I just have a hard time comprehending that we are even at this point in society. That we are so dependant and fearful of a life without cell phones, that we feel it vital to make sure everyone gets to be "connected" as well. Not that these people aren't deserving of a way to get help. But I just feel that we have survived this long without EVERYONE having cell phones, and I think the world would still have tragedy and pain even with the access to a phone to call good old 911.
The weirdest thing about all this--
We keep creating so many things to "better" our way of life, and as we do so, we are constantly creating new needs we never even knew we could have.
Remember when our basic needs were water, food and shelter?
Those are some pretty heavy hitters that take a lot to keep up with.
Now there are other "things we just can't seem to live without..." ie. the Internet. Cell phones. Central Air. Cars. TV. ipods.
Its just really weird to think about. And this new selfless group, intent on arming the masses with cell phones to protect them, is the perfect example of just how far we have gone in creating more and more seeming vital "needs".
Maybe I will feel more supportive of the cause when I am walking by a homeless man coughing and wheezing and using my tiny little old cell phone to punch in 911.
We shall see.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
I am hesitant to write today but was pulled to my blog nonetheless.
Life is going along, but lately I am feeling as if it is going along without me. I am pulled through situations and sort of bending and flexing, like a drunk person falling down a cliff--they say they survive things like that because they are numb and flexible when intoxicated. Trouble is, I am not intoxicated, nor do I want to be. I need to be present for all this. This is all really big to me right now, and later it will probably appear very small. A mere dent on the car I am driving through time...
Until then, I am walking in a bit of a clarity haze. Can I say that? Does that make sense to anyone but me? I feel really clear, sort of peaceful, but also constantly in my head, wandering in a head space I don't really know what to do with.
I am starting to doubt myself. What I knew, what I know, what I trust in...
I am not really sure what kind of person I really am in difficult situations. I used to know--I was a little weak, I was insecure, clinging to the past, intimidated into doing things, or even sometimes doing things for the wrong reasons--for the drama of it all.
Do I still like drama?
Yeah...I do. Can I consciously try to avoid it? Sure.
Do I want to? I don't know. It follows me anyway, it seems.
I guess drama and suffering is the stuff of life and I should embrace it. But having had a taste of what felt like comfort and support, ease and contentment, I found myself avoiding drama just to try to maintain that stasis. But it is impossible. It always comes up, as long as people keep trying to be intimate and connected to one another.
All of this probably sounds really criptic and sort of surface...I think that is all I can write, without getting into too much detail. I don't even know if I can think about details right now. The big picture is what is glaring in my face right now. And that whole "forrest for the trees" saying is working oddly for me right now. I see this huge fucking forrest and it is all fuzzy and vast and I can't make out anything close up--the outline of each individual tree is blurring before my eyes. Or maybe its just the tears. It could be that too. Either way, I can't quite grasp what baby steps I need to do. But I am attempting to walk them anyway, blindly almost.
I don't know what else I can do...
or write...
I am spent...
Life is going along, but lately I am feeling as if it is going along without me. I am pulled through situations and sort of bending and flexing, like a drunk person falling down a cliff--they say they survive things like that because they are numb and flexible when intoxicated. Trouble is, I am not intoxicated, nor do I want to be. I need to be present for all this. This is all really big to me right now, and later it will probably appear very small. A mere dent on the car I am driving through time...
Until then, I am walking in a bit of a clarity haze. Can I say that? Does that make sense to anyone but me? I feel really clear, sort of peaceful, but also constantly in my head, wandering in a head space I don't really know what to do with.
I am starting to doubt myself. What I knew, what I know, what I trust in...
I am not really sure what kind of person I really am in difficult situations. I used to know--I was a little weak, I was insecure, clinging to the past, intimidated into doing things, or even sometimes doing things for the wrong reasons--for the drama of it all.
Do I still like drama?
Yeah...I do. Can I consciously try to avoid it? Sure.
Do I want to? I don't know. It follows me anyway, it seems.
I guess drama and suffering is the stuff of life and I should embrace it. But having had a taste of what felt like comfort and support, ease and contentment, I found myself avoiding drama just to try to maintain that stasis. But it is impossible. It always comes up, as long as people keep trying to be intimate and connected to one another.
All of this probably sounds really criptic and sort of surface...I think that is all I can write, without getting into too much detail. I don't even know if I can think about details right now. The big picture is what is glaring in my face right now. And that whole "forrest for the trees" saying is working oddly for me right now. I see this huge fucking forrest and it is all fuzzy and vast and I can't make out anything close up--the outline of each individual tree is blurring before my eyes. Or maybe its just the tears. It could be that too. Either way, I can't quite grasp what baby steps I need to do. But I am attempting to walk them anyway, blindly almost.
I don't know what else I can do...
or write...
I am spent...
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
There is something so calm about the moments after a good cry. You feel light, centered, at peace for a fleeting second. It is very spiritual and cathartic. You are able to open your mind to truths and not react to them, but just see them, clearly, for what they are...truths.
I feel bad for people who dont let themselves experience this clarity more often. Non-criers miss out, I say, on the simple, human moment when the body drains all its stress out in tears. Where does all that stress go when you dont cry? It cant stay bottled up forever. And if it does stay inside, and eventually dissapate, where does it leak to? Other parts of your muscles? Your stomach lining? Your intestines? That cant be good for your soul, mind or body...
I would much rather get it all up and out of me. I feel free afterward.
Till I cry again in fits and starts and it happens all over again...ahh the cycle of life.
I feel bad for people who dont let themselves experience this clarity more often. Non-criers miss out, I say, on the simple, human moment when the body drains all its stress out in tears. Where does all that stress go when you dont cry? It cant stay bottled up forever. And if it does stay inside, and eventually dissapate, where does it leak to? Other parts of your muscles? Your stomach lining? Your intestines? That cant be good for your soul, mind or body...
I would much rather get it all up and out of me. I feel free afterward.
Till I cry again in fits and starts and it happens all over again...ahh the cycle of life.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Ok kids, its been a while, and Mama's been sick with a winter cold and traveling all over the frickin East Coast for Thanksgiving with the boy. So sorry about the hiatus.
I was thinking about something that happened in the summer that was very cathartic that I never got to write much about. So I am going to do that now. Perhaps I will experience another cathartic feeling. A re-catharting, as it were?
There was a ring. It sat on top of a shelf, getting absolutely no attention for a very long time. While he packed to leave for good, while I sat on the bed and watched him pack himself out of my life, I happened to notice the ring.
"Is this yours?" I asked
"Oh, yeah."
"Where is it from?"
He paused in thought. Then, "I think I actually found it on the ground somewhere."
I picked it up and put it on. It looked lovely. "Can I have it?" I had to ask.
"Sure."
To me, it was a symbol of our connection, to be cherished long after he was gone. To him, it was just a shitty thing he found one drunk night and kept accidently. This could have been the metaphor for our entire relationship. I know that now.
He would never have given me anything like that on his own. And I wanted it--something crappy he found, because I could invoke meaning out of it where he couldn't. Just like in our relationship. Strange, the correlation.
So time passes and life passes and long after my heart was broken a few too many times by his disinterest and lack of compassion and whatnot, I still wore the ring. New life, new city, old stupid ring. I rather liked how it looked on my finger--black onyx with a flowery band of tarnished silver...I didn't wear any jewelry, just this ring. And once I truly felt his hold on my aching heart slip away into the black waters, like Leo at the end of that Titanic movie, I felt the intense need to rid myself of the ring that didnt even symbolize anything all along.
But I didnt do anything about it for a very long time. I had the plan all set--take my girlfriends out to lake Michigan with a bottle of wine and have a little ceremony before tossing it in with strength and pride, a purdging of sorts. But I never found a good time to do it. Months and months passed, I found a wonderful man I love more than I thought possible, but still the ring remained. Who was I, Gullom?
Then one night, after one too many Strong Island Ice Teas or 6 shot Margaritas or something to that effect from my favorite watering hole, I found myself with strangers and friends all drunkenly lounging on the concrete shores of Belmont Harbor, Lake Michigan yawning out before me as far as the eye could see. I felt so drunk I knew the bad time was coming for me, the time when I yack and call it a night. But before it came, I had a duty to perform. I was inspired to throw the ring here, now, among these strangers I barely knew. It was time, I just knew it.
I called for everyone's attention, and proceeded to explain my situation. Everyone was very supportive of the ring tossing, so I pulled it off, freed myself, and chucked it out into the murky depths of Lake Michigan. It felt so overwhemingly good to do.
And as I sat drunkenly down at the edge of the water, I realized I had been holding on to the past, and all my anger and hurt. I felt it slipping away with the rings demise. I deserved what I had now--a loving, wonderful boy to explore the world with, and I deserved not to be taken for granted or fucked with. It was a calm, peaceful feeling. Satisfying.
Then I crawled away from the group and leaned over the edge of the concrete and hurled all my insides out. Right into Lake Michigan. Right into the waters in which I had thrown the ring. And I gotta tell you, it felt good. I puked all over the ring. I purdged literally and figuratively.
Embarassed and newly sober, I wiped my mouth and lay on the cool concrete, thinking about how strange it all was. But how good I felt now. It was over. Finally.
So that is the story I wanted to share. I was happy to do something so dramatic and silly, since I have never been the type. I tend to keep everything people give me and cherish things boyfriends give me, even if they are as meaningless as a shitty found ring. I have learned not to form attachments to such things. Its the feeling between two people that carries a relationship through this lifetime. Not supposed symbols.
I was thinking about something that happened in the summer that was very cathartic that I never got to write much about. So I am going to do that now. Perhaps I will experience another cathartic feeling. A re-catharting, as it were?
There was a ring. It sat on top of a shelf, getting absolutely no attention for a very long time. While he packed to leave for good, while I sat on the bed and watched him pack himself out of my life, I happened to notice the ring.
"Is this yours?" I asked
"Oh, yeah."
"Where is it from?"
He paused in thought. Then, "I think I actually found it on the ground somewhere."
I picked it up and put it on. It looked lovely. "Can I have it?" I had to ask.
"Sure."
To me, it was a symbol of our connection, to be cherished long after he was gone. To him, it was just a shitty thing he found one drunk night and kept accidently. This could have been the metaphor for our entire relationship. I know that now.
He would never have given me anything like that on his own. And I wanted it--something crappy he found, because I could invoke meaning out of it where he couldn't. Just like in our relationship. Strange, the correlation.
So time passes and life passes and long after my heart was broken a few too many times by his disinterest and lack of compassion and whatnot, I still wore the ring. New life, new city, old stupid ring. I rather liked how it looked on my finger--black onyx with a flowery band of tarnished silver...I didn't wear any jewelry, just this ring. And once I truly felt his hold on my aching heart slip away into the black waters, like Leo at the end of that Titanic movie, I felt the intense need to rid myself of the ring that didnt even symbolize anything all along.
But I didnt do anything about it for a very long time. I had the plan all set--take my girlfriends out to lake Michigan with a bottle of wine and have a little ceremony before tossing it in with strength and pride, a purdging of sorts. But I never found a good time to do it. Months and months passed, I found a wonderful man I love more than I thought possible, but still the ring remained. Who was I, Gullom?
Then one night, after one too many Strong Island Ice Teas or 6 shot Margaritas or something to that effect from my favorite watering hole, I found myself with strangers and friends all drunkenly lounging on the concrete shores of Belmont Harbor, Lake Michigan yawning out before me as far as the eye could see. I felt so drunk I knew the bad time was coming for me, the time when I yack and call it a night. But before it came, I had a duty to perform. I was inspired to throw the ring here, now, among these strangers I barely knew. It was time, I just knew it.
I called for everyone's attention, and proceeded to explain my situation. Everyone was very supportive of the ring tossing, so I pulled it off, freed myself, and chucked it out into the murky depths of Lake Michigan. It felt so overwhemingly good to do.
And as I sat drunkenly down at the edge of the water, I realized I had been holding on to the past, and all my anger and hurt. I felt it slipping away with the rings demise. I deserved what I had now--a loving, wonderful boy to explore the world with, and I deserved not to be taken for granted or fucked with. It was a calm, peaceful feeling. Satisfying.
Then I crawled away from the group and leaned over the edge of the concrete and hurled all my insides out. Right into Lake Michigan. Right into the waters in which I had thrown the ring. And I gotta tell you, it felt good. I puked all over the ring. I purdged literally and figuratively.
Embarassed and newly sober, I wiped my mouth and lay on the cool concrete, thinking about how strange it all was. But how good I felt now. It was over. Finally.
So that is the story I wanted to share. I was happy to do something so dramatic and silly, since I have never been the type. I tend to keep everything people give me and cherish things boyfriends give me, even if they are as meaningless as a shitty found ring. I have learned not to form attachments to such things. Its the feeling between two people that carries a relationship through this lifetime. Not supposed symbols.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Last night I came to a very scary realization...
After a night of heavy drinking and seeing shows and bowling in the glow of various blacklights, I ended up at a friend's birthday party during what is known as the "weird hour," about 130am or so. During this end of the night social hour, I decided to try to teach a guy the "Mc Donalds" little girls' slapping hand routine from childhood. I am sure some are familiar--"Big Mac, Filet of Fish, Quarter Pounder, French Fries, Icy Coke, Thick Shake, Sundaes and Apple Pie..." you know the rest. We half chanted, half sung this song as we executed various seemingly elaborate hand slaps and snaps and such. It was thrilling as a little girl, trust me.
Well the guy didn't know it, so the female stranger next to him pushed him away and took over with gusto, which was very pleasing to me.
As this was going on, another friend came out and, inspired by the Micky Dee's routine, he proceeded to spout out some song he had learned as a child in which every single mother-loving menu item is recited in record speed. It was incredible. And oddly unsettling.
THEN, the original guy I was attempting to teach my slap hand routine, busted out with a song from camp that sounded vaguely familiar from days long gone. It went something like this:
A-Pizza Hut!
A-Pizza Hut!
Kentucky Fried Chicken and
A-Pizza Hut!
Mc Donalds!
Mc Donalds!
Kentucky Fried Chicken and
A-Pizza Hut!
--and so on.
Holy shit, I thought to myself, we have so many references from childhood to these fast food chains that we are now FINALLY realizing are so awful for us and contribute to this country's sense of gluttony and big, Big, BIG! It has been ingrained in us like so much church propaganda! The Church of Fast Food? Yikes.
Anyway this thought went along with another thought I had earlier in the week, about if babies whose mothers eat Mc Donalds when pregnant give their offspring a taste of the addictive qualities of Mc Donalds so early on, that they come out wanting it all the time and already hooked on whatever additives they put in the fries and shit that make it so good and such an intense craving sometimes.
Almost like a crack baby, but for Mc Donalds.
I really worry about those children. They may be the same ones whose mothers give them coca-cola in a bottle, forcing them to rot their teeth early and have gold and silver teeth by age 4.
But I guess now that bling grills are in style, its not so bad for those kids. And they can always be passified by a quick stop for a Happy Meal.
After a night of heavy drinking and seeing shows and bowling in the glow of various blacklights, I ended up at a friend's birthday party during what is known as the "weird hour," about 130am or so. During this end of the night social hour, I decided to try to teach a guy the "Mc Donalds" little girls' slapping hand routine from childhood. I am sure some are familiar--"Big Mac, Filet of Fish, Quarter Pounder, French Fries, Icy Coke, Thick Shake, Sundaes and Apple Pie..." you know the rest. We half chanted, half sung this song as we executed various seemingly elaborate hand slaps and snaps and such. It was thrilling as a little girl, trust me.
Well the guy didn't know it, so the female stranger next to him pushed him away and took over with gusto, which was very pleasing to me.
As this was going on, another friend came out and, inspired by the Micky Dee's routine, he proceeded to spout out some song he had learned as a child in which every single mother-loving menu item is recited in record speed. It was incredible. And oddly unsettling.
THEN, the original guy I was attempting to teach my slap hand routine, busted out with a song from camp that sounded vaguely familiar from days long gone. It went something like this:
A-Pizza Hut!
A-Pizza Hut!
Kentucky Fried Chicken and
A-Pizza Hut!
Mc Donalds!
Mc Donalds!
Kentucky Fried Chicken and
A-Pizza Hut!
--and so on.
Holy shit, I thought to myself, we have so many references from childhood to these fast food chains that we are now FINALLY realizing are so awful for us and contribute to this country's sense of gluttony and big, Big, BIG! It has been ingrained in us like so much church propaganda! The Church of Fast Food? Yikes.
Anyway this thought went along with another thought I had earlier in the week, about if babies whose mothers eat Mc Donalds when pregnant give their offspring a taste of the addictive qualities of Mc Donalds so early on, that they come out wanting it all the time and already hooked on whatever additives they put in the fries and shit that make it so good and such an intense craving sometimes.
Almost like a crack baby, but for Mc Donalds.
I really worry about those children. They may be the same ones whose mothers give them coca-cola in a bottle, forcing them to rot their teeth early and have gold and silver teeth by age 4.
But I guess now that bling grills are in style, its not so bad for those kids. And they can always be passified by a quick stop for a Happy Meal.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Things I am scared of right now...
1) The cold setting in
2) My car crapping out and having no money
3) Having to move soon and having no money
4) Starting a career path with an expensive school and having no money
5) Having to ask my mom for money
6) Some sort of catastrophe happening and having no money
I sense a pattern.
It seems I am having a financial breakdown. Again. It seems like only yesterday I was freaking out about money when I quit my waitressing job. But now, after being very frugal for a month or so, I have slipped just a little and got a bit fancy free with my money. (What? A girl can't have a few drinks and a nice movie on a Saturday afternoon? Please.) And suddenly I am back at square one, shivering and scared that if anything disrupts this delicate balance I have going, I will spiral into poor woman's oblivion. I am just perfectly able to pay all my bills and rent and eat and have a few drinks. That is about it. Nothing else can be introduced. Even a fun roadtrip coming up for Thanksgiving is secretly putting me into mini convulsions if I think about it and how I am going to afford to miss 3 whole work days.
Its ridiculous, I know. Stupid and meaningless to worry unnecessarily. But sometimes it feels very necessary. Especially when I am looking to take the plunge into some serious debt for school. The one good thing I had going was my little debt--a few thousand in cc bills. No biggie. NO school loans. Great.
But now...I am about to embark on an academic quest to learn a craft that will be amazing and wonderful to use, supposedly pay well, and hopefully give me some of the purpose I have been seeking for a while. But what if it doesn't? What if I don't get it, or I hurt myself, or I stop halfway through out of circumstances out of my control?
I am hearing my mother's voice in a lot of these thoughts. Her voice in my head likes to team up with my own inner voice and tear down all my excitement for things, only focusing on the hardships and possible horrible worse case senarios.
I hate it.
And I am fighting it. Seriously. I am really trying this time...
I just slip up and get lazy and the voices creep up yet again. So here I am, getting them out and away from my head and out into the ether (or net as it were) and somehow it helps. It may be a quick fix to just get me through the next few days, but it helps.
Anyone have any thoughts or fears they want to contribute? It is always nice to know you aren't alone in your darker moments. It helps to get it out and share with people who understand.
I am here, shaking in my shitty boots I can't afford to replace, willing to listen and empathize.
1) The cold setting in
2) My car crapping out and having no money
3) Having to move soon and having no money
4) Starting a career path with an expensive school and having no money
5) Having to ask my mom for money
6) Some sort of catastrophe happening and having no money
I sense a pattern.
It seems I am having a financial breakdown. Again. It seems like only yesterday I was freaking out about money when I quit my waitressing job. But now, after being very frugal for a month or so, I have slipped just a little and got a bit fancy free with my money. (What? A girl can't have a few drinks and a nice movie on a Saturday afternoon? Please.) And suddenly I am back at square one, shivering and scared that if anything disrupts this delicate balance I have going, I will spiral into poor woman's oblivion. I am just perfectly able to pay all my bills and rent and eat and have a few drinks. That is about it. Nothing else can be introduced. Even a fun roadtrip coming up for Thanksgiving is secretly putting me into mini convulsions if I think about it and how I am going to afford to miss 3 whole work days.
Its ridiculous, I know. Stupid and meaningless to worry unnecessarily. But sometimes it feels very necessary. Especially when I am looking to take the plunge into some serious debt for school. The one good thing I had going was my little debt--a few thousand in cc bills. No biggie. NO school loans. Great.
But now...I am about to embark on an academic quest to learn a craft that will be amazing and wonderful to use, supposedly pay well, and hopefully give me some of the purpose I have been seeking for a while. But what if it doesn't? What if I don't get it, or I hurt myself, or I stop halfway through out of circumstances out of my control?
I am hearing my mother's voice in a lot of these thoughts. Her voice in my head likes to team up with my own inner voice and tear down all my excitement for things, only focusing on the hardships and possible horrible worse case senarios.
I hate it.
And I am fighting it. Seriously. I am really trying this time...
I just slip up and get lazy and the voices creep up yet again. So here I am, getting them out and away from my head and out into the ether (or net as it were) and somehow it helps. It may be a quick fix to just get me through the next few days, but it helps.
Anyone have any thoughts or fears they want to contribute? It is always nice to know you aren't alone in your darker moments. It helps to get it out and share with people who understand.
I am here, shaking in my shitty boots I can't afford to replace, willing to listen and empathize.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
The Killer Giant Snails Are Coming!!!!
I read that in Barbados they are conducting nocturnal hunts in search of the "Giant Snails" that are taking massive chunks out of their wildlife during the night. These snails are said to be at least the size of a human hand, and are often found riding on each other's backs and clustering together in what sound like massive snail orgies.
I can't quite believe this is really happening.
It is a very similar feeling to the one I had when told that they had found the Giant Squid, which has "eyes the size of dinner plates!" I was full of glee when I heard, yet had a very hard time comprehending the truth of it all.
I hope they can put a stop to the destruction these snails have caused. But I also hope they can cage at least a few of those suckers and ship them over to the museum here so I can see these invertebrate orgies in action.
I read that in Barbados they are conducting nocturnal hunts in search of the "Giant Snails" that are taking massive chunks out of their wildlife during the night. These snails are said to be at least the size of a human hand, and are often found riding on each other's backs and clustering together in what sound like massive snail orgies.
I can't quite believe this is really happening.
It is a very similar feeling to the one I had when told that they had found the Giant Squid, which has "eyes the size of dinner plates!" I was full of glee when I heard, yet had a very hard time comprehending the truth of it all.
I hope they can put a stop to the destruction these snails have caused. But I also hope they can cage at least a few of those suckers and ship them over to the museum here so I can see these invertebrate orgies in action.
Monday, November 06, 2006
It is always scary to take the plunge and commit to a set path in life. That has been my problem for a long time, I think--the idea that deciding what to do and then going for it is so...final, and thus a challenge to do. But the beauty of making a decision is that you can always veer somewhere else, or discover something even better along the way. It's NOT doing anything that stops you from moving forward or living life to the fullest.
And choosing a path doesn't mean it has to be forever. It can just be an awesome and satisfying way to spend your time...until it's not. And that is okay too. But maybe, just maybe, you find something that will fulfill something inside of you. And maybe that will be the end all be all. Or maybe it will be what it is to you right then--exactly what you needed to do to save yourself from yourself. And then you move on to something else.
I am experiencing this sort of decision making phenomena right now. And it feels so much better than NOT doing anything, that I know whether it is right or wrong, it is good for me. I am excited about discovering if a career is right for me, and I am going about it as responsibly as I can. I am getting mixed responses from friends and family, but I am trying to sort out the pros and cons and the negative attitudes. I am evaluating the investment I would have to make and assessing if it is worth the spiritual and educational growth I will be gaining from it.
I have discovered many things so far. One is, this shit is really difficult. But it's not so difficult I want to quit. The drive far outweighs the trouble. Which is AWESOME! I haven't felt that in a long time. Also, trying to listen to yourself is easier once you stop pushing to find something. Something will make sense once you give yourself the attention you need and stop paying attention to what everyone else is doing. Easier said than done for me, but I managed to hear a little something and am trying to run with it. And even if it turns out not to be for me, I am that much closer to finding what is. That is what life is.
Why is it so hard to remember that? All those cliches about "life is the journey, not the destination" and blah blah get lost along the way when you are freaking out about being in your late 20s and as directionless as an amoeba. Maybe we aren't directionless, maybe it is okay to have some incubation periods at times. Bears get to hybernate, don't they? Maybe we should get to as well. As long as we don't get lost in our sorrow and fear, maybe it is rejuvinating to go through it.
At least that is what I keep telling myself.
Anyway I am excited to see what the future has in store, and I am not fearing it nearly as much.
Give me a few days, then we'll talk.
And choosing a path doesn't mean it has to be forever. It can just be an awesome and satisfying way to spend your time...until it's not. And that is okay too. But maybe, just maybe, you find something that will fulfill something inside of you. And maybe that will be the end all be all. Or maybe it will be what it is to you right then--exactly what you needed to do to save yourself from yourself. And then you move on to something else.
I am experiencing this sort of decision making phenomena right now. And it feels so much better than NOT doing anything, that I know whether it is right or wrong, it is good for me. I am excited about discovering if a career is right for me, and I am going about it as responsibly as I can. I am getting mixed responses from friends and family, but I am trying to sort out the pros and cons and the negative attitudes. I am evaluating the investment I would have to make and assessing if it is worth the spiritual and educational growth I will be gaining from it.
I have discovered many things so far. One is, this shit is really difficult. But it's not so difficult I want to quit. The drive far outweighs the trouble. Which is AWESOME! I haven't felt that in a long time. Also, trying to listen to yourself is easier once you stop pushing to find something. Something will make sense once you give yourself the attention you need and stop paying attention to what everyone else is doing. Easier said than done for me, but I managed to hear a little something and am trying to run with it. And even if it turns out not to be for me, I am that much closer to finding what is. That is what life is.
Why is it so hard to remember that? All those cliches about "life is the journey, not the destination" and blah blah get lost along the way when you are freaking out about being in your late 20s and as directionless as an amoeba. Maybe we aren't directionless, maybe it is okay to have some incubation periods at times. Bears get to hybernate, don't they? Maybe we should get to as well. As long as we don't get lost in our sorrow and fear, maybe it is rejuvinating to go through it.
At least that is what I keep telling myself.
Anyway I am excited to see what the future has in store, and I am not fearing it nearly as much.
Give me a few days, then we'll talk.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
I began taking a guitar class at Old Town School of Folk, which I highly reccommend to anyone who wants a low key and warm environment in which to make poor attempts at rocking when you know nothing about music. Seriously, when you are jamming in class at Old Town , you FEEL like you are really mastering the instrument, and everyone supports your artistic endevors wholeheartedly. Its amazing. Also, they just throw you into learning songs...no music theory or chord progressions to slow you down. You simply pound out "Mercedes Benz" with your best Janis Joplin voice until your fingers bleed and you feel like a master.
Case in point--I had my first class Thurs (compliments of the best boy ever) and I enjoyed every minute of it. I learned chords called "D" and "A7" and through those two, I was able to play at least 4 songs that night. Incredible, I say. I felt the confidence of a true guitar player shine through my actual novice status solely because I could play an entire song. There is truly something to that--the sense accomplishment, especially on the first day. I think the instructors know that and that is why they use this "just get in there and play" technique. It is much more rewarding than talking about the music and chords and beats, etc. the entire class.
After jamming for two hours straight on Hank Williams, Bob Marley, Janis and Merle Haggard, I finished my beer (yes, I had beer while I played. Genius!) and walked to the train abuzz with pride.
Then I noticed the massive blister on the side of my thumb. It came so fast, without warning. But it was there, shouting out for me to pay attention to it with a throbbing pain I have not ever experienced on that part of my body before. The blister stayed for 3 days, not popping but threatening to every time I used the keyboard on the computer at work(which was often.) It made my whole thumb hot, despite the dropping Chicago tempatures, quite a feat, I must say.
I kept a close watch on it, waiting for the enevitable pop, only to be slightly disappointed when I woke up Saturday hung over and saw that somehow during the night while I slept, the liquid found a way to drain out undetected. All that remained of my tight little bubble was a deflated sack hanging off my thumb. And no wet spot anywhere on the bed to show for it. Oh well. At least it didn't explode in an embarassing scene somewhere public. I guess I should be grateful. So I will.
Now I am looking forward to the next lesson. I hope guitar doesn't end up like mandolin class, where my excitement for it lasted through the second session, and then suddenly I found myself so damn lost that my fingers looked at me in confusion and said "you want us to do WHAT? No way, we're outta here," and promptly gave up.
I think guitar is a little more accessible than mandolin, though, so maybe it will be a while before they introduce things that overwhelm my dumb fingers so much that they retreat back into my pockets in fear. I certainly hope so. I want to be able to rock any time, anywhere. That is my goal.
Here is to trying a new awesome thing. We should all make sure we are doing that whenever we start to get too comfortable. Challenges (even large bubbly ones on the side of our thumbs) are wonderful and necessary to our sense of pride in ourselves. May we all embrace them with glee.
Case in point--I had my first class Thurs (compliments of the best boy ever) and I enjoyed every minute of it. I learned chords called "D" and "A7" and through those two, I was able to play at least 4 songs that night. Incredible, I say. I felt the confidence of a true guitar player shine through my actual novice status solely because I could play an entire song. There is truly something to that--the sense accomplishment, especially on the first day. I think the instructors know that and that is why they use this "just get in there and play" technique. It is much more rewarding than talking about the music and chords and beats, etc. the entire class.
After jamming for two hours straight on Hank Williams, Bob Marley, Janis and Merle Haggard, I finished my beer (yes, I had beer while I played. Genius!) and walked to the train abuzz with pride.
Then I noticed the massive blister on the side of my thumb. It came so fast, without warning. But it was there, shouting out for me to pay attention to it with a throbbing pain I have not ever experienced on that part of my body before. The blister stayed for 3 days, not popping but threatening to every time I used the keyboard on the computer at work(which was often.) It made my whole thumb hot, despite the dropping Chicago tempatures, quite a feat, I must say.
I kept a close watch on it, waiting for the enevitable pop, only to be slightly disappointed when I woke up Saturday hung over and saw that somehow during the night while I slept, the liquid found a way to drain out undetected. All that remained of my tight little bubble was a deflated sack hanging off my thumb. And no wet spot anywhere on the bed to show for it. Oh well. At least it didn't explode in an embarassing scene somewhere public. I guess I should be grateful. So I will.
Now I am looking forward to the next lesson. I hope guitar doesn't end up like mandolin class, where my excitement for it lasted through the second session, and then suddenly I found myself so damn lost that my fingers looked at me in confusion and said "you want us to do WHAT? No way, we're outta here," and promptly gave up.
I think guitar is a little more accessible than mandolin, though, so maybe it will be a while before they introduce things that overwhelm my dumb fingers so much that they retreat back into my pockets in fear. I certainly hope so. I want to be able to rock any time, anywhere. That is my goal.
Here is to trying a new awesome thing. We should all make sure we are doing that whenever we start to get too comfortable. Challenges (even large bubbly ones on the side of our thumbs) are wonderful and necessary to our sense of pride in ourselves. May we all embrace them with glee.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Open Letter to Chicago Public Transit System:
Dear CTA,
Words cannot express how much I love you, despite all your flaws. Look, I have loved many times, and I really think with you, I can forgive all the things about you that really get my goat, and just find a higher plane with us.
On Weekend nights, I think about how fast you get us all away from our shitty day jobs and into our nightlife, and I am amazed at your speed and dedication. I wonder how you feel about having to go back and forth all night instead of partying down as well. I am sure you miss the raging fun, but at least you get to see it in transition, from one social gathering to another. Sometimes the train cars even become a mini party of their own due to drunken idiots! What fun! They bring the party to you, CTA. That is how much we love you.
I often curse your name when I have already brought it upon myself to be late to work, and you add to the problem by being late as well. And sometimes I get annoyed that you dont have more seats. Or you take a turn to quick and make me mash into another rider, thus breaking my silent morning and forcing me to utter "sorry" in my gravelly pre-coffee voice.
But despite all this, I honestly don't know what I would do without you. I need you in my life, always. I can't see myself without you, and my future looks so beautiful as long as you are around. So I will get over all my issues with you and keep trying to find new ways to love you and all you bring me each day.
Sincerely,
Yours forever,
Your sweet loving rider,
Leanne
Dear CTA,
Words cannot express how much I love you, despite all your flaws. Look, I have loved many times, and I really think with you, I can forgive all the things about you that really get my goat, and just find a higher plane with us.
On Weekend nights, I think about how fast you get us all away from our shitty day jobs and into our nightlife, and I am amazed at your speed and dedication. I wonder how you feel about having to go back and forth all night instead of partying down as well. I am sure you miss the raging fun, but at least you get to see it in transition, from one social gathering to another. Sometimes the train cars even become a mini party of their own due to drunken idiots! What fun! They bring the party to you, CTA. That is how much we love you.
I often curse your name when I have already brought it upon myself to be late to work, and you add to the problem by being late as well. And sometimes I get annoyed that you dont have more seats. Or you take a turn to quick and make me mash into another rider, thus breaking my silent morning and forcing me to utter "sorry" in my gravelly pre-coffee voice.
But despite all this, I honestly don't know what I would do without you. I need you in my life, always. I can't see myself without you, and my future looks so beautiful as long as you are around. So I will get over all my issues with you and keep trying to find new ways to love you and all you bring me each day.
Sincerely,
Yours forever,
Your sweet loving rider,
Leanne
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
There were two fires in two days in Chicago this week. The trains have been a mess because of them. I find it odd that they are both so large and disruptive and happened so close together...call me a sassy Nam Vet, but I think its a conspiracy. I think arson is involved and these people lighting these fires are trying to say something. If we all shut up and listen real close, I think we can hear what they are saying, just faintly...fuck all y'all and your stinkin train commutes!
You are right, arsonists! We should not be so hurried to get home. We should enjoy lounging on the platform for a few good minutes (20 to be exact) and read our books, enjoy our carefully selected i-tunes, find comfort in bitching with others about the delays...really take in the good life, you know?
Also, it brings people together. People forced to be nose to nose on the train. Bumping and apologizing all over the place. What spirit this brings to the Big City! And how!
Anyway, stop lighting fires so close to train lines. Its pissing us off. Thanks arsonists. Stay cool. (get it? HA!)
You are right, arsonists! We should not be so hurried to get home. We should enjoy lounging on the platform for a few good minutes (20 to be exact) and read our books, enjoy our carefully selected i-tunes, find comfort in bitching with others about the delays...really take in the good life, you know?
Also, it brings people together. People forced to be nose to nose on the train. Bumping and apologizing all over the place. What spirit this brings to the Big City! And how!
Anyway, stop lighting fires so close to train lines. Its pissing us off. Thanks arsonists. Stay cool. (get it? HA!)
Monday, October 23, 2006
A friend of mine was kind enough to reach into my hair while I was bent over and grabbing something out of my bag, pluck a HUGE spiny, dried out grey hair out of its dead follicle, and present it to me as a sort of birthday gift. She said "here you go," or "take a look at that," or something like that, with a big smile on her face. But I didn't even hear her. I just stared at the foreign body between my trembling fingers.
Now I know grey hair shouldn't be a big deal. I guess it is just a part of the aging process. But I am someone who happens to be terrified of getting old, and I happen to be in a bit of an emotional period in my life, and I happen to have never seen a grey hair on my head until that moment. So needless to say, I was a mess.
I honestly was brought to tears by this discovery. My friend of course felt terrible. She thought it was funny because she has many grey hairs, and she was sure I had seen at least one or two already, being the ancient 27 years old I am. But no. She unknowingly pulled out my first and hopefully only one. And got the scare of her life when it brought me to depths of depression as a result. I kept a hold on my tears, unwilling to let them spill. But it was a fine line. They danced on the rims of my eyelids. But not a single drop actually stained my face. Thank the Lord.
I guess I am letting my sadness get the best of me lately. It could be the darkness, the cold, the icy wind unwilling to let me enjoy my time outside and instead confining me to the small surface area of my apartment. I had done well for myself, I think. I was not very sad for about two months. I was freaking out, sure, but it was at a tolerable level I could handle. Now I am feeling a little paralyzed. I will push through it soon, I am sure, but for now it sure is annoying.
I think it was aggrivated by a sudden feeling of utter loneliness. I don't want to be friends with people who don't think I am important enough in their lives to make an effort for me. Why even bother? I am getting to a point where I think I want to let go of people who I don't hear from for a while...stop trying to keep in touch with walls that don't reach out to me as well. I really feel like I don't have a true friend in my vicinity anymore...someone who I can depend on, at least. Even those people I feel close to, I know if I really needed them, unless I was dying on the side of the road, they might be too busy. And I am a culprit too. I don't always make myself available to people when they need me. But usually I will try to make up for it if it happens, make a concerted effort to call or see them as soon as I can. I call even if it has been a while. I don't remember the last time someone did the same.
I think there are friends that fall into the "They just aren't that into you" category. And I am the girl who thinks (wrongly) that the excuses are because they really care, they were just too busy. But really, if they cared, they would make time. Somehow. Maybe not when I wanted it, but sometime soon after. When someone really wants to be with you, they find a way. And so with pals, if they really enjoyed your company and valued you, they would find a way. A lot of my friends "just aren't that into me," not as much as I am into them, I guess. And that is a hard thing to come to terms with, much like it is in a couple situation.
We are also all quite self centered now, in this life. I see it in the people close to me all the time. And sometimes in myself as well. Will that phase ever end? Or is that the only way we can be in this cutthroat capitalistic and cruel society? We have to focus on us or we will not be payed attention to by the world... we will slip through the cracks...
All this makes me wanna just lay down and sleep away the sadness.
Jeez I am so goth right now.
Ugh.
Now I know grey hair shouldn't be a big deal. I guess it is just a part of the aging process. But I am someone who happens to be terrified of getting old, and I happen to be in a bit of an emotional period in my life, and I happen to have never seen a grey hair on my head until that moment. So needless to say, I was a mess.
I honestly was brought to tears by this discovery. My friend of course felt terrible. She thought it was funny because she has many grey hairs, and she was sure I had seen at least one or two already, being the ancient 27 years old I am. But no. She unknowingly pulled out my first and hopefully only one. And got the scare of her life when it brought me to depths of depression as a result. I kept a hold on my tears, unwilling to let them spill. But it was a fine line. They danced on the rims of my eyelids. But not a single drop actually stained my face. Thank the Lord.
I guess I am letting my sadness get the best of me lately. It could be the darkness, the cold, the icy wind unwilling to let me enjoy my time outside and instead confining me to the small surface area of my apartment. I had done well for myself, I think. I was not very sad for about two months. I was freaking out, sure, but it was at a tolerable level I could handle. Now I am feeling a little paralyzed. I will push through it soon, I am sure, but for now it sure is annoying.
I think it was aggrivated by a sudden feeling of utter loneliness. I don't want to be friends with people who don't think I am important enough in their lives to make an effort for me. Why even bother? I am getting to a point where I think I want to let go of people who I don't hear from for a while...stop trying to keep in touch with walls that don't reach out to me as well. I really feel like I don't have a true friend in my vicinity anymore...someone who I can depend on, at least. Even those people I feel close to, I know if I really needed them, unless I was dying on the side of the road, they might be too busy. And I am a culprit too. I don't always make myself available to people when they need me. But usually I will try to make up for it if it happens, make a concerted effort to call or see them as soon as I can. I call even if it has been a while. I don't remember the last time someone did the same.
I think there are friends that fall into the "They just aren't that into you" category. And I am the girl who thinks (wrongly) that the excuses are because they really care, they were just too busy. But really, if they cared, they would make time. Somehow. Maybe not when I wanted it, but sometime soon after. When someone really wants to be with you, they find a way. And so with pals, if they really enjoyed your company and valued you, they would find a way. A lot of my friends "just aren't that into me," not as much as I am into them, I guess. And that is a hard thing to come to terms with, much like it is in a couple situation.
We are also all quite self centered now, in this life. I see it in the people close to me all the time. And sometimes in myself as well. Will that phase ever end? Or is that the only way we can be in this cutthroat capitalistic and cruel society? We have to focus on us or we will not be payed attention to by the world... we will slip through the cracks...
All this makes me wanna just lay down and sleep away the sadness.
Jeez I am so goth right now.
Ugh.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
I am Celebrating my 20th Blog by writing in a HUGE font!!!!!!!!
YeeeHawww!
Ok enough of that.
I miss my mother. I do.
I was at my boring temp job, endlessly sealing envelopes, and I was reading a literary magazine called "The Sun" to keep my brain cells active and my eyes open. There is a section called "Readers Write" where people submit short pieces about their experiences with a given topic.It is a wonderfully fresh and interesting section of the magazine, full of many voices and perspectives.
It seemed like there were about 3 or 4 stories in a row about mothers and the sacrifices they made, or their childrens' attempts to connect with them before they die, or how old and decrepid they have gotten in their old age, but how beautiful they still are. I kept coming across these heartfelt tales and being moved to near tears...mostly because I am at a highly emotional time of the month, but also because I am reminded of my own mother and how far away she is. I haven't lived near my mother since I was 17, but I at least saw her every few months in California. Now I see her once a year. Barely. And sometimes I have a clear image of her in the near future as a very old lady, and she is beautiful like the ladies in the stories I read.
Then you know what I do when she calls? I talk for a while, try to relate to her, then end up annoyed and hastily hanging up. I push her away when she is right there ready to talk. After I just lamented on how I wish I could see her more, I am turned into instant brat when one thing she says sets me off. It is ridiculous. I don't understand it. And I know I am not alone with this. Lots of people my age have difficulty seeing family, yet living so far away, we crave it incessantly.
Maybe it is not the family we miss, it's the sense of belonging, the ease of childhood. The comfort. And we may not ever be able to get that back. Maybe we can only try to recreate it by having a family of our own, and becoming that stable comfort for someone else. I guess that idea makes me understand the appeal of children for some people. A way to reach out to that life you miss, and be on the giving end this time, which I am sure is just as rewarding.
After all this, I guess I am really looking forward to visiting my family in California at Christmas. I think even if I get irritated with them, I am going to try to remember how much I missed them while I was here, and push against that feeling.
Family is so weird. As are the emotions they bring out in us, good and bad.
YeeeHawww!
Ok enough of that.
I miss my mother. I do.
I was at my boring temp job, endlessly sealing envelopes, and I was reading a literary magazine called "The Sun" to keep my brain cells active and my eyes open. There is a section called "Readers Write" where people submit short pieces about their experiences with a given topic.It is a wonderfully fresh and interesting section of the magazine, full of many voices and perspectives.
It seemed like there were about 3 or 4 stories in a row about mothers and the sacrifices they made, or their childrens' attempts to connect with them before they die, or how old and decrepid they have gotten in their old age, but how beautiful they still are. I kept coming across these heartfelt tales and being moved to near tears...mostly because I am at a highly emotional time of the month, but also because I am reminded of my own mother and how far away she is. I haven't lived near my mother since I was 17, but I at least saw her every few months in California. Now I see her once a year. Barely. And sometimes I have a clear image of her in the near future as a very old lady, and she is beautiful like the ladies in the stories I read.
Then you know what I do when she calls? I talk for a while, try to relate to her, then end up annoyed and hastily hanging up. I push her away when she is right there ready to talk. After I just lamented on how I wish I could see her more, I am turned into instant brat when one thing she says sets me off. It is ridiculous. I don't understand it. And I know I am not alone with this. Lots of people my age have difficulty seeing family, yet living so far away, we crave it incessantly.
Maybe it is not the family we miss, it's the sense of belonging, the ease of childhood. The comfort. And we may not ever be able to get that back. Maybe we can only try to recreate it by having a family of our own, and becoming that stable comfort for someone else. I guess that idea makes me understand the appeal of children for some people. A way to reach out to that life you miss, and be on the giving end this time, which I am sure is just as rewarding.
After all this, I guess I am really looking forward to visiting my family in California at Christmas. I think even if I get irritated with them, I am going to try to remember how much I missed them while I was here, and push against that feeling.
Family is so weird. As are the emotions they bring out in us, good and bad.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Mustaches Making a Comeback!!! (no, not the good kind)
The topic of female mustaches has come up a few times this week, either in conversation or right in front of my face. Now, I have nothing against mustaches, but when I see a woman with one, I have to wonder--doesn't she KNOW? Doesn't she CARE?
I happen to have friends who are cursed with some dark facial hair above their luscious sexy womanly lips (as if PMS isn't enough to deal with!). Now these lovely ladies are aware of their genetic disposition and take measures to keep things under control. Nair or whatever the kids use these days...
And I never really thought about how good it is that they do this, until I started at my new temp job. There is a woman I will not specify that has very pale skin and a very clear black mustache across her upper lip. I think she may be Italian or even Jewish, and let's face it, both backgrounds provide quite a hairy disposition. Yet she seems not to notice. I think she is the type that would care if she realized how gross it looked. But for some reason she is oblivious. I cannot help but stare at it when she is assigning me my newest slave project. I feel like she is a little woman Hitler with that black stuff going on, dictating what I do for the day.
I am lucky enough to be for the most part hairless, but I know if I suffered a different fate, I would shave that shit. I have a guy friend who shared that he once dated a girl with a tiny mustache, and every now and then he could feel it when he kissed her. He confessed that sometimes it really sicked him out. But he couldn't say anything because he didn't want to upset her.
Why should we all continue to be upset to spare one poor girl from being upset for maybe a day or two (before she shaves that shit)? She will get over it and thank us later. And we get to stop being grossed out whenever milk gets caught in her mustache, making it glisten in the light.
Lets end the female mustache once and for all, people. Tell someone you love to get over her man hair and save us all a little awkwardness every day.
The topic of female mustaches has come up a few times this week, either in conversation or right in front of my face. Now, I have nothing against mustaches, but when I see a woman with one, I have to wonder--doesn't she KNOW? Doesn't she CARE?
I happen to have friends who are cursed with some dark facial hair above their luscious sexy womanly lips (as if PMS isn't enough to deal with!). Now these lovely ladies are aware of their genetic disposition and take measures to keep things under control. Nair or whatever the kids use these days...
And I never really thought about how good it is that they do this, until I started at my new temp job. There is a woman I will not specify that has very pale skin and a very clear black mustache across her upper lip. I think she may be Italian or even Jewish, and let's face it, both backgrounds provide quite a hairy disposition. Yet she seems not to notice. I think she is the type that would care if she realized how gross it looked. But for some reason she is oblivious. I cannot help but stare at it when she is assigning me my newest slave project. I feel like she is a little woman Hitler with that black stuff going on, dictating what I do for the day.
I am lucky enough to be for the most part hairless, but I know if I suffered a different fate, I would shave that shit. I have a guy friend who shared that he once dated a girl with a tiny mustache, and every now and then he could feel it when he kissed her. He confessed that sometimes it really sicked him out. But he couldn't say anything because he didn't want to upset her.
Why should we all continue to be upset to spare one poor girl from being upset for maybe a day or two (before she shaves that shit)? She will get over it and thank us later. And we get to stop being grossed out whenever milk gets caught in her mustache, making it glisten in the light.
Lets end the female mustache once and for all, people. Tell someone you love to get over her man hair and save us all a little awkwardness every day.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Seventeen thousand papercuts later I am done with another excruciating day of stuffing envelopes for idiots. I swear I am not a temp, I am a chump they hired for slave labor. They must do this every year to some poor unsuspecting new temp. I was the goat this time. Damn. Well, lesson learned.
There is this thing happening recently online with some other blogs and with real world friends too. This sudden crisis about life. I mean, its always THERE, but maybe its the drastic change in weather or I don't know what, but people are getting laid off and hating their new job transitions and freaking out A LOT about money. And I am right there with them. How does one do all this living business? I mean the business of making one. Making a living does not seem much like living to me. It is quite the opposite. I feel like I lived more when I waitressed because at least I could make more money if I really wanted and there were always two good days for every miserable one...and there is the whole 5-6 hr shift thing that was nice. Actually I am surprised I don't mind the grind hours as much as I thought I would...its just the money that shocks and appalls me. How do I live off this? Let alone save?
Ok ok blah blah blah
Lets do something that will cheer me up. A list!
Ok...um...how about things I WON'T be for Halloween:
1. 26
2. alone
3. sober (yay!)
4. a "sexy" _____. (fill in whatever occupation normally isn't sexy but gets made sexy for a girlie girl to enjoy her Halloween and get gawked at like she hopes)
5. A republican
6. Michael Jackson
7. Pee Wee Herman (sigh* maybe next year...)
8. Pennywise (ew clowns!)
9. a terd (again)
10. warm (this is Chicago, folks)
11. Hungry (I will most likely get a free meal of some sort from some kind friend)
12. Amish (bad costume this year)
13. Bored (there is always something going on in the city! That is the beauty!)
Happy birthday to me!
PS I am finally going to be a Scarecrow this year, something I wanted to do for a long time but never got around to because of numerous complications. I am gonna be damn cute!
There is this thing happening recently online with some other blogs and with real world friends too. This sudden crisis about life. I mean, its always THERE, but maybe its the drastic change in weather or I don't know what, but people are getting laid off and hating their new job transitions and freaking out A LOT about money. And I am right there with them. How does one do all this living business? I mean the business of making one. Making a living does not seem much like living to me. It is quite the opposite. I feel like I lived more when I waitressed because at least I could make more money if I really wanted and there were always two good days for every miserable one...and there is the whole 5-6 hr shift thing that was nice. Actually I am surprised I don't mind the grind hours as much as I thought I would...its just the money that shocks and appalls me. How do I live off this? Let alone save?
Ok ok blah blah blah
Lets do something that will cheer me up. A list!
Ok...um...how about things I WON'T be for Halloween:
1. 26
2. alone
3. sober (yay!)
4. a "sexy" _____. (fill in whatever occupation normally isn't sexy but gets made sexy for a girlie girl to enjoy her Halloween and get gawked at like she hopes)
5. A republican
6. Michael Jackson
7. Pee Wee Herman (sigh* maybe next year...)
8. Pennywise (ew clowns!)
9. a terd (again)
10. warm (this is Chicago, folks)
11. Hungry (I will most likely get a free meal of some sort from some kind friend)
12. Amish (bad costume this year)
13. Bored (there is always something going on in the city! That is the beauty!)
Happy birthday to me!
PS I am finally going to be a Scarecrow this year, something I wanted to do for a long time but never got around to because of numerous complications. I am gonna be damn cute!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
WARNING!!! The following post is a rant vomit session that you may not want to read for fear it may overwhelm you as much as it did the writer of such filth...proceed with caution:
I have discovered a dilemma with temping. While mindlessly stuffing papers into envelopes and listening to Mike Doughty and the Garden State sountrack for the 18th time in a row on my ghetto MP3 player, I realized that this office work I was doing wasn't mindless. It is mind-full! As in, my mind started to wander into the bad places I try to avoid. Like the places where I get sad and keep thinking about how much my life blows and jesus will I ever be able to afford the things I want, and why am I even here doing this, why aren't I traveling or writing or helping starving children eat some porriage or something!
Then I can't get the thoughts out. They have become a force not to be reckoned with. They dance and laugh at me, swirling in my head like so many brain tumors. I start to let Zack Bratt's music choice effect my mood as well, and suddenly I am almost weeping because right when I realize I am turning 27 in 21 days I hear the lyric "Let go, what are you waiting for, there is beauty in the breakdown...." And so I follow the advice and am now tearing up for reals, oh god, yeah, I am really gonna cry here at this stupid freaking HR desk that isn't even mine. While I stuff pamphlets into envelopes. Pamphlets about the risks of being fat stuffed into envelopes to be mailed to fat people. Oh god this is terrible. I want to leave. I can't leave. I have to make money. I can't even afford to take a class to better myself and get myself the hell out of this situation of having way too much brains and not enough experience to get a real thinking job, instead I have to sit here and do what monkeys could do. And know that I could be actually utilized so much better somewhere else but no one would ever give me a chance because who the fuck am I???
Ok so that was a taste of the bad places my brain went today. Now it is a bit more clear why I choose to avoid these places.
But temping is now a portal to hell, as far as I am concerned. I just think about all the no money I am making and being unhappy. And I feel very stuck though I know I am not. I know I can just "let go, jump in, what am I waiting for?" But somehow even knowing that congnatively, I am paralyzed. I have concrete slabs on my feet and move a lot slower with them. These slabs are made of insecurity and fear. Hooray! help!
I have discovered a dilemma with temping. While mindlessly stuffing papers into envelopes and listening to Mike Doughty and the Garden State sountrack for the 18th time in a row on my ghetto MP3 player, I realized that this office work I was doing wasn't mindless. It is mind-full! As in, my mind started to wander into the bad places I try to avoid. Like the places where I get sad and keep thinking about how much my life blows and jesus will I ever be able to afford the things I want, and why am I even here doing this, why aren't I traveling or writing or helping starving children eat some porriage or something!
Then I can't get the thoughts out. They have become a force not to be reckoned with. They dance and laugh at me, swirling in my head like so many brain tumors. I start to let Zack Bratt's music choice effect my mood as well, and suddenly I am almost weeping because right when I realize I am turning 27 in 21 days I hear the lyric "Let go, what are you waiting for, there is beauty in the breakdown...." And so I follow the advice and am now tearing up for reals, oh god, yeah, I am really gonna cry here at this stupid freaking HR desk that isn't even mine. While I stuff pamphlets into envelopes. Pamphlets about the risks of being fat stuffed into envelopes to be mailed to fat people. Oh god this is terrible. I want to leave. I can't leave. I have to make money. I can't even afford to take a class to better myself and get myself the hell out of this situation of having way too much brains and not enough experience to get a real thinking job, instead I have to sit here and do what monkeys could do. And know that I could be actually utilized so much better somewhere else but no one would ever give me a chance because who the fuck am I???
Ok so that was a taste of the bad places my brain went today. Now it is a bit more clear why I choose to avoid these places.
But temping is now a portal to hell, as far as I am concerned. I just think about all the no money I am making and being unhappy. And I feel very stuck though I know I am not. I know I can just "let go, jump in, what am I waiting for?" But somehow even knowing that congnatively, I am paralyzed. I have concrete slabs on my feet and move a lot slower with them. These slabs are made of insecurity and fear. Hooray! help!
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