My Job...


After a long night of half sleeping and waking up in various states of paranoia thinking I overslept for my first day at my new job, I ventured into said first day relatively awake and ready for anything.

Actually, the day was pretty mellow. I feel like 7.5 hours went by somehow, and I don't really recall doing anything too fancy. I set up the computer. I recorded some professional sounding voicemail messages. I learned some passwords. I read some info online. I took some tutorials on procedures I promptly forgot afterward. I talked about life with some cool people. I learned that not only do I have two random aquaintances in the office, but I also met my upstairs neighbor for the first time while we were in the elevator at the office talking about commutes. That's right, she sleeps above me and I never met her until I started working at the company she works for. So odd.

So for all I know, I did nothing. But somehow some of this nothing will hopefully be retained in my little grey cells so I can apply it later when it becomes "something".

I had a lovely time after work, in the time labeled "Happy Hour," which was indeed happy. Dollar beers and Kobe Beef sliders equal happiness in my book. I put back a few with a coworker friend of mine and her fun boyfriend and his sidekicks. The boys and I even walked home in the lightly falling snow, since we live near each other, and I felt like I had three bodyguards compliments of my dear coworker friend. It was lovely. I was supported and protected all through my first day in a strange new place, in a strange new time in my life. What a blessing.

Now I am recovering from my lack of sleep, and the novelty of waking up early has already worn off, and so I am dreading tomorrow.

But not too much. It will still be exciting and fun to work with such nice people, and some even my age! (Thank God)

I am feeling like I made a good move this time. It is still early, but I usually know after a short time if I am going to enjoy an experience or not. It is sort of like an audition, or a first date. They say you know within the first minute whether it is good.

I will venture into the realm of "Eat those words," and say I know this will be good for me, no matter what comes from it.

If I eat words later, I think I will still come out on top from this one...

To My Guitar,


Just because you are cheap doesn't mean I should neglect you. I am sorry I haven't played you all week. We had a good thing going with the whole 3 times a week thing. Then this week I let it slide. I know it's no excuse, but I was really distracted this week, what with getting that job, selling my car, seeing my boyfriend and touching base with old friends...

I know, I know, now it will be awkward when we see each other in class for the first time tonight. I won't know how to be with you, I might poke you funny or mistreat you. We won't be in sync like we usually are. It may take a little time before we are both ready to connect. And for that I am sorry. I had complete control over the whole situation, you were stuck in a hard place the whole time--the corner of the living room, to be exact.

I hope we can get back together during class. I want to be with you, I do. I hope you will still take me (to Rockville when we rock tonight!).

Ok I'll see you in a little while...

Sincerely,
your proud owner,
L (ROCK) R

I find as I get older, I have a harder time knowing what to say to friends when they are opening up to me about their relationship or emotional break down woes. I used to feel like I wasn't sure what to say, but then I would say something, and that somehow turned magically into something insightful. Nowadays, I still don't know what to say, but whatever I try to say doesn't magically transform into greatness, but instead falls with a thud on ears who probably don't want to hear it.

I think (and I hope I am right on this one, for the sake of all my friendships) that mostly as we get older, we just need someone who will listen and be kind while we hurt. It isn't always words we want. It's time. Give me a little of your time so I can talk out loud these feelings going on inside, and I will cherish you as a good person in my life. Give me your ear over the phone so I can feel connected to something while I go through all this, and I will feel just a little better than I did before I got a hold of you.

I can't always give the time, and that is hard. And so I think I get upset at myself for not knowing what to say within the short amount of time I have to be there for the person. Like I should be able to come up with some words of wisdom to make up for my lack of time to sit and help someone reflect and process a situation. I am much better when I can give the time. But when the pressure is on to be somewhere or do something and a friend is in need, I suck. Or at least feel like I do. So then comes me attempting to say something helpful. And then comes me blurting something meant to help that really sounds sorta lame. And then comes me feeling badly that I couldn't say more.

And then I feel like a bad friend.

I know that's not true. I am not a bad friend.

I am just a friend with limited time these days.

I will try to work on that.

This morning I had some extra time to lay down on the couch before work. It was one of those mornings when I was actually able to get up and get entirely ready, then opt to lay back down and close my eyes for a moment. I think I may have experienced a small reverie without really trying, which was weird.

I thought of my parents, how predictable their lives were, how they have been paying some of the same bills for over 20 years, how practical and careful they were with money. Then I thought of our family trips that were routine--Kayucos to be precise, and how we went every Fourth of July for at least 4 years...

I thought of being a child, then a preteen, and bringing my best friend each year. How we looked for hermit crabs and starfish in the endless stretch of tide pools near our condo. How we tried to get tan and burned our skin angry lobster red. I remember how content my mother was to pack our lunches and park herself on the beach all day while we avoided her like the plague and looked for cute boys our age.
I even remember late at night, hearing the waves crash as I tried to fall asleep in a scratchy old plaid sleeping bag near the sliding glass door of the rented living room.

It was in Kayucos that I realized what "queef" meant. It was in Kayucos that I created the scar that would stay in the area between my eyes to this day. It was in Kayucos that I tested the limits of my curfews and tiptoed around my parents to get away with what seemed like murder. It was where I found peace listening to the waves and staring at a family of hermit crabs for hours. It was where I found amazing treasures at a flea market. It was where I first played UNO with the big kids and felt accepted...sort of.

My vivid memories came to me easily and brought me a sense of myself. After the (second) alarm went off, I felt refreshed and went on with my day, never thinking twice about all I had re-lived that morning.

But now, as I wind down another day further into my unknown future, I can see that these moments of remembering happen less and less vividly, and I should cherish the times I am able to be transported back to my memories. I can't remember what happened two days ago. It is amazing I can recall all those details about Kayucos.

I only hope that this time in my life, this difficult time that is yet filled with awesome moments of growth and beauty, will be remembered just as vividly years down the line.

Getting a job is a blissful fright, isn't it?
When you don't have one, you are stuck at home, searching, and praying, and there isn't a whole lot you can do but just put yourself out there and keep hoping. Then when you go to job interviews, you are so desperate you say whatever it takes to get hired, because you are starving and scared and feel like you could do ANYTHING at this point- (yeah, I will be the best fish tank cleaner this side of the Mississippi). Then you end up finally getting one of said jobs, and it is all over. And maybe you got a position that is not what you really wanted but you decided you did in the whole process of hunting. And maybe it is the position that offers the most stability and in your jobless state, that was what was most appealing to you at the time.

But then the fear creeps in...

Am I qualified for this? Am I going to be able to handle this and still have a life outside work? Am I ready for this commitment? How am I going to fit in my hopes and dreams at night and not tell anyone at work? Or do I tell them? Will I ever get to have a day off? Can I prove to my new boss he made the right decision? Can I really pass the test they are making me take? Yikes.

Lots of those types of thoughts circle around the ole nogin. And all I can do is laugh at my worries and try to acknowledge them, then let them go. I will be fine. I can do this. I have a new job! I should be stoked. And I am. I am. I am going to be an assistant to an Insurance Representative. Every little girl's dream, right?

I will blow them away. And still find time to write. And take massage classes. And spend time with Adam. And see my friends. And play guitar.

I start next Monday and I am terrified yet hopeful. I am plunging into the corporate world head first. (Don't let me forget to plug my nose!)

Beside me is a window. Through this window, I am able to watch the swirls of snow-rain as they spin and tumble to the streets. This is snow so fine it looks almost like tiny misty raindrops. The only difference, really, is that this stuff is leaving its mark on the world as it falls--piling up in large expanses of pure white, covering cars, window sills, trees...a silent visitor to all.
As long as you get to watch it from the warmth of your home, and are not out in it, it is quite beautiful. Ok well sometimes when you are in it and bundled up properly, it can be beautiful then as well.

What fascinates me is the consistency with which it falls. Steady like rain.

There is a dog--a great big black poodle who has come to play in it. She barks at each snowflake like it is her enemy. She stops to marvel at the beauty, too. Then she lumbers up onto her master's chest, tossing up her big paws like two big slabs of meat ready for grilling. Her master releases her from her leash and the park is the dog's to conquer. She darts around with glee and creates the first foot prints in this new fallen snow spread. Her happiness is contagious and I find myself smiling.

Today is a day for doing things. This snow makes me question all I planned, as snow often does. How can I get out of that? Or this? Do I really NEED to go to the store today? But there is something very satisfying about having this initial desire to stay home and do nothing, but pushing through the idea and going out and tackling the day anyway. That is one thing about Chicagoans. They don't let anything stop them from the day, even with the ridiculous weather they got tossed their way. It's inspiring, really.

OK, here I go!

I am officially a good human being.
Not that there was doubt before, but I truly believe now it is obvious I am a good human being on this beautiful green earth.
I HAVE SOLD MY CAR.
You heard me.
I HAVE SOLD MY CAR.
I can't quite wrap my head around those words.
I HAVE SOLD MY CAR.
And it feels really good.

Last night, a man came and signed some things and I signed some things and he handed me money orders worth lots of money, and I watched him drive off into the night with my beloved. (car I mean)
It was very bittersweet but more sweet than bitter.
I am not contributing to Global Warming by way of automobile any longer!
I may still do a few things that cause our world to heat up a bit, but the big one-driving a car, is finito for me!
I feel a sense of relief. Some for myself, some for the earth.
Honestly, I drove the thing like once a week. And all it did was collect dust and freeze on the streets in the winter. Then it would whine (rightly so) when I finally tried to drive it a little.
So the thing is much better off in a happy suburb somewhere in Illinois, being driven by a newly 16 year old driver (his dad bought it for him, awww) than it has ever been while parked sadly on the street, only moving a few blocks to the gym or grocery store, if that.

And I am a few thousand dollars richer for about a day. Till it all goes into bills...

But I am helping the environment, and I have a great new sense of accomplishment. I set out to do this, and it only took a week or so of real work to make it happen. I love craigslist. and digital cameras. and Chicago. Sweet, public transit Chicago.
I haven't NOT had a car since the brief carless year in SF, circa 1998. What a treat this will be! No worrying about parking or street cleaning or city stickers or smog checks or tune ups or winterizing or insurance or flat tires or batteries dying in the cold or doors freezing shut or break-ins or CD players being stolen or rocks being thrown through windows for no reason...
Life is good. Life is simple. For now anyway...

I know it is just selling a car, but it is the first time I am doing it and man it feels good.

It is very early in the morning and I have a few extra minutes for once. I want to grab hold of something in my life. Something concrete, something true and real that allows me to trust it fully, no questions asked.

But right now I don't know if there is anything that fits that definition.

My family is far away. My life is about to go into a bit of flux again. My relationship is healing. My friends are all over the map, each of us trying to figure out who the fuck we really are. I am relatively calm about all this most days. Then there are those like this that shake me to the core and leave me feeling like a lost soul just bumping around in a slow pinball game. I still need meaning. I still need connection. I need strength. Always I need strength.

Ok. Work calls. Life calls.
What am I trying to say?
Nothing at all, when it all comes down to it.
Nothing at all.

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

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.

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 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...

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.

And just like that, my world shatters around my feet. I stand blinking and dazed.
That is all I can write right now. sorry.

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.

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.

Things you shouldn't give a "name" to:

1) Your penis
2) Your breasts
3) The cockroach you find in your kitchen
4) That thing growing mold in your fridge
5) Your stereo
6) That homeless dude you never talk to or give money to
7) Your favorite chair
8) Your old smelly gym shoes

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.

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.

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.