Friday, November 14, 2008
Bah!
I used to complain I never remembered my dreams, but this week I have remembered them every morning.
The problem is they are not the sort of dreams I wanted to remember. No cool things or strange places, conversations. No, they've all been about work, or internships, or school. Really? Yes, really.
Aside from the sleep work, I've been working hard and worrying while awake. Guess that's why I'm a big stress ball, lately -- I feel like I'm getting it from both sides.
I used to complain I never remembered my dreams, but this week I have remembered them every morning.
The problem is they are not the sort of dreams I wanted to remember. No cool things or strange places, conversations. No, they've all been about work, or internships, or school. Really? Yes, really.
Aside from the sleep work, I've been working hard and worrying while awake. Guess that's why I'm a big stress ball, lately -- I feel like I'm getting it from both sides.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Update
1. I just got a 100 on my first test for research methods!
2. My mother's surgery went well yesterday. They had decided to do another surgery after stopping the chemo and then finding several more tumors. However, when they went in to do the surgery, they couldn't find what they were looking for, so they took out several of the effected nodes and are going to do a biopsy. We should get the results in about a week, and then we will know what's in store as far as more chemo. This is good news, though, considering the surgery turned out much less minor this way; they had been talking about how it's safe to remove up to 80% of the organ. So, this was unexpected but good, and she will be out of the hospital hopefully this weekend.
3. Still working on my goals. I've been reading articles linked off the NYU site every day on my lunch hour. Two very good articles are here and here. One is on cognitive dissonance men experienced in defining their masculinity post-feminist movement; the other is about the cultural war behind international conflict, and the irrational separation between political ideology and culture between groups; how it divides us internally and externally. Go Ellen Willis. Sadly, yesterday I went to Borders and looked her up. Her books, including the one I checked out from the UH library and read, are out of print, so I must find and order used copies of them. The good news is they will be cheaper, but slightly inconvenient in that Why-Can't-I-Get-Exactly-What-I-Want-When-I-Want-It? sort of way.
4. Man, I love the Blue Scholars, and I can't wait to see them.
5. Surprisingly, I think about Elks Camp a few times a day, but since I'm not hating my life as I know it right now, I'm still enjoying what I'm doing otherwise, so that's good.
6. I have insurance! I enrolled yesterday. I have medical, dental, vision, AD&D, life insurance, and a retirement plan. Working for the state is nice, indeed.
K, thanks!
-c
1. I just got a 100 on my first test for research methods!
2. My mother's surgery went well yesterday. They had decided to do another surgery after stopping the chemo and then finding several more tumors. However, when they went in to do the surgery, they couldn't find what they were looking for, so they took out several of the effected nodes and are going to do a biopsy. We should get the results in about a week, and then we will know what's in store as far as more chemo. This is good news, though, considering the surgery turned out much less minor this way; they had been talking about how it's safe to remove up to 80% of the organ. So, this was unexpected but good, and she will be out of the hospital hopefully this weekend.
3. Still working on my goals. I've been reading articles linked off the NYU site every day on my lunch hour. Two very good articles are here and here. One is on cognitive dissonance men experienced in defining their masculinity post-feminist movement; the other is about the cultural war behind international conflict, and the irrational separation between political ideology and culture between groups; how it divides us internally and externally. Go Ellen Willis. Sadly, yesterday I went to Borders and looked her up. Her books, including the one I checked out from the UH library and read, are out of print, so I must find and order used copies of them. The good news is they will be cheaper, but slightly inconvenient in that Why-Can't-I-Get-Exactly-What-I-Want-When-I-Want-It? sort of way.
4. Man, I love the Blue Scholars, and I can't wait to see them.
5. Surprisingly, I think about Elks Camp a few times a day, but since I'm not hating my life as I know it right now, I'm still enjoying what I'm doing otherwise, so that's good.
6. I have insurance! I enrolled yesterday. I have medical, dental, vision, AD&D, life insurance, and a retirement plan. Working for the state is nice, indeed.
K, thanks!
-c
Labels: Cancer, College, Goals, Music, Work
Monday, April 14, 2008
Whirlwind
My head has been mixed up all day. This morning, my camp director texted me saying he had just lost three female counselors and desperately needed me to come.
Meanwhile, we all know how excited I've been about not going, which is to say, not at all. I was looking at the future with optimism, but also with this protestant ethic of doing what I have to do. Pushing through, like I always do.
I thought I was graduating this December, but this afternoon, I went to see my adviser. Lo and behold, I need six classes to graduate, not four, like I thought. It would be absolutely impossible for me to get through it all between now and then. I know, because I know I'm really good at setting unrealistic goals. No way can I possibly afford and manage full-time work and two summer classes, or full-time work and four classes this fall. It would be impossible.
I dropped a class this semester, because I took on too much. It was a really tough decision. But between working full-time and writing for the paper, and my other classes, I had one grade that was suffering. I could not keep up, or catch up. I thought about the prospect of trying to kick my own ass with it to even get a C, but that might have been at the expense of my other high grades.
My job is stressful also. I don't know if I've described it much. I'm a temp, and I've been there for nearly four months, and am trying to get hired by the University. Meanwhile, the first round of interviews are set to begin two weeks from now.
And meanwhile, I have a lot of responsibility and am already struggling to do everything for school, when recently a higher-up told my supervisor he may want to talk to me about not doing my schoolwork while on the job, if I'm hired. That in itself pisses me off because a) she never said anything to me about it on her own, and b) I only do schoolwork when I am caught up with everything else, so it shouldn't be a problem; if I've got nothing to do but to answer the phones, at that point, what's it to her if I open up a textbook, especially when I work on a college campus?
So, I'm thinking I'm going to withdraw my application and stay as a temp until they hire someone or until I come to camp, whichever comes first.
I talked to my roommate, because the other important thing I needed to know was that all was cool on the homefront, and I could go to camp and pay my cheap rent, and she'd have the place to herself, but I could come back and live here and work and go to school until at least December. She said that was okay, so that way I can save my camp money for tuition instead of having to plan to move; I definitely would not be able to go out there if that were the case.
Man, lots of decisions in one day, but I feel like a weight has been lifted.
Of course, the job thing for the fall may stress me a little, but I think I should have no problem finding temp work again as soon as I get back, until I find something.
And I really feel like I need to go. Already, I was thinking about how much I would miss it. One of my ex-campers just found me on Facebook. She's 20 now, she's engaged, she's in college, and she has two kids. I didn't expect that at all, but although she is so young to already be a mother, she grew up in foster care, and it is just so nice to see her happy. And she's really happy, and I have no doubt she is a wonderful mother. She has emailed me sporadically over the years. I like to think I had a positive effect on her in some way, in at least that she stayed focused and kept a head on her shoulders, and knew things would get better.
That is why I want to go to camp. And it's the same reason I want to be a teacher. I feel like each and every person who works in that capacity is there for a reason. And there are things we say to these kids, and only we can say them. If I weren't there, maybe someone else would be, in my place. But every single person involved has something unique and important to contribute, and I love being part of that.
I'm applying to this program to teach "at-risk" children. I don't just want to be any teacher anywhere; I want to be in a specific place for the kids who need me. I know I will be able to reach at least some of them, and that will make everything worth it.
That's my motivation for finishing school at all right now, having the goal of getting out and teaching these kids. I think about it all the time.
So, whether I graduate this winter or next spring, doesn't really make a difference. No matter what I'm going to be doing something in the following fall, whether teaching, or on my way to teaching.
I guess it's funny how you can realize things all at once. It's all or nothing for me. All confusion or all clarity. But with everything I find out, I know I'm doing what's right. And I could stress about this or that or what if blah blah blah, but in the end, I always get where I'm going.
My head has been mixed up all day. This morning, my camp director texted me saying he had just lost three female counselors and desperately needed me to come.
Meanwhile, we all know how excited I've been about not going, which is to say, not at all. I was looking at the future with optimism, but also with this protestant ethic of doing what I have to do. Pushing through, like I always do.
I thought I was graduating this December, but this afternoon, I went to see my adviser. Lo and behold, I need six classes to graduate, not four, like I thought. It would be absolutely impossible for me to get through it all between now and then. I know, because I know I'm really good at setting unrealistic goals. No way can I possibly afford and manage full-time work and two summer classes, or full-time work and four classes this fall. It would be impossible.
I dropped a class this semester, because I took on too much. It was a really tough decision. But between working full-time and writing for the paper, and my other classes, I had one grade that was suffering. I could not keep up, or catch up. I thought about the prospect of trying to kick my own ass with it to even get a C, but that might have been at the expense of my other high grades.
My job is stressful also. I don't know if I've described it much. I'm a temp, and I've been there for nearly four months, and am trying to get hired by the University. Meanwhile, the first round of interviews are set to begin two weeks from now.
And meanwhile, I have a lot of responsibility and am already struggling to do everything for school, when recently a higher-up told my supervisor he may want to talk to me about not doing my schoolwork while on the job, if I'm hired. That in itself pisses me off because a) she never said anything to me about it on her own, and b) I only do schoolwork when I am caught up with everything else, so it shouldn't be a problem; if I've got nothing to do but to answer the phones, at that point, what's it to her if I open up a textbook, especially when I work on a college campus?
So, I'm thinking I'm going to withdraw my application and stay as a temp until they hire someone or until I come to camp, whichever comes first.
I talked to my roommate, because the other important thing I needed to know was that all was cool on the homefront, and I could go to camp and pay my cheap rent, and she'd have the place to herself, but I could come back and live here and work and go to school until at least December. She said that was okay, so that way I can save my camp money for tuition instead of having to plan to move; I definitely would not be able to go out there if that were the case.
Man, lots of decisions in one day, but I feel like a weight has been lifted.
Of course, the job thing for the fall may stress me a little, but I think I should have no problem finding temp work again as soon as I get back, until I find something.
And I really feel like I need to go. Already, I was thinking about how much I would miss it. One of my ex-campers just found me on Facebook. She's 20 now, she's engaged, she's in college, and she has two kids. I didn't expect that at all, but although she is so young to already be a mother, she grew up in foster care, and it is just so nice to see her happy. And she's really happy, and I have no doubt she is a wonderful mother. She has emailed me sporadically over the years. I like to think I had a positive effect on her in some way, in at least that she stayed focused and kept a head on her shoulders, and knew things would get better.
That is why I want to go to camp. And it's the same reason I want to be a teacher. I feel like each and every person who works in that capacity is there for a reason. And there are things we say to these kids, and only we can say them. If I weren't there, maybe someone else would be, in my place. But every single person involved has something unique and important to contribute, and I love being part of that.
I'm applying to this program to teach "at-risk" children. I don't just want to be any teacher anywhere; I want to be in a specific place for the kids who need me. I know I will be able to reach at least some of them, and that will make everything worth it.
That's my motivation for finishing school at all right now, having the goal of getting out and teaching these kids. I think about it all the time.
So, whether I graduate this winter or next spring, doesn't really make a difference. No matter what I'm going to be doing something in the following fall, whether teaching, or on my way to teaching.
I guess it's funny how you can realize things all at once. It's all or nothing for me. All confusion or all clarity. But with everything I find out, I know I'm doing what's right. And I could stress about this or that or what if blah blah blah, but in the end, I always get where I'm going.
Labels: Camp, College, Goals, Work
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Camp
Well, it's practically official that I will not be at camp this summer. I've got a good job that's worth keeping, and I've got some courses lined up to take. The only thing that will get me through is knowing that I am graduating, and can return soon, or go into teaching as soon as possible. Camp makes my year. It's made much of my adult life. It's the most positive thing I've ever experienced.
Last year, in my sixth year of camp counselordom since i started, I had the privilege of writing the content for the camp's new Web site. I really love how it turned out. Check it out, if you have a minute. I guess if anything I should be grateful I got to play with kids all last summer, and play mini-golf and video games and drive go-carts, and mix paints, and watch movies, not to mention all the fun I had with the counselors in our off time as well.
Going running every evening, out in the country moonlight. Then raiding the huge freezer and making ice cream sundaes or cheese sticks, or going out to the scenic overlook and sitting in a camping chair and drinking beer under the stars.
I found out last summer I could make up silly songs on the spot with my guitar. I would just take it outside during downtime and walk around and sing to the kids. I could sing about the shirt they were wearing, or the way they grinned. Sometimes I'd ask them what I should sing about, and before we knew it I had "The duck song" and "The Elephant Song." Things like that.
And I'll never forget the dances every week. Some kids would just sit and watch everyone. Others would run around the room, making their own fun. Some girls would gather in groups and dance in a circle. Some little boys and girls would dance together.
I won't forget letting the girls get rowdy before bedtime. Painting all their little nails. I bought these tiny scented polishes in rainbow colors. They loved those.
I miss the notes they wrote me. Some of them I've kept forever. I know one day I'll have to get rid of them, but it's so hard to give away the things that children give you. I still have ceramic fish and hearts and other animals they made for me.
I'll miss singing on the bus, and explaining things to them at the museum. Asking all their curious questions. Making them laugh.
And I'll miss the more serious moments where they'll open up to you, and a foster kid will talk about how they miss their parents, or a little girl will tell you she lives with her grandmother, but she studies hard.
I'll even miss rolling out of bed and putting on my bright orange camp t-shirt and khaki shorts for the millionth field trip, slurping bad camp coffee, serving up breakfast to the kids and talking and joking about who knows what.
I'll miss underwater races and getting dunked in the pool, and going down the water slide and getting out and hearing a voice say, "Let's go again!"
Let's go again. I've gone again almost every summer. I know I'll be there to visit this year. I know this isn't where things stop. I just have to do what I have to do. For now.
Well, it's practically official that I will not be at camp this summer. I've got a good job that's worth keeping, and I've got some courses lined up to take. The only thing that will get me through is knowing that I am graduating, and can return soon, or go into teaching as soon as possible. Camp makes my year. It's made much of my adult life. It's the most positive thing I've ever experienced.
Last year, in my sixth year of camp counselordom since i started, I had the privilege of writing the content for the camp's new Web site. I really love how it turned out. Check it out, if you have a minute. I guess if anything I should be grateful I got to play with kids all last summer, and play mini-golf and video games and drive go-carts, and mix paints, and watch movies, not to mention all the fun I had with the counselors in our off time as well.
Going running every evening, out in the country moonlight. Then raiding the huge freezer and making ice cream sundaes or cheese sticks, or going out to the scenic overlook and sitting in a camping chair and drinking beer under the stars.
I found out last summer I could make up silly songs on the spot with my guitar. I would just take it outside during downtime and walk around and sing to the kids. I could sing about the shirt they were wearing, or the way they grinned. Sometimes I'd ask them what I should sing about, and before we knew it I had "The duck song" and "The Elephant Song." Things like that.
And I'll never forget the dances every week. Some kids would just sit and watch everyone. Others would run around the room, making their own fun. Some girls would gather in groups and dance in a circle. Some little boys and girls would dance together.
I won't forget letting the girls get rowdy before bedtime. Painting all their little nails. I bought these tiny scented polishes in rainbow colors. They loved those.
I miss the notes they wrote me. Some of them I've kept forever. I know one day I'll have to get rid of them, but it's so hard to give away the things that children give you. I still have ceramic fish and hearts and other animals they made for me.
I'll miss singing on the bus, and explaining things to them at the museum. Asking all their curious questions. Making them laugh.
And I'll miss the more serious moments where they'll open up to you, and a foster kid will talk about how they miss their parents, or a little girl will tell you she lives with her grandmother, but she studies hard.
I'll even miss rolling out of bed and putting on my bright orange camp t-shirt and khaki shorts for the millionth field trip, slurping bad camp coffee, serving up breakfast to the kids and talking and joking about who knows what.
I'll miss underwater races and getting dunked in the pool, and going down the water slide and getting out and hearing a voice say, "Let's go again!"
Let's go again. I've gone again almost every summer. I know I'll be there to visit this year. I know this isn't where things stop. I just have to do what I have to do. For now.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Super Super Goodnesssss
Hi.
I haven't written in awhile. But I just wanted to tell you that life is so, so good right now.
I have an awesome new job. And I'm writing entertainment stuff again at the cougar. Just for practice and to make it my business again to check out some new shit.
So far, I've gotten into two new bands like whoa: The Whigs, and Peachcake. Seriously, check them out, guys.
Peachcake is going to be playing Houston on Saturday night, and I really, really want to go. More on that later.
So my job. My job is stressful at times, but that is because my department is short-staffed to begin with, and also because I have a lot of responsibility, which I really like.
Last weekend was my first full weekend off since I can't remember. Saturday AND Sunday. I quit Chuy's once I knew my job was definitely working out.
I work weekdays only, and I have my dream schedule for school: two Internet classes, plus one during the day where my office allows me to leave and come back, so I never miss that class.
I have study groups in all three of them, and think I'm maintaining everything pretty well. To finish up my minor, I'm taking a sociology class called Popular Music & Society. It's going to rule. I'm required to listen to music basically, and read about jazz and the blues, soul and rock. I am assigned essays from time to time, where I write about the music in a social context.
I'm about to go watch UH play 1 Memphis in Basketball. I haven't even been to a basketball game since I've been in college, and I don't even know why. I've always loved the game.
It's time.
Anyway, oh and I've discovered my new favorite show, Futurama. Thanks to Joe and his awesome DVD collection.
I've started cooking again, too. The other night I made spaghetti with my own sauce. I made it different than I ever had before. I put one whole small clove of garlic, then also oregano, mozzarella cheese, rosemary, basil, crushed red pepper and black pepper. Then I chopped red onions, green and red peppers, and added them to the tomato sauce, along with a can of diced tomatoes. It was beautiful, man. Fucking awesome.
I've been baking cookies, too, although the slice and bake kind cause they're so quick and easy. And I get a kick out of it. I'm thinking, though, about possibly spending some of my newfound weekend time exploring new recipes, and maybe trying to bake some simple shit at first, from scratch.
I'm trying to find a recipe for chocolate mint bars, similar to what Starbucks makes. Andy loves them. So if anybody knows any -- uh, Beckie? Fellow bakers? -- hook me up.
Well, peace and much love, and here's to a wonderful life and a fantastic week.
Oh, and my little niece is so beautiful. She is truly a miracle and I am looking forward to spending time with her, and also waiting for the so-near day that I will hold my newborn nephew. He's coming next month.
Man, good times.
Gotta go watch the game now!
Much love,
Hi.
I haven't written in awhile. But I just wanted to tell you that life is so, so good right now.
I have an awesome new job. And I'm writing entertainment stuff again at the cougar. Just for practice and to make it my business again to check out some new shit.
So far, I've gotten into two new bands like whoa: The Whigs, and Peachcake. Seriously, check them out, guys.
Peachcake is going to be playing Houston on Saturday night, and I really, really want to go. More on that later.
So my job. My job is stressful at times, but that is because my department is short-staffed to begin with, and also because I have a lot of responsibility, which I really like.
Last weekend was my first full weekend off since I can't remember. Saturday AND Sunday. I quit Chuy's once I knew my job was definitely working out.
I work weekdays only, and I have my dream schedule for school: two Internet classes, plus one during the day where my office allows me to leave and come back, so I never miss that class.
I have study groups in all three of them, and think I'm maintaining everything pretty well. To finish up my minor, I'm taking a sociology class called Popular Music & Society. It's going to rule. I'm required to listen to music basically, and read about jazz and the blues, soul and rock. I am assigned essays from time to time, where I write about the music in a social context.
I'm about to go watch UH play 1 Memphis in Basketball. I haven't even been to a basketball game since I've been in college, and I don't even know why. I've always loved the game.
It's time.
Anyway, oh and I've discovered my new favorite show, Futurama. Thanks to Joe and his awesome DVD collection.
I've started cooking again, too. The other night I made spaghetti with my own sauce. I made it different than I ever had before. I put one whole small clove of garlic, then also oregano, mozzarella cheese, rosemary, basil, crushed red pepper and black pepper. Then I chopped red onions, green and red peppers, and added them to the tomato sauce, along with a can of diced tomatoes. It was beautiful, man. Fucking awesome.
I've been baking cookies, too, although the slice and bake kind cause they're so quick and easy. And I get a kick out of it. I'm thinking, though, about possibly spending some of my newfound weekend time exploring new recipes, and maybe trying to bake some simple shit at first, from scratch.
I'm trying to find a recipe for chocolate mint bars, similar to what Starbucks makes. Andy loves them. So if anybody knows any -- uh, Beckie? Fellow bakers? -- hook me up.
Well, peace and much love, and here's to a wonderful life and a fantastic week.
Oh, and my little niece is so beautiful. She is truly a miracle and I am looking forward to spending time with her, and also waiting for the so-near day that I will hold my newborn nephew. He's coming next month.
Man, good times.
Gotta go watch the game now!
Much love,
Labels: College, Cooking, Music, Peachcake, Sociology, Work
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Recycled Air
I'm at the teashouse and it's cold, and the caffeine's giving me the shakes and there are a million things I want to read and write, or maybe I could just sit here and do a sudoku puzzle. I dunno ...
I do want to tell you something i learned this summer. One of the so many things, and that is to never be afraid of your own success. When I grow up, I want to be a writer, a teacher, a photographer, a philosopher, an athlete, and a musician ... but when I grow up is false. It implies some far away time. Like when you're a kid. Like the kids at camp. Like how the kids come on Sunday and cry sometimes because they can't imagine the weeklong lifetime they are about to experience without sometimes the dearest ones present -- their parents, or grandparents, or big brother, or dog, or the teddy bear they forgot at home even.
A week goes by, with all the time in between spent learning, doing new things, doing favorite things, making things, meeting people, or dancing when they never have before, or getting to play with food or shaving cream without getting in trouble, or being able to pick up an adult and dunk them underwater, or climbing a ladder to go down a slide that lasts forever ... until you reach the pool and want to get out and do it again.
And this says something about time. Something we've said before about time, but in a different way ... the part where the future is not far off from the present. That is exactly right. But it is something that, given the right perspective, can become a point of celebration.
I love you, ____. I still think you are beautiful, and intelligent, and articulate, and talented, and amazing. Please do not be afraid of your own success.
Sometimes i think in idealistic cliches, but then I wonder where they come from. I wonder where all these movies, like Dream for an Insomniac or Akeelah and the Bee come from. Are they based on fictional, irrational, theories for dreamers? Or are they based on the possibilities that lie inside every living thing in their potential for greatness as being of god, as beings formed by energy that moves with a will that is part of a greater, universal will.
I'm sorry to get cerebral here. I'm just as emotional. I've found it doesn't have to be hard to go between the two anymore. I have found that emotion and logic do indeed work together. I have found that as I suspected science and romance are the same thing (listen to Rilo Kiley's "Science vs. Romance" if you get a chance. That song is fucking amazing.)
It wasn't just Camp. It wasn't just new friends. It wasn't just therapy. I wish I could explain it better, but when words fall short, or become too much, I am reminded to simplify. And just as in meditation, sometimes the best thing to do is to clear your mind completely, blocking out memory, music, and the metaphorical weather of whatever is going on in the world, and feel deep down to your soul, spirit, will, inner child, whatever you want to call it because these words are only symbols, which is the point ... and listen to your intention, because rationalism does not always explain things the way they can be assumed. And in this case, my intention is to acknowledge something that was beautiful, and fun, and that had moments of inspiration, but something that has reached ... I don't know what ... I suddenly have this image in my mind of a ferry reaching the seattle skyline ... I guess in other words, and for lack of an original thought necessarily ... We've gotten where we needed to go.
And if you can conclude all of these things, and sincerely mean them, then I pray you will hold onto them dearly, in the face of whatever negativity you are digesting, and encountering, because the lessons, the feelings you are resurrecting from the depths of your mind and heart are the most important things that could ever come out of this entire experience, and having these things to hold, whether with me, near me, remembering me, talking to me, or just reading a book or mixing or not thinking at all ...
I've said it before, I'll say it again,
I believe in you. I love you. And I hope you, in time, will continue to remember the good parts, and that you will also be aware that no apologies are necessary ... that all this had a purpose, as this present moment does.
I will be here for you if you need me, always. At the moment this is hard, but it will get easier, because one of the things I have learned is that I am stronger than I have ever known. That any number of things, as you observed, could have broken me long ago. And so in being strong, as this does hurt even if I appear cold, I am comforted by my faith in myself and in you and the universe. And I wish you the best in finding out what that strength is for you -- because you have it too. Everyone does.
Believe me, because just as you can find proof for the theories that cause you to sink, or want to give up, or to shut down under the pressure ... you can, with the same eyes, the right pair of eyes (Hunter s. Thompson said) find proof to support a theory of something better and beautiful and comforting ...
I have to go.
But for what it's worth i know exactly what you have meant in everything you've said, and I want you to know that it is not too late to experience this or learn these things so long as you remember them and act on them.
It's like the part on Waking Life when the four guys are walking down the street, and they are talking about theory vs. action.
It's like addiction, whether to chocolate, or advil, or a way of thinking as habit. There's this model my shrink gave me. I don't know if I told you about it, but it had the steps of how to overcome ... whatever ... I honestly think it applies to everything ... but there's this part, this line, this stage I sat in for what seems like forever. It was the contemplation stage. The next stage was action.
I was so afraid of failing that I couldn't act. I've always felt like that. It's because of how I grew up. Not an excuse, just an unhealthy way of existing. So anyway, after the action phase, and a couple other steps, the last step was relapse, otherwise known as failure in my eyes ... but my shrink said, if you get to that one, you're not done for ... you just start at the beginning again.
And that's what life is about anyway. Robert fulghum said that long ago, and I read it in one of his books before i left for Seattle ... order to disorder to order again ...
Regardless, acknowledging this cycle gives me the perspective I need to keep things in line so I can handle less than perfect times ...
But the steps ... btw, it's not 12 steps. It's some theory in psychology ... but anyway, if you get to the end, and you look at how much and little, depending on your perspective, it took to get from the theory part to the action part, you start to believe in yourself, and the process, and you decide that it is amazing, and worthwhile, but not necessarily something you want to do again just to start at the beginning.
Now i suddenly wonder if you will understand. I see a slight contradiction in what I'm saying, but I don't. I guess it is all true ... Contradictions don't always disprove truths, but nevertheless, I will say that with these contemplations and actions and relapses, whatever the case, there are so many choices in between.
I feel i have made a very large tangent, but on the other hand, I have said exactly what is necessary, because thinking of things in these terms is just one facet of the jewel the Sandman gave to Daniel, and i know, though, because I believe in you, that seeing this one side may be enough to show you them all.
Okay, i have to go now, but thank you very much for everything. I do appreciate it. I really do. You taught me some things early on. Remember that when you think you need someone to tell you the things you already know.
Have a good day, sweetheart,
Love,
I'm at the teashouse and it's cold, and the caffeine's giving me the shakes and there are a million things I want to read and write, or maybe I could just sit here and do a sudoku puzzle. I dunno ...
I do want to tell you something i learned this summer. One of the so many things, and that is to never be afraid of your own success. When I grow up, I want to be a writer, a teacher, a photographer, a philosopher, an athlete, and a musician ... but when I grow up is false. It implies some far away time. Like when you're a kid. Like the kids at camp. Like how the kids come on Sunday and cry sometimes because they can't imagine the weeklong lifetime they are about to experience without sometimes the dearest ones present -- their parents, or grandparents, or big brother, or dog, or the teddy bear they forgot at home even.
A week goes by, with all the time in between spent learning, doing new things, doing favorite things, making things, meeting people, or dancing when they never have before, or getting to play with food or shaving cream without getting in trouble, or being able to pick up an adult and dunk them underwater, or climbing a ladder to go down a slide that lasts forever ... until you reach the pool and want to get out and do it again.
And this says something about time. Something we've said before about time, but in a different way ... the part where the future is not far off from the present. That is exactly right. But it is something that, given the right perspective, can become a point of celebration.
I love you, ____. I still think you are beautiful, and intelligent, and articulate, and talented, and amazing. Please do not be afraid of your own success.
Sometimes i think in idealistic cliches, but then I wonder where they come from. I wonder where all these movies, like Dream for an Insomniac or Akeelah and the Bee come from. Are they based on fictional, irrational, theories for dreamers? Or are they based on the possibilities that lie inside every living thing in their potential for greatness as being of god, as beings formed by energy that moves with a will that is part of a greater, universal will.
I'm sorry to get cerebral here. I'm just as emotional. I've found it doesn't have to be hard to go between the two anymore. I have found that emotion and logic do indeed work together. I have found that as I suspected science and romance are the same thing (listen to Rilo Kiley's "Science vs. Romance" if you get a chance. That song is fucking amazing.)
It wasn't just Camp. It wasn't just new friends. It wasn't just therapy. I wish I could explain it better, but when words fall short, or become too much, I am reminded to simplify. And just as in meditation, sometimes the best thing to do is to clear your mind completely, blocking out memory, music, and the metaphorical weather of whatever is going on in the world, and feel deep down to your soul, spirit, will, inner child, whatever you want to call it because these words are only symbols, which is the point ... and listen to your intention, because rationalism does not always explain things the way they can be assumed. And in this case, my intention is to acknowledge something that was beautiful, and fun, and that had moments of inspiration, but something that has reached ... I don't know what ... I suddenly have this image in my mind of a ferry reaching the seattle skyline ... I guess in other words, and for lack of an original thought necessarily ... We've gotten where we needed to go.
And if you can conclude all of these things, and sincerely mean them, then I pray you will hold onto them dearly, in the face of whatever negativity you are digesting, and encountering, because the lessons, the feelings you are resurrecting from the depths of your mind and heart are the most important things that could ever come out of this entire experience, and having these things to hold, whether with me, near me, remembering me, talking to me, or just reading a book or mixing or not thinking at all ...
I've said it before, I'll say it again,
I believe in you. I love you. And I hope you, in time, will continue to remember the good parts, and that you will also be aware that no apologies are necessary ... that all this had a purpose, as this present moment does.
I will be here for you if you need me, always. At the moment this is hard, but it will get easier, because one of the things I have learned is that I am stronger than I have ever known. That any number of things, as you observed, could have broken me long ago. And so in being strong, as this does hurt even if I appear cold, I am comforted by my faith in myself and in you and the universe. And I wish you the best in finding out what that strength is for you -- because you have it too. Everyone does.
Believe me, because just as you can find proof for the theories that cause you to sink, or want to give up, or to shut down under the pressure ... you can, with the same eyes, the right pair of eyes (Hunter s. Thompson said) find proof to support a theory of something better and beautiful and comforting ...
I have to go.
But for what it's worth i know exactly what you have meant in everything you've said, and I want you to know that it is not too late to experience this or learn these things so long as you remember them and act on them.
It's like the part on Waking Life when the four guys are walking down the street, and they are talking about theory vs. action.
It's like addiction, whether to chocolate, or advil, or a way of thinking as habit. There's this model my shrink gave me. I don't know if I told you about it, but it had the steps of how to overcome ... whatever ... I honestly think it applies to everything ... but there's this part, this line, this stage I sat in for what seems like forever. It was the contemplation stage. The next stage was action.
I was so afraid of failing that I couldn't act. I've always felt like that. It's because of how I grew up. Not an excuse, just an unhealthy way of existing. So anyway, after the action phase, and a couple other steps, the last step was relapse, otherwise known as failure in my eyes ... but my shrink said, if you get to that one, you're not done for ... you just start at the beginning again.
And that's what life is about anyway. Robert fulghum said that long ago, and I read it in one of his books before i left for Seattle ... order to disorder to order again ...
Regardless, acknowledging this cycle gives me the perspective I need to keep things in line so I can handle less than perfect times ...
But the steps ... btw, it's not 12 steps. It's some theory in psychology ... but anyway, if you get to the end, and you look at how much and little, depending on your perspective, it took to get from the theory part to the action part, you start to believe in yourself, and the process, and you decide that it is amazing, and worthwhile, but not necessarily something you want to do again just to start at the beginning.
Now i suddenly wonder if you will understand. I see a slight contradiction in what I'm saying, but I don't. I guess it is all true ... Contradictions don't always disprove truths, but nevertheless, I will say that with these contemplations and actions and relapses, whatever the case, there are so many choices in between.
I feel i have made a very large tangent, but on the other hand, I have said exactly what is necessary, because thinking of things in these terms is just one facet of the jewel the Sandman gave to Daniel, and i know, though, because I believe in you, that seeing this one side may be enough to show you them all.
Okay, i have to go now, but thank you very much for everything. I do appreciate it. I really do. You taught me some things early on. Remember that when you think you need someone to tell you the things you already know.
Have a good day, sweetheart,
Love,
Labels: Addiction, Camp, Career, Goals, Movies, Rilo Kiley, Seattle, Spirituality, Therapy, Work
Monday, February 19, 2007
Delighting in the freedom from the tyranny of events
As simple and complicated as this feels, it is going to be hard to articulate, but we'll see ...
Per esempio ...
Yesterday, my last table of the day ... It had been very busy, beginning around 9 a.m., and it finally died down, nearing two o'clock. I was sort of rejoicing in that in itself, admiring my messy, yet empty section, as I half-sat in a chair refilling sugar packets, counting five or six Splendas, Equals, Sweet 'n' Lows, putting them together, yellow, then blue, then pink, or maybe pink then yellow, then blue, then watching the three line up with the rest of the regular sugars, and thinking about that in some way while thinking of other things, and smiling over a busy yet calm, smooth, uneventful day ... uneventful in that it was smooth, and nice, and easy to smile, and so easy to give people what they wanted for some reason ... didn't really feel like working anymore, when I see a man sitting at my table from the corner of my eye.
"Would you like a menu, sir?" I asked, since he seemed to have seated himself. It was hard to tell if he was waiting on someone or if he was about to make a phone call, or maybe he wanted something to go.
Turns out, he wanted to stay. He had coffee and a large glass of water, no cream or sugar, and he ordered a French Slam.
Not the Mega French slam, which has three slices of Texas Toast with two eggs, hash browns, two bacon, and two sausage, which is cheaper. Just a French Slam: two pieces of french toast with two eggs, two bacon, and two sausage.
He ate quietly, thanked me politely and sincerely each time I came by. He read a newspaper, and when he finished, he stacked his clean plates up right in front of him.
I picked up the plates and thanked him, and smiled and told him to have a wonderful day, and just as I started to turn, he got up, and in getting up, he somehow knocked over the dessert table tent, which in turn knocked a stowaway full syrup cup, which in reaction flew off the table, and toward me.
It missed, but it did manage to create a sprawling thin line marking its path of flight like a sticky reminder of a shadow, all down the carpet reaching four or five feet across.
He apologized profusely. He seemed so embarrassed.
I assured him that it was not in the slightest a big deal at all, that it would only take a second to clean up, and not to worry about it at all, and reminded him to have a wonderful day.
I was sincere. In fact, the little incident reminded me of something, that everything happens at the appointed time, even little "unhappy accidents" that might cause breaks in the circle of thoughts or routine long enough to remind you of the present moment. To bring you right back, just as the broken plate that ricocheted into my hand that one time, cutting deeply, causing me pain, and scarring my hand did a couple of months ago.
The universe can communicate with you. It's language of communication is sometimes referred to as "the tyranny of events." The tyranny part is the part where they can be dangerously defined to mean more than they do, or inconvenient in that they remind you that you are not the only person around, but a small living part upon trillions of interconnected parts.
When I came out of the back with a broom to scrub the syrup, and poured boiling water onto the carpet to loosen it up, the man was at the register, sheepishly telling the story to Kim, the cashier, and I could hear him telling her to make sure she told me again that he was sorry.
Again I reassured the man, waving at him, and smiling, as I poured the water.
"See, I'm halfway done. It's really no big deal. Thank you ..." and I smiled at him again, and told him to enjoy the rest of the weekend.
And then I finished, and resumed cleaning my section again, spot-sweeping under the tables and arranging the chairs and table mats, when Kim came up to me and told me alone that the man left me a five dollar tip on his credit card, and hoped I would accept his apology.
That's exactly what I'm talking about.
Several events happened here that could have produced different outcomes, if my mind had reacted in detrimental ways as the mind can, uninformed of its own power in producing as part of the universe the tyranny of events themselves to communicate the things it might not be able to comprehend based on how obvious they truly are.
It had been a long, busy day.
I really was tired, although happy, and I felt my feet ache a little in a way I'm much of the time so used to that it doesn't matter.
A man seated himself at my table, obviously somehow bypassing the host stand, which is something of a faux pas, even at Denny's.
I had already left work mode, or at least, dealing with customers mode, and could have thought to myself how much I would rather enjoy taking in the small tasks one at a time until there were no more left, not wanting to add anything else to interrupt the clearly cut path laid out in front of me that might have otherwise defined my next couple of hours.
Then, the man, ever so polite and conscious of me, and manners, and his mind, whether he came to specifically do some thinking over breakfast or not, accidently makes a mess.
And it was the best part of my day.
And it feels so good to recognize that. It really does.
As simple and complicated as this feels, it is going to be hard to articulate, but we'll see ...
Per esempio ...
Yesterday, my last table of the day ... It had been very busy, beginning around 9 a.m., and it finally died down, nearing two o'clock. I was sort of rejoicing in that in itself, admiring my messy, yet empty section, as I half-sat in a chair refilling sugar packets, counting five or six Splendas, Equals, Sweet 'n' Lows, putting them together, yellow, then blue, then pink, or maybe pink then yellow, then blue, then watching the three line up with the rest of the regular sugars, and thinking about that in some way while thinking of other things, and smiling over a busy yet calm, smooth, uneventful day ... uneventful in that it was smooth, and nice, and easy to smile, and so easy to give people what they wanted for some reason ... didn't really feel like working anymore, when I see a man sitting at my table from the corner of my eye.
"Would you like a menu, sir?" I asked, since he seemed to have seated himself. It was hard to tell if he was waiting on someone or if he was about to make a phone call, or maybe he wanted something to go.
Turns out, he wanted to stay. He had coffee and a large glass of water, no cream or sugar, and he ordered a French Slam.
Not the Mega French slam, which has three slices of Texas Toast with two eggs, hash browns, two bacon, and two sausage, which is cheaper. Just a French Slam: two pieces of french toast with two eggs, two bacon, and two sausage.
He ate quietly, thanked me politely and sincerely each time I came by. He read a newspaper, and when he finished, he stacked his clean plates up right in front of him.
I picked up the plates and thanked him, and smiled and told him to have a wonderful day, and just as I started to turn, he got up, and in getting up, he somehow knocked over the dessert table tent, which in turn knocked a stowaway full syrup cup, which in reaction flew off the table, and toward me.
It missed, but it did manage to create a sprawling thin line marking its path of flight like a sticky reminder of a shadow, all down the carpet reaching four or five feet across.
He apologized profusely. He seemed so embarrassed.
I assured him that it was not in the slightest a big deal at all, that it would only take a second to clean up, and not to worry about it at all, and reminded him to have a wonderful day.
I was sincere. In fact, the little incident reminded me of something, that everything happens at the appointed time, even little "unhappy accidents" that might cause breaks in the circle of thoughts or routine long enough to remind you of the present moment. To bring you right back, just as the broken plate that ricocheted into my hand that one time, cutting deeply, causing me pain, and scarring my hand did a couple of months ago.
The universe can communicate with you. It's language of communication is sometimes referred to as "the tyranny of events." The tyranny part is the part where they can be dangerously defined to mean more than they do, or inconvenient in that they remind you that you are not the only person around, but a small living part upon trillions of interconnected parts.
When I came out of the back with a broom to scrub the syrup, and poured boiling water onto the carpet to loosen it up, the man was at the register, sheepishly telling the story to Kim, the cashier, and I could hear him telling her to make sure she told me again that he was sorry.
Again I reassured the man, waving at him, and smiling, as I poured the water.
"See, I'm halfway done. It's really no big deal. Thank you ..." and I smiled at him again, and told him to enjoy the rest of the weekend.
And then I finished, and resumed cleaning my section again, spot-sweeping under the tables and arranging the chairs and table mats, when Kim came up to me and told me alone that the man left me a five dollar tip on his credit card, and hoped I would accept his apology.
That's exactly what I'm talking about.
Several events happened here that could have produced different outcomes, if my mind had reacted in detrimental ways as the mind can, uninformed of its own power in producing as part of the universe the tyranny of events themselves to communicate the things it might not be able to comprehend based on how obvious they truly are.
It had been a long, busy day.
I really was tired, although happy, and I felt my feet ache a little in a way I'm much of the time so used to that it doesn't matter.
A man seated himself at my table, obviously somehow bypassing the host stand, which is something of a faux pas, even at Denny's.
I had already left work mode, or at least, dealing with customers mode, and could have thought to myself how much I would rather enjoy taking in the small tasks one at a time until there were no more left, not wanting to add anything else to interrupt the clearly cut path laid out in front of me that might have otherwise defined my next couple of hours.
Then, the man, ever so polite and conscious of me, and manners, and his mind, whether he came to specifically do some thinking over breakfast or not, accidently makes a mess.
And it was the best part of my day.
And it feels so good to recognize that. It really does.
Labels: Buddhism, Spirituality, Work
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Mixtapes
(12/21/06)
I love making mixtapes. And I love being given mixtapes. I used to make so many, I guess mostly, in the months before I left for Seattle:
Rock Out With Your Cock Out Mix
Calm the Fuck Down Mix
Happy Music Mix
Regina's Mix
Not So Ordinary Mornings Mix ...
Whatever.
When Chris and I first got together, actually, way before we ever got together, when we first started dating, I made him a tape.
I'd been spending some time with him a lot. I'd work at the bar and he'd wait for me to get off, and then Edgar and I would play Sinatra songs on the jukebox and Chris would help us do stuff so we could all get out and go to Katz' er something.
Sometimes we'd all go together, sometimes Chris and I would tell 'em we were going solo.
Sometimes we'd drink coffee and talk for so many hours; other times, we'd drive.
It was one of those nights when we were driving and talking that he kissed me the first time: at a stop light. I don't know why, but I always sort of liked the idea of couples kissing at stop lights.
I think it was that night we hung out for so long and I came home in this happy daze and wasn't ready to sleep yet; cause it was the opposite of not wanting to wake from a dream -- not wanting to go to sleep.
So, I stayed up and made this tape while the sunlight came and worked its way into the day and my living room.
I was methodical about it, but not. I wasn't trying to express any sort of feelings with the tapes. I was trying to pick music he may not have heard, and mixed with some he had, and mix those with a few things I thought were like the greatest shit in the world.
And in a way, with that tape, I was being myself, the same way you try to be when you are hanging out with someone in person.
I don't know how to explain it except that a few years ago or so I really started working on this idea about knowing who I am at least for that moment and trying to say what I mean and mean what I say, and try to be upfront about things like how many different types of things I read, and how many kinds of music I like, because after a few rodeos you realize that those sort of things either are important, or can be important, or can become important, depending on the persons in the situation, um, at hand.
So I sort of let this tape flow, thinking about him and not thinking about him, and then it went from that to totally just me putting on that tape what I wanted to listen to at that precise moment.
I love the progression of that tape; it's like a story. It rocks out. It moves from The JAMC to the Decemberists to Autolux to Blue Sparrow to Azure Ray to Desaparecidos to Of Montreal to the '89 Cubs to Bloc Party and back to the '89 Cubs; then somewhere in there it takes this weird, but nice transitional turn to All-Time Quarterback and Portishead and Dntel and Her Space Holiday.
I don't know, man. I liked that tape so much I wrote down the track listing and made an extra copy for me, except I felt kinda weird doing that for some reason, because mixtapes are gifts, in the same way that you're not supposed to read your own Tarot cards, so I made another copy with the exception of the Azure Ray song. I put a different one so that the tapes would be the same but slightly different, and so therefore original.
I still listen to that tape all the time. 'Cause it's a bad-ass tape. Fuckin A. Like today, I cleaned the house for my folks and I thought I could use some tunes ... there you go.
But the weird thing about mixtapes, or any music or sounds or smells or anything, I guess, is the way they access your memories like taking toys out of a box and playing with them.
Fortunately, with Chris's Mix, 'cause that's what it's called, I love the songs so much and they're so personal to me, that I can listen to it anyway -- listen to it in that, I can listen to it and not necessarily think about him.
But today I was listening to it, and I was thinking about something else too. Like the word love. Or the feeling, rather, because I don't know about you, but I am very good at remembering detailed moments when I realized I was in love, with past loves. The same way I knew in certain moments that I was loved, and the funny thing is that these moments do not coincide necessarily with the verbal use of the word love.
It's more an unspoken language in the eyes or the smile. Or it's in the air, and I don't care if that's corny, it's in the electricity of the air formed by the coupling and interaction of two distinctive personal energies colliding.
But I was thinking today even about how that moment isn't necessarily quite right either. Because the moment you realize you're in love is not the moment you are falling in love. They are two separate pieces of whatever space-time continuum this shit exists in; and I'm not sure it's bound by natural time.
The point is, I listened to that tape today, and I wasn't listening hard. I'd heard it a million times. It was just music I cleaned the house to. And I thought to myself, while I was half-listening and half-allowing it to just be background noise while half-thinking and half-cleaning, and taking smoke breaks, that I was in love with him way before I ever knew. I was in love with him when I made that tape. Deeply subconsciously, but nonetheless, I was.
So knowing that now it's amazing to me that I can listen to that tape at all.
I was in love with someone else, years before I ever met Chris, and he moved away. He made me some CDs as a parting gift, when I was moving away, which was before he moved away.
Those CDs got a lot of airplay in my discman for a little while, but I stopped listening to them somewhere along the way.
They were really great songs, and they were put together to say something. I understood the message perfectly. It was the same as the ones I've made I guess, old bands he put on there I would know, and some shit that was new to me but from bands that were either unsigned or had broken up.
Some'a the greatest songs I ever heard, on those CDs, but whenever I listen to them, I cry. I know right. Fucking emo. But seriously, I do. I've tried giving it a rest. I'll keep 'em tucked away and wait six months, and take 'em out, just wanting to hear something different, or something old, and then, first or second song, without fail, I cry.
This might be about mixtapes. This might be about being in love, or being alive long after love, or the fact that love can leave you feeling differently, in the same way that different persons can make you feel differently.
I don't know. Guess right now I'm just glad I can still listen to that tape 'cause it rules.
(12/21/06)
I love making mixtapes. And I love being given mixtapes. I used to make so many, I guess mostly, in the months before I left for Seattle:
Rock Out With Your Cock Out Mix
Calm the Fuck Down Mix
Happy Music Mix
Regina's Mix
Not So Ordinary Mornings Mix ...
Whatever.
When Chris and I first got together, actually, way before we ever got together, when we first started dating, I made him a tape.
I'd been spending some time with him a lot. I'd work at the bar and he'd wait for me to get off, and then Edgar and I would play Sinatra songs on the jukebox and Chris would help us do stuff so we could all get out and go to Katz' er something.
Sometimes we'd all go together, sometimes Chris and I would tell 'em we were going solo.
Sometimes we'd drink coffee and talk for so many hours; other times, we'd drive.
It was one of those nights when we were driving and talking that he kissed me the first time: at a stop light. I don't know why, but I always sort of liked the idea of couples kissing at stop lights.
I think it was that night we hung out for so long and I came home in this happy daze and wasn't ready to sleep yet; cause it was the opposite of not wanting to wake from a dream -- not wanting to go to sleep.
So, I stayed up and made this tape while the sunlight came and worked its way into the day and my living room.
I was methodical about it, but not. I wasn't trying to express any sort of feelings with the tapes. I was trying to pick music he may not have heard, and mixed with some he had, and mix those with a few things I thought were like the greatest shit in the world.
And in a way, with that tape, I was being myself, the same way you try to be when you are hanging out with someone in person.
I don't know how to explain it except that a few years ago or so I really started working on this idea about knowing who I am at least for that moment and trying to say what I mean and mean what I say, and try to be upfront about things like how many different types of things I read, and how many kinds of music I like, because after a few rodeos you realize that those sort of things either are important, or can be important, or can become important, depending on the persons in the situation, um, at hand.
So I sort of let this tape flow, thinking about him and not thinking about him, and then it went from that to totally just me putting on that tape what I wanted to listen to at that precise moment.
I love the progression of that tape; it's like a story. It rocks out. It moves from The JAMC to the Decemberists to Autolux to Blue Sparrow to Azure Ray to Desaparecidos to Of Montreal to the '89 Cubs to Bloc Party and back to the '89 Cubs; then somewhere in there it takes this weird, but nice transitional turn to All-Time Quarterback and Portishead and Dntel and Her Space Holiday.
I don't know, man. I liked that tape so much I wrote down the track listing and made an extra copy for me, except I felt kinda weird doing that for some reason, because mixtapes are gifts, in the same way that you're not supposed to read your own Tarot cards, so I made another copy with the exception of the Azure Ray song. I put a different one so that the tapes would be the same but slightly different, and so therefore original.
I still listen to that tape all the time. 'Cause it's a bad-ass tape. Fuckin A. Like today, I cleaned the house for my folks and I thought I could use some tunes ... there you go.
But the weird thing about mixtapes, or any music or sounds or smells or anything, I guess, is the way they access your memories like taking toys out of a box and playing with them.
Fortunately, with Chris's Mix, 'cause that's what it's called, I love the songs so much and they're so personal to me, that I can listen to it anyway -- listen to it in that, I can listen to it and not necessarily think about him.
But today I was listening to it, and I was thinking about something else too. Like the word love. Or the feeling, rather, because I don't know about you, but I am very good at remembering detailed moments when I realized I was in love, with past loves. The same way I knew in certain moments that I was loved, and the funny thing is that these moments do not coincide necessarily with the verbal use of the word love.
It's more an unspoken language in the eyes or the smile. Or it's in the air, and I don't care if that's corny, it's in the electricity of the air formed by the coupling and interaction of two distinctive personal energies colliding.
But I was thinking today even about how that moment isn't necessarily quite right either. Because the moment you realize you're in love is not the moment you are falling in love. They are two separate pieces of whatever space-time continuum this shit exists in; and I'm not sure it's bound by natural time.
The point is, I listened to that tape today, and I wasn't listening hard. I'd heard it a million times. It was just music I cleaned the house to. And I thought to myself, while I was half-listening and half-allowing it to just be background noise while half-thinking and half-cleaning, and taking smoke breaks, that I was in love with him way before I ever knew. I was in love with him when I made that tape. Deeply subconsciously, but nonetheless, I was.
So knowing that now it's amazing to me that I can listen to that tape at all.
I was in love with someone else, years before I ever met Chris, and he moved away. He made me some CDs as a parting gift, when I was moving away, which was before he moved away.
Those CDs got a lot of airplay in my discman for a little while, but I stopped listening to them somewhere along the way.
They were really great songs, and they were put together to say something. I understood the message perfectly. It was the same as the ones I've made I guess, old bands he put on there I would know, and some shit that was new to me but from bands that were either unsigned or had broken up.
Some'a the greatest songs I ever heard, on those CDs, but whenever I listen to them, I cry. I know right. Fucking emo. But seriously, I do. I've tried giving it a rest. I'll keep 'em tucked away and wait six months, and take 'em out, just wanting to hear something different, or something old, and then, first or second song, without fail, I cry.
This might be about mixtapes. This might be about being in love, or being alive long after love, or the fact that love can leave you feeling differently, in the same way that different persons can make you feel differently.
I don't know. Guess right now I'm just glad I can still listen to that tape 'cause it rules.
Labels: Breaking Up, Love, Music, Seattle, Work
Monday, August 21, 2006
Ho-Hum.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
One man's junk is another man's treasure.
When every door closes, a new door opens.
Yep ... And, there are paradoxes in everything.
Like how today was wonderful and hellish at the same time.
And NOT wonderfully hellish, I must add.
It was the first day of school.
Yesterday I felt queasy all day. I thought it was because I was worried about whether Chris was going to be at our league party.
We had joined this league, and after several months, it was over.
I remember joking early on when we joined it, about how it was a big step for me to ask Chris to be on my team. It seemed like quite a commitment for two people who just got together ... hah. Yes, I actually was the apprehensive one for once, in the beginning.
Sure enough, we broke up less than 24 hours before our last night of competition.
Anyway, so at the end of league you get your prize. It's something you get to pick out, that part of your league dues go toward.
Chris and I had both picked out cues.
That was too much information, sort of long-winded, sorry, when the fact is, he didn't go.
But I found out when I got home last night and lost everything I ate yesterday that Chris actually wasn't to blame for my physical ailment, and I am a pretty sick kid.
Didn't feel at all settled when I went to bed, but had to get up early for my first day of school.
First day of school was somewhat uneventful, and also pretty good, depending on how to look at it.
I went to three classes today: Photography, geology, and Opinion writing. All was well. Geology's the one I was worried about, cause it's science which isn't my strongest subject, not to mention I can't see rocks whipping me up into an excitement about learning frenzy. But as it turns out, my professor's pretty hot. Problem solved ... what? Never said I wasn't a woman.
I was able to run some errands today too. Cashed some checks and opened a new bank account, cause Wamu can suck my asshole. Will save you the boring details of that story. Just got tired of bending over ....
Then I decided to stop by Slicks to make sure my schedule was as it should be, with school starting and all. Turns out I was working tonight. Two hours from the time I checked the schedule. Fuck.
Still felt like ralphing, I might add.
So I hurried home, picked up some soup on the way.
Threw my work clothes in the wash.
Ate the soup.
Took a powernap while the clothes were drying.
Thirty seconds after I got to work or so I was hiding in the bathroom and losing my dinner.
Needless to say, I went home.
Now stuffed up, queasy, hungry and thirsty but unable to retain anything I can consume, I'm sitting here writing ....
I did manage to get a weekly column in the Cougar again though. I applied again, since not many people there anymore know me, and conveniently enough as it turns out the Opinion editor has a class with me. So I met her today, and she offered me a column.
Except, there's this one guy I hate who's been there at the Cougar and at UH even longer than I have. His passive-aggressive, snide comments and questions couldn't fade me. Who the fuck does he think he is anyway? If anything, the only thing his presence did I could've done without was cause me to think of more zingers (that went without saying) I could've thrown out before I left. Fuck that guy.
"Didn't you leave to go to some po-dunk town?"
"No, I went to Seattle."
"Did it rain a lot?"
"No, actually, it was nice. It doesn't rain much there in the summers (of course you would know that if you had ever read anything or been anywhere)."
"So, Jim, what about you? Did you go anywhere, or have you just been here the whole time? And, how long have you been here again?"
"21 years." He smirked.
(Really. So you have like six degrees now or still working on the one? Or are you still doing that thing where you enroll in classes and then drop and take your parents' money and hang around in the newsroom and act like an asshole?)
Ugh.
"Were there people there? In Seattle? Were they nice?"
"Yes, actually, they were all really nice."
...
"Are you in a garage band?"
Fuck that guy.
Anyway ... it was cool, though, when Dick walked into the office and welcomed me back. "As you can see, not much here has changed," he said smiling. And I looked right at Jim, and said, "Yep. Still got your Old Standards, I see ... Well, have a good day everybody."
...
So I've got two classes tomorrow. I hope I'm feeling better by then. At least I'll be off work ...
15 hours, ya'll. It really is awesome.
Labels: Anxiety, Breaking Up, College, Seattle, Work
Monday, August 07, 2006
Meh. An update of sorts.
I am no longer Office Biatch. Or so my friends called me ... Nope. If that's the "real world" then I'm just gonna have to say fuck that.
It was partly because I hated that fucking job anyway. And I really did try. I hated it after a week. After two months. Decided it was new, to give it more time ... REALLY hated it after four months. Seriously. It was becoming a struggle not to just walk out the door without looking back every day. I hated the clothes. I hated the people. I hated how 10 hours of my day seemed to just disappear. I hated being tired all the time. Putting myself on lockdown every night, staying home or coming home early so I could get up early and head to that awful place. I hated that I didn't give a fuck about anything I did there. It meant nothing to me, yet everything was so detailed it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't at least four people or more would let you know it was less than perfect. Even the same fuck wits who fucked up as much or more than you did. They sure would let you know if a date was wrong on something, or if it needed to be e-mailed to one more person, blah, blah, blah.
Then they asked me to bend over one more time, and I said you know what? Fuck You. You see, my sister got married two weeks ago in Miami. I was her maid of honor. I had paid four hundred dollars for a plane ticket. I told my boss about needing one Friday off in July on my second interview. I told her that before she hired me, when she was explaining me about yellow days on the calendar and how every other six weeks people weren't supposed to take off because that was the busy time there. She said one day would be all right.
Then, three months in advance I got the day off officially approved, by my boss and then by HR. So why, one week before my trip was planned did my boss e-mail me at five o'clock on a Friday to let me know that the director of HR approached her and all the sudden I wasn't allowed to take my trip?
Because she was a cunt, I guess.
So Monday when I just wasn't there, she all tried to play it off to everybody else, like, Where is she? She's supposed to have her vacation day on Friday. She must've gotten her days mixed up ...
Uh, actually, I quit! Man, it was awesome. I didn't care. That Monday, when I didn't show up or call my job, I was beginning another job. Bartending at Slicks during the day. A different location. A different job. Which happens to be just a few blocks down from my new place. I work 10 hour days, but I work alone. That in itself is priceless. I am my own boss during those hours. I'm the only one there working. I have keys to the store. I have the combination to the safe. It feels good. And I make more money there than the man even gave me.
And I'm going back to school. And I don't have to worry about what evening classes are available anymore. I want to take 12 hours. I haven't taken that many since 2000. But I'm going to.
I'm glad I had the experience of working in the office. Sometimes, as my friend Stephanie told me once, the only thing you can learn from something is that you never want to do it again. I can say that about my stint as office biatch.
I am no longer Office Biatch. Or so my friends called me ... Nope. If that's the "real world" then I'm just gonna have to say fuck that.
It was partly because I hated that fucking job anyway. And I really did try. I hated it after a week. After two months. Decided it was new, to give it more time ... REALLY hated it after four months. Seriously. It was becoming a struggle not to just walk out the door without looking back every day. I hated the clothes. I hated the people. I hated how 10 hours of my day seemed to just disappear. I hated being tired all the time. Putting myself on lockdown every night, staying home or coming home early so I could get up early and head to that awful place. I hated that I didn't give a fuck about anything I did there. It meant nothing to me, yet everything was so detailed it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't at least four people or more would let you know it was less than perfect. Even the same fuck wits who fucked up as much or more than you did. They sure would let you know if a date was wrong on something, or if it needed to be e-mailed to one more person, blah, blah, blah.
Then they asked me to bend over one more time, and I said you know what? Fuck You. You see, my sister got married two weeks ago in Miami. I was her maid of honor. I had paid four hundred dollars for a plane ticket. I told my boss about needing one Friday off in July on my second interview. I told her that before she hired me, when she was explaining me about yellow days on the calendar and how every other six weeks people weren't supposed to take off because that was the busy time there. She said one day would be all right.
Then, three months in advance I got the day off officially approved, by my boss and then by HR. So why, one week before my trip was planned did my boss e-mail me at five o'clock on a Friday to let me know that the director of HR approached her and all the sudden I wasn't allowed to take my trip?
Because she was a cunt, I guess.
So Monday when I just wasn't there, she all tried to play it off to everybody else, like, Where is she? She's supposed to have her vacation day on Friday. She must've gotten her days mixed up ...
Uh, actually, I quit! Man, it was awesome. I didn't care. That Monday, when I didn't show up or call my job, I was beginning another job. Bartending at Slicks during the day. A different location. A different job. Which happens to be just a few blocks down from my new place. I work 10 hour days, but I work alone. That in itself is priceless. I am my own boss during those hours. I'm the only one there working. I have keys to the store. I have the combination to the safe. It feels good. And I make more money there than the man even gave me.
And I'm going back to school. And I don't have to worry about what evening classes are available anymore. I want to take 12 hours. I haven't taken that many since 2000. But I'm going to.
I'm glad I had the experience of working in the office. Sometimes, as my friend Stephanie told me once, the only thing you can learn from something is that you never want to do it again. I can say that about my stint as office biatch.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Oh, baby, don't you worry
'Cause I can take care of my damn self.
Guess who just got a new job?
Me motherfuckas!
Benefits. Bonuses. Full medical, dental. Optical. Vacation. Sick and personal days. Oh, yes.
Thank you everyone for all of your help and encouragement.
Just thought I'd let you know how much this rules.
I love you guys.
'Cause I can take care of my damn self.
Guess who just got a new job?
Me motherfuckas!
Benefits. Bonuses. Full medical, dental. Optical. Vacation. Sick and personal days. Oh, yes.
Thank you everyone for all of your help and encouragement.
Just thought I'd let you know how much this rules.
I love you guys.
Labels: Work
Monday, January 30, 2006
End-alls, Be-alls, schmee-alls
OK, so things aren't that bad. At least, I've calmed down a little. I picked up shifts at Slicks this week. I can do that for awhile to float me until I figure out what I'm going to do.
I rode my bike today for the first time in awhile. I got a mountain bike for Christmas. Did I tell you that? It's a 21-speed red Huffy. Having a mountain bike is great in Houston because the sidewalks and streets are so shitty. My tires have taken plenty of blows, whereas a regular street bike would've fed me 8,000 tons of concrete by now, I think.
Rethinking the job situation. I got hired by a couple temp agencies. But I have to start with short-term jobs first, which means I'll have to quit Chuy's. The thing is, I love working there.
As a host, I wouldn't be worse off if they paid me in pounds of peanuts. The problem is, it pays so little that even if I worked full time I'd still barely make it. The hosting shifts are short, so that would require lots of doubles. If I wanted to do that I may as well pack a lunch and a sleeping bag for work. Not to mention the fact that part time at any job is just enough so that you don't hate it, you know?
I explained my situation to my boss there. She asked me why I didn't try to be a server. Two reasons. The first is that before they'd even let me do that, I'd have to work To-Go, which pays only 50 cents an hour more than hosting. The other is a combination of laziness, and that I'm stubborn. I've seen how they work. The restaurant is crowded 99 percent of the time. The servers bust their asses. I'm feeling too tired and old for that. My back already hurts constantly. I don't even know how the waiters do it half the time. I feel like if I were to serve there full time I'd be as physically and mentally tired as I was working full time at Slicks and part time there, with school. It would take that much out of me.
And I would hate the customers. Not all of them. A nice mixture of folks, rich and poor, laid-back and uptight, from in town and out of town, come there. Lots of different people. But dealing with them as a server? Fuck that. I'm tired of serving food. I don't really give a shit about knowing the menu anywhere anymore. Plus, you have all the people that come in there thinking they're Nora Ephron, ordering this without this with a side of this, and this other thing not on it, but on the side. Pfff. Whatever. Even vegetarians do it. Chuy's is one of my favorite restaurants because of the menu's many vegetarian options. But Nikki works there too, and she's told me people still come in there and make up their own shit. They'll get some combo that comes with like beef tacos and chalupas and enchiladas and modify it all to hell.
I'm at that point where my experience in the service industy has me walking a fine line between "Yes, sir," and "Fuck right off!"
So there you have it.
***
I'm trying to reconstruct my dreams. I'm trying for new goals. Hobbies. Friends. I feel like a life without them would be lifeless. Maybe it's fear of failure. Anxiety. Laziness. But I'm trying to get those back.
It's like when I go on these interviews, and people ask me what I want to be doing in five years. I don't fucking know. Or Office Space, the part when they're talking about what job you would do for fun if you had a million dollars already.
Fuck man.
So, I've got two tentative dreams. One is teaching English in Japan when I graduate. The other is to be a musician. An actual one. You know, one who records, and plays shows, even if they're small.
I was talking to Nikki about all this the other night. Because I'm always thinking about being someone else: like how I used to imagine what it would be like to be Ellen, when she got her degree and a new job in a new city. And how I'm always telling Nikki how she's young and beautiful and has no debt and could do anything or go anywhere right now, if she really wanted. Why can't I just be happy with myself and where I'm going? Why can't I see in myself what my friends see in me, or even strangers?
Nikki said when I sing, I don't hear myself. I hear all my mistakes, or I think about how I could belt it out when I was just a little kid, and how I've neglected this part of me for so long I feel like it's fading away.
But it doesn't have to. No one says when you are 25 years old you have to stop dreaming.
It's not the end-all, be-all. This doesn't have to be.
***
I've had so many job interviews. They make me so uncomfortable. All I can think about, when I think of where I want to be -- when I'm staring at the cookie-cutter artwork, and the functional yet uncomfortable office furniture, their tacky carpets, and fake office folks, with ladies wearing pantyhose and pumps, walking around like they're in costume -- is this for an answer: "Not. Fucking. Here."
A few months ago, just before I began my boycott of sex and dating, I went out a few times with this crazy guy. He was in his thirties. A businessman. Very intelligent. And funny. But nonetheless, crazy, or at least on par with me.
He used to tell me everything was compromise. He was so fun with his friends. Talkative, hilarious. He could start a conversation with anyone and make them laugh, or at least smile, in 30 seconds. Hands down. He had a great smile too.
But he'd sit across from me, in our more serious conversations over coffee, and tell me, "Everything in life is compromise."
Giving a little to get a little -- like how he hated his business life, when the fact that how phoney he could be to get what he wanted and to motivate people wasn't actually entertaining him. Everything was bending and folding things to make them fit.
I'm too much of an idealist for that, maybe. Even as low as I feel right now. I take the hopeful line. The one Dave and I are always talking about. The reason that I'm still fucking emo, no matter how close to the edge I get to making the jump to goth. Hah.
Problem is, half of me says that compromises are necessary in the beginning to get what you want: like giving up Chuy's even though I like it there, to pick up shifts at Slicks. Only, sometimes my body just carries so much shit from that place it feels like it might collapse: People I don't feel like seeing, songs I don't want to hear, assholes I don't want to deal with, drugs and money passing right in front of me, or memories of this friend or that lover even, and hanging out at this table or that table. Even the tables we played on when I had my going away parties. Or people coming in saying, "I thought you left." And me saying, "I did."
I have long conversations with people and then I don't remember them. I don't remember them because I don't remember the people. I don't remember the people because I never actually see them. I don't see them because I'm not looking. I'm not looking because I don't care.
So, back to compromise. I have to think that if I'll work hard and make some compromises now, I'll eventually get what I want. But then I wonder if he was right. What if that's what happens? And I'll learn that I have to keep doing this for the rest of my life?
I don't want to settle for that. I don't want to compromise my way through. I don't want to be wrong.
OK, so things aren't that bad. At least, I've calmed down a little. I picked up shifts at Slicks this week. I can do that for awhile to float me until I figure out what I'm going to do.
I rode my bike today for the first time in awhile. I got a mountain bike for Christmas. Did I tell you that? It's a 21-speed red Huffy. Having a mountain bike is great in Houston because the sidewalks and streets are so shitty. My tires have taken plenty of blows, whereas a regular street bike would've fed me 8,000 tons of concrete by now, I think.
Rethinking the job situation. I got hired by a couple temp agencies. But I have to start with short-term jobs first, which means I'll have to quit Chuy's. The thing is, I love working there.
As a host, I wouldn't be worse off if they paid me in pounds of peanuts. The problem is, it pays so little that even if I worked full time I'd still barely make it. The hosting shifts are short, so that would require lots of doubles. If I wanted to do that I may as well pack a lunch and a sleeping bag for work. Not to mention the fact that part time at any job is just enough so that you don't hate it, you know?
I explained my situation to my boss there. She asked me why I didn't try to be a server. Two reasons. The first is that before they'd even let me do that, I'd have to work To-Go, which pays only 50 cents an hour more than hosting. The other is a combination of laziness, and that I'm stubborn. I've seen how they work. The restaurant is crowded 99 percent of the time. The servers bust their asses. I'm feeling too tired and old for that. My back already hurts constantly. I don't even know how the waiters do it half the time. I feel like if I were to serve there full time I'd be as physically and mentally tired as I was working full time at Slicks and part time there, with school. It would take that much out of me.
And I would hate the customers. Not all of them. A nice mixture of folks, rich and poor, laid-back and uptight, from in town and out of town, come there. Lots of different people. But dealing with them as a server? Fuck that. I'm tired of serving food. I don't really give a shit about knowing the menu anywhere anymore. Plus, you have all the people that come in there thinking they're Nora Ephron, ordering this without this with a side of this, and this other thing not on it, but on the side. Pfff. Whatever. Even vegetarians do it. Chuy's is one of my favorite restaurants because of the menu's many vegetarian options. But Nikki works there too, and she's told me people still come in there and make up their own shit. They'll get some combo that comes with like beef tacos and chalupas and enchiladas and modify it all to hell.
I'm at that point where my experience in the service industy has me walking a fine line between "Yes, sir," and "Fuck right off!"
So there you have it.
***
I'm trying to reconstruct my dreams. I'm trying for new goals. Hobbies. Friends. I feel like a life without them would be lifeless. Maybe it's fear of failure. Anxiety. Laziness. But I'm trying to get those back.
It's like when I go on these interviews, and people ask me what I want to be doing in five years. I don't fucking know. Or Office Space, the part when they're talking about what job you would do for fun if you had a million dollars already.
Fuck man.
So, I've got two tentative dreams. One is teaching English in Japan when I graduate. The other is to be a musician. An actual one. You know, one who records, and plays shows, even if they're small.
I was talking to Nikki about all this the other night. Because I'm always thinking about being someone else: like how I used to imagine what it would be like to be Ellen, when she got her degree and a new job in a new city. And how I'm always telling Nikki how she's young and beautiful and has no debt and could do anything or go anywhere right now, if she really wanted. Why can't I just be happy with myself and where I'm going? Why can't I see in myself what my friends see in me, or even strangers?
Nikki said when I sing, I don't hear myself. I hear all my mistakes, or I think about how I could belt it out when I was just a little kid, and how I've neglected this part of me for so long I feel like it's fading away.
But it doesn't have to. No one says when you are 25 years old you have to stop dreaming.
It's not the end-all, be-all. This doesn't have to be.
***
I've had so many job interviews. They make me so uncomfortable. All I can think about, when I think of where I want to be -- when I'm staring at the cookie-cutter artwork, and the functional yet uncomfortable office furniture, their tacky carpets, and fake office folks, with ladies wearing pantyhose and pumps, walking around like they're in costume -- is this for an answer: "Not. Fucking. Here."
A few months ago, just before I began my boycott of sex and dating, I went out a few times with this crazy guy. He was in his thirties. A businessman. Very intelligent. And funny. But nonetheless, crazy, or at least on par with me.
He used to tell me everything was compromise. He was so fun with his friends. Talkative, hilarious. He could start a conversation with anyone and make them laugh, or at least smile, in 30 seconds. Hands down. He had a great smile too.
But he'd sit across from me, in our more serious conversations over coffee, and tell me, "Everything in life is compromise."
Giving a little to get a little -- like how he hated his business life, when the fact that how phoney he could be to get what he wanted and to motivate people wasn't actually entertaining him. Everything was bending and folding things to make them fit.
I'm too much of an idealist for that, maybe. Even as low as I feel right now. I take the hopeful line. The one Dave and I are always talking about. The reason that I'm still fucking emo, no matter how close to the edge I get to making the jump to goth. Hah.
Problem is, half of me says that compromises are necessary in the beginning to get what you want: like giving up Chuy's even though I like it there, to pick up shifts at Slicks. Only, sometimes my body just carries so much shit from that place it feels like it might collapse: People I don't feel like seeing, songs I don't want to hear, assholes I don't want to deal with, drugs and money passing right in front of me, or memories of this friend or that lover even, and hanging out at this table or that table. Even the tables we played on when I had my going away parties. Or people coming in saying, "I thought you left." And me saying, "I did."
I have long conversations with people and then I don't remember them. I don't remember them because I don't remember the people. I don't remember the people because I never actually see them. I don't see them because I'm not looking. I'm not looking because I don't care.
So, back to compromise. I have to think that if I'll work hard and make some compromises now, I'll eventually get what I want. But then I wonder if he was right. What if that's what happens? And I'll learn that I have to keep doing this for the rest of my life?
I don't want to settle for that. I don't want to compromise my way through. I don't want to be wrong.
Labels: Anxiety, Goals, Relationships, Work
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Dead to the World
I listened to JamisonParker this morning. I forgot how much I love that EP.
I'm having a pretty good day. Fell asleep at like 10 last night. Woke up at 7. Did some dishes. Did some laundry. Enjoyed the brightness of my living room, all the big windows and the blinds drawn.
Lately I am so dissatisfied. I feel like ... I don't know ... dead to the world.
I haven't been riding my mountain bike because it's been cold outside. I haven't been playing my guitar because I feel like I suck; and the less I practice, the more I suck. So it just produces this crazy cycle of suckage.
I don't read anything. I read True Love, and half of Maybe, Maybe Not. I read the first page of A Tale of Two Cities. I've read pieces of magazine articles. But for the last few years I could count on one hand how many good books I've read.
Even when I read them, I don't discuss them. I don't think too critically about them. I just let them wash over me. Like water. It feels like doing something. But it's not really. Other than passing time, I suppose.
My schedule is changing. I'm adjusting. It's something I wanted. I let Slicks become some sort of staple in my life. Now I'm away from poeople, and that environment. I don't really miss it. In fact, I'm happier. Just trying to learn a new way to manage my time now that work doesn't take up so much. My nights are free to do as I please. I began to loathe working until 3 a.m., and how I always felt anxious -- like I needed to go out whenever I was off, rather than stay home. Otherwise, mid-week I'd go crazy watching everyone else hang out while I would bring them their drinks.
Now, though, I miss myself. I miss my apartment. Crazy how it sounds, but I think I spent more time at home when I was working two jobs and going to school than I do now.
And I spent so much more time alone. At least a couple hours a day.
I feel like my brain is melting. I don't read the paper or watch the news. I rarely have intelligent conversation. I feel so dispassionate about most things.
And some asshole broke my heart six months ago. Only, he wasn't an asshole. I only say that because I know the fact that I miss him still, after this long, is incredibly lame.
I need to spend more time alone. I am not even talking about boys here. I already decided awhile ago to take a break from dating. But I feel like I've already begun to distance myself from people mentally. Now, I want to do so even more. Just enough so that I can make the time to figure out what it is that I do, or would like to do. And what I would like to talk about. Because so many of the conversations I have aren't about anything at all.
And I'm lonely, but lonely for a sense of something that's missing. I'm lonelier in crowds, when I can feel the emptiness more acutely, than when I'm alone, taking time to relax. I think if a person spends enough time alone they can forget what loneliness is, and just be comfortable. I know I can, because this time last year that's exactly where I was, and it was wonderful. My life was as close to complete as it has ever been.
I listened to JamisonParker this morning. I forgot how much I love that EP.
I'm having a pretty good day. Fell asleep at like 10 last night. Woke up at 7. Did some dishes. Did some laundry. Enjoyed the brightness of my living room, all the big windows and the blinds drawn.
Lately I am so dissatisfied. I feel like ... I don't know ... dead to the world.
I haven't been riding my mountain bike because it's been cold outside. I haven't been playing my guitar because I feel like I suck; and the less I practice, the more I suck. So it just produces this crazy cycle of suckage.
I don't read anything. I read True Love, and half of Maybe, Maybe Not. I read the first page of A Tale of Two Cities. I've read pieces of magazine articles. But for the last few years I could count on one hand how many good books I've read.
Even when I read them, I don't discuss them. I don't think too critically about them. I just let them wash over me. Like water. It feels like doing something. But it's not really. Other than passing time, I suppose.
My schedule is changing. I'm adjusting. It's something I wanted. I let Slicks become some sort of staple in my life. Now I'm away from poeople, and that environment. I don't really miss it. In fact, I'm happier. Just trying to learn a new way to manage my time now that work doesn't take up so much. My nights are free to do as I please. I began to loathe working until 3 a.m., and how I always felt anxious -- like I needed to go out whenever I was off, rather than stay home. Otherwise, mid-week I'd go crazy watching everyone else hang out while I would bring them their drinks.
Now, though, I miss myself. I miss my apartment. Crazy how it sounds, but I think I spent more time at home when I was working two jobs and going to school than I do now.
And I spent so much more time alone. At least a couple hours a day.
I feel like my brain is melting. I don't read the paper or watch the news. I rarely have intelligent conversation. I feel so dispassionate about most things.
And some asshole broke my heart six months ago. Only, he wasn't an asshole. I only say that because I know the fact that I miss him still, after this long, is incredibly lame.
I need to spend more time alone. I am not even talking about boys here. I already decided awhile ago to take a break from dating. But I feel like I've already begun to distance myself from people mentally. Now, I want to do so even more. Just enough so that I can make the time to figure out what it is that I do, or would like to do. And what I would like to talk about. Because so many of the conversations I have aren't about anything at all.
And I'm lonely, but lonely for a sense of something that's missing. I'm lonelier in crowds, when I can feel the emptiness more acutely, than when I'm alone, taking time to relax. I think if a person spends enough time alone they can forget what loneliness is, and just be comfortable. I know I can, because this time last year that's exactly where I was, and it was wonderful. My life was as close to complete as it has ever been.
Labels: Books, College, Depression, JamisonParker, Music, Work
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
She'll hang the baskets on the wall ...
I know I haven't been posting much.
When I'm not just plain not feeling like it, I'm busy.
Making changes again.
Sorta like jumping out of airplane. I've never done that. But I've never done this either.
I'm doing a lot of new things.
Looking for a job. I quit Slicks. I'm looking for a nine-to-fiver. I've got a resume, and I've got teeth. I'm getting better at this. It's definitely stressful. But I'm doing something right because I've had four interviews in the week that I've been on the job market. That's pretty rad.
I'm not bragging. Yesterday I wrote on my MySpace blog that I'm a scared little rabbit, actually.
But I'm trying to learn how to sell myself. I'm trying to be more assertive. To be a go-getter. I think that's who I am, or who I could be, when I'm not wavering.
I started out, and still am, looking for any sort of entry-level job. But what I really want to do is marketing, so I'm pushing for that.
I'm taking this semester off from school because I have been financially irresponsible. I could beat myself up about that, or I could just shrug it off. I'm somewhere in the middle.
But I'm graduating in like a year. Two, three semesters tops. I'm so almost done. It feels good. So I think when I go back in the fall, if not the summer, either way the next academic year will be my last for awhile.
And I love to dream. I still do it all the time. About being a rock star, or falling in love, or taking off and going to Japan.
Even marrying Clark Kent. I think I've fallen in love with Superman.
And when I'm not doing all this shit, I'm listening to Cake. Fucken A, they're awesome. So I'll leave you with this song, which I think about sums up why I don't really mind being single:
"She'll Hang the Baskets"
She'll hang the baskets on the walls --
Don't you know I've seen it all before?
She'll hang the baskets on the walls.
But I've seen it all before,
Heard the slamming of the door --
Come summer, come fall,
Come winter, there'll be baskets on the floor.
He'll go to buy her turtle wax,
But in his mind he won't be coming back.
She'll hang the baskets on the walls,
But I've seen it all before,
Heard the slamming of the door --
Come summer, come fall,
Come winter, there'll be baskets on the floor ...
But I've seen it all before,
Heard the slamming of the door --
Come summer, come fall,
Come winter, there'll be baskets on the floor.
She'll hang the baskets on the wall,
She'll hang the baskets on the wall.
I know I haven't been posting much.
When I'm not just plain not feeling like it, I'm busy.
Making changes again.
Sorta like jumping out of airplane. I've never done that. But I've never done this either.
I'm doing a lot of new things.
Looking for a job. I quit Slicks. I'm looking for a nine-to-fiver. I've got a resume, and I've got teeth. I'm getting better at this. It's definitely stressful. But I'm doing something right because I've had four interviews in the week that I've been on the job market. That's pretty rad.
I'm not bragging. Yesterday I wrote on my MySpace blog that I'm a scared little rabbit, actually.
But I'm trying to learn how to sell myself. I'm trying to be more assertive. To be a go-getter. I think that's who I am, or who I could be, when I'm not wavering.
I started out, and still am, looking for any sort of entry-level job. But what I really want to do is marketing, so I'm pushing for that.
I'm taking this semester off from school because I have been financially irresponsible. I could beat myself up about that, or I could just shrug it off. I'm somewhere in the middle.
But I'm graduating in like a year. Two, three semesters tops. I'm so almost done. It feels good. So I think when I go back in the fall, if not the summer, either way the next academic year will be my last for awhile.
And I love to dream. I still do it all the time. About being a rock star, or falling in love, or taking off and going to Japan.
Even marrying Clark Kent. I think I've fallen in love with Superman.
And when I'm not doing all this shit, I'm listening to Cake. Fucken A, they're awesome. So I'll leave you with this song, which I think about sums up why I don't really mind being single:
"She'll Hang the Baskets"
She'll hang the baskets on the walls --
Don't you know I've seen it all before?
She'll hang the baskets on the walls.
But I've seen it all before,
Heard the slamming of the door --
Come summer, come fall,
Come winter, there'll be baskets on the floor.
He'll go to buy her turtle wax,
But in his mind he won't be coming back.
She'll hang the baskets on the walls,
But I've seen it all before,
Heard the slamming of the door --
Come summer, come fall,
Come winter, there'll be baskets on the floor ...
But I've seen it all before,
Heard the slamming of the door --
Come summer, come fall,
Come winter, there'll be baskets on the floor.
She'll hang the baskets on the wall,
She'll hang the baskets on the wall.
Labels: Cake, MySpace, Superman, Work
Monday, August 22, 2005
Hi. Again.
So ... Nikki has managed to betray my trust in less than 48 hours of staying at my place. No kidding. But there is no mistake on my part. At least I gave her a chance. I would have felt like a bad friend if I hadn't tried to help her out. But what do you do for people when all you want to do is help them and all they want to do is turn around and fuck you? Fuck them. That's what you do. Fuckin' A. Nuff said.
Well, I've been busting my ass. Last week was really good. And busy. But fuckin' awesome. I was training so I worked every day at Chuy's -- where I am hosting now -- and then I closed at Slicks five nights outta the week.
This week'll be a change of pace. I'm so excited about class tomorrow. I looove school. Ah, I'm such a big dork. Ah.
Sorry if this is generic or more diary-ish than blog-ish, but for the few of you who read this sometimes it's the only way we can keep up.
I will be 25 in a couple weeks. Whoa. I'm trying to decide what to do. My original plan was to have big bar party, like I did for my 23rd. But that was back when I only got "birthday drunk" -- which is the drunkest I would get all year -- on my actual birthday. And since I've spent the last month or more that way I'd rather not.
The only question is what does one do on their birthday other than get shittily and retardly wasted with ones friends? I'd say that's all I've done for the last five years at least.
Back in high school my friends and I used to go celebrate in large groups at places like Planet Hollywood and Hardrock Cafe and shit. We thought it was just about the coolest thing ever. But meh. Maybe I'll go bowling, hah! Thing is I kinda suck at bowling, and it seems like on your birthday you should want to do something that you don't completely suck at. At least with pool, I always cheated on my birthday. No one would say anything about my putting balls in the pockets with my hands because it was my birthday. My day, man.
Dude, you know what I've been wanting to do for some reason though? Mini golf. Haven't done that in years. I've also always wanted to go to the driving range and do that thing where you just pay like $20 for a bucket of balls and hit 'em as hard as you can. Not exactly a birthday idea though.
That actually sounds like it would be cool right now, because I'm really kinda stressed and unbelievably pissed off about the aforementioned bull shit with my "so-called" best friend.
So, there's this line on this one song on the Ben Folds album that I love so much. It says, seems to me if you can't trust, you can't be trusted.
It really hit home with me, because since Aaron and I broke up, I haven't really been able to trust anyone. And I don't want to be that way.
I know that some people really suck. Some human beings are just outright awful, and others are golden. And I will never stop hoping and believing in the golden ones. That they exist.
I know some really quality people. Man, I do. And sometimes you've gotta filter them in and out, because some folks will inevitably disappoint you. And maybe my bull shit meter isn't all in order, but I'm working on it. In the mean time I believe in people until they give me a reason not to.
Or at least I used to be that way, and I'm trying to get there again. Because I don't want to be ugly. Or cynical. Or drunk. I just want to be me.
So ... Nikki has managed to betray my trust in less than 48 hours of staying at my place. No kidding. But there is no mistake on my part. At least I gave her a chance. I would have felt like a bad friend if I hadn't tried to help her out. But what do you do for people when all you want to do is help them and all they want to do is turn around and fuck you? Fuck them. That's what you do. Fuckin' A. Nuff said.
Well, I've been busting my ass. Last week was really good. And busy. But fuckin' awesome. I was training so I worked every day at Chuy's -- where I am hosting now -- and then I closed at Slicks five nights outta the week.
This week'll be a change of pace. I'm so excited about class tomorrow. I looove school. Ah, I'm such a big dork. Ah.
Sorry if this is generic or more diary-ish than blog-ish, but for the few of you who read this sometimes it's the only way we can keep up.
I will be 25 in a couple weeks. Whoa. I'm trying to decide what to do. My original plan was to have big bar party, like I did for my 23rd. But that was back when I only got "birthday drunk" -- which is the drunkest I would get all year -- on my actual birthday. And since I've spent the last month or more that way I'd rather not.
The only question is what does one do on their birthday other than get shittily and retardly wasted with ones friends? I'd say that's all I've done for the last five years at least.
Back in high school my friends and I used to go celebrate in large groups at places like Planet Hollywood and Hardrock Cafe and shit. We thought it was just about the coolest thing ever. But meh. Maybe I'll go bowling, hah! Thing is I kinda suck at bowling, and it seems like on your birthday you should want to do something that you don't completely suck at. At least with pool, I always cheated on my birthday. No one would say anything about my putting balls in the pockets with my hands because it was my birthday. My day, man.
Dude, you know what I've been wanting to do for some reason though? Mini golf. Haven't done that in years. I've also always wanted to go to the driving range and do that thing where you just pay like $20 for a bucket of balls and hit 'em as hard as you can. Not exactly a birthday idea though.
That actually sounds like it would be cool right now, because I'm really kinda stressed and unbelievably pissed off about the aforementioned bull shit with my "so-called" best friend.
So, there's this line on this one song on the Ben Folds album that I love so much. It says, seems to me if you can't trust, you can't be trusted.
It really hit home with me, because since Aaron and I broke up, I haven't really been able to trust anyone. And I don't want to be that way.
I know that some people really suck. Some human beings are just outright awful, and others are golden. And I will never stop hoping and believing in the golden ones. That they exist.
I know some really quality people. Man, I do. And sometimes you've gotta filter them in and out, because some folks will inevitably disappoint you. And maybe my bull shit meter isn't all in order, but I'm working on it. In the mean time I believe in people until they give me a reason not to.
Or at least I used to be that way, and I'm trying to get there again. Because I don't want to be ugly. Or cynical. Or drunk. I just want to be me.
Labels: birthdays, Friendship, Work
