It's interesting how my priorities have changed in the last few months. This month, I've made probably $1,000.00 less than I did last month. And somehow, I've made it on so little. As a side note, eating truly healthy is a whole hell of a lot cheaper and tastier than Lean Cuisine makes it out to be.
I also bought a car, got my very first insurance policy (how on earth have I gotten away without having to do that for so long?), renewed my AAA membership, bought a bridesmaid dress, and paid the first of six $300 dental payments for the surgery (mugging) I got a month ago. Sure, I borrowed some cash from my sister, but only to cover the dress.
I have acquired five jobs, quit one, and settled on four. By "jobs", I mean freelancing. You know, my dream job I've been talking about for as long as I've had this blog running. I'd say I've wondered why I waited so long, but truthfully, I know why.
I was looking for a job I could apply for. One, single job that encapsulated everything I wanted to work for. The problem was that it didn't exist, not in that fashion anyway. The question that remains is why I was looking for a job I had to wake up at 7am for, because never, ever once in my life have I wanted a job that made me do that. Oh, how I remember how everyone told me to get used to it; that I'd just have to deal with that in adulthood. I hated those words, and now I have proved them wrong. Fuck them. They're just bitter because they never thought to create their dream job.
Maybe they didn't have the drive, or had families to support. I shouldn't judge, but it seems such a waste when people with great ideas (most people, actually) don't force those ideas into existence. I see it as them robbing the world of their ingenuity and creativity. Everyone's experience is different, and every single one of us here have different opinions and ideas and thoughts, patterns, worldviews. As someone who wants to experience as many worldviews as possible in my lifetime, I resent people who don't think they have anything to offer.
Most of the things that have gotten me anywhere have operated entirely on belief. My old car, for example. That shit should have died four years ago, yet it still runs, even having been replaced recently by a Saturn ION. Don't laugh, it really runs on my belief that it will get me where I'm going, though I'll admit, it's really nice knowing my tires won't fall off randomly, or the steering column will fail to work.
My life's work is similar. People have walked this path before, but none have ever walked it as I will. I believe it will work, and so far, it is the ONLY credential that I have besides an English degree. English degrees don't get you very far, but believing in everything you can do, does.
Actually, I have yet to see how far it will take me. It's such a strange sensation, riding on nothing, when so many around me have so much and can't seem to get anywhere. Maybe all that's missing is their own faith in themselves. Sure, I've had to worry a lot in a month. Wondering if you're going to make rent is taxing and uncomfortable, but as a trade-off, a little worrying is worth doing exactly what I want to do, for money.
I hope I always think of it like that.
28 July 2010
25 July 2010
Market Research
Market research is an attempt to understand human thought processes solely to sell something by way of weaseling thoughts into unsuspecting brains. Market research could be done in ways that don't offend me, but isn't. I'd like to think of myself as a mercenary, with my weapons being my words, but I can't work toward that cause. Can't do it. The money feels dirty, knowing it was laid in my hands because I cheapened something that should be beautiful.
...and sorry, but I'm contractually obligated to not talk about this in further detail.
...and sorry, but I'm contractually obligated to not talk about this in further detail.
14 July 2010
"I have something to say."
Now's all I have. And right now, I don't know shit. That doesn't mean that I can't act like I know shit, and convince other people I know shit, so that they hire me. Which is what I seem to be doing left and right lately.
My dream job is a series of jobs that I can prance between and come and go from, without having to be responsible for anything outside of a monthly or weekly deadline. After that deadline, I can skip town with no ill feelings. My dream job lets me go anywhere I want, and occasionally sends me places I want to go, with nothing but a vague guideline (a word requirement) and all my crazy ideas.
Wander around and find a story, Christie, and we'll pay you to write it. I got that assignment today. I feel like I hit a milestone. It's not going to pay a mortgage or anything, but see, my dream job not only prevents the paying of a mortgage--it prevents the having of a mortgage. To me, this prevents me from getting comfortable in a life I'm not truly happy with. I could be young and naive, but I don't think I'll ever be happy with a mortgage. I'd still just be daydreaming and nightdreaming about the dreams I didn't follow up on, while being stuck in one place, collecting junk I don't need. I wouldn't speak up about it so much if I didn't know for a fact I could succumb to it. It can appear enticing when you're tired.
For a long time, I was hesitant to cold-call for freelance jobs. The only reason I can figure is I wasn't sure if I could do it, or if I had anything to say, or that anyone would care what I said. I've always known I've had SOMETHING to say, but stopped short of knowing what it was. That made me doubt myself, made me nervous.
What I have to say hasn't happened yet. I'll know it when I go to Grand Isle to "find something hopeful" in spite of the oil spill, with a tent and no cushy expense account. I'll know it when I remember that I don't need scissors to cut paper, like my favorite teacher in high school taught me. When I can stop putting things in front of me to get distracted with, I'll see everything else in the world. And I'll write about it.
It's silly that I ever thought I had to know what I wanted to say to the world. I think all I have to say is, "I have something to say." Believing it, I guess, was the hard part. Still kind of is the hard part, but it doesn't get me very far to think I'm worthless.
I love this point in my life, this one speck of time where I don't know shit about anything, and I allow myself that luxury. It might be different tomorrow, but I can't expect to know everything before it happens, right? Into the caverns of tomorrow, with just my flashlight and my love, I PLUNGE!
My dream job is a series of jobs that I can prance between and come and go from, without having to be responsible for anything outside of a monthly or weekly deadline. After that deadline, I can skip town with no ill feelings. My dream job lets me go anywhere I want, and occasionally sends me places I want to go, with nothing but a vague guideline (a word requirement) and all my crazy ideas.
Wander around and find a story, Christie, and we'll pay you to write it. I got that assignment today. I feel like I hit a milestone. It's not going to pay a mortgage or anything, but see, my dream job not only prevents the paying of a mortgage--it prevents the having of a mortgage. To me, this prevents me from getting comfortable in a life I'm not truly happy with. I could be young and naive, but I don't think I'll ever be happy with a mortgage. I'd still just be daydreaming and nightdreaming about the dreams I didn't follow up on, while being stuck in one place, collecting junk I don't need. I wouldn't speak up about it so much if I didn't know for a fact I could succumb to it. It can appear enticing when you're tired.
For a long time, I was hesitant to cold-call for freelance jobs. The only reason I can figure is I wasn't sure if I could do it, or if I had anything to say, or that anyone would care what I said. I've always known I've had SOMETHING to say, but stopped short of knowing what it was. That made me doubt myself, made me nervous.
What I have to say hasn't happened yet. I'll know it when I go to Grand Isle to "find something hopeful" in spite of the oil spill, with a tent and no cushy expense account. I'll know it when I remember that I don't need scissors to cut paper, like my favorite teacher in high school taught me. When I can stop putting things in front of me to get distracted with, I'll see everything else in the world. And I'll write about it.
It's silly that I ever thought I had to know what I wanted to say to the world. I think all I have to say is, "I have something to say." Believing it, I guess, was the hard part. Still kind of is the hard part, but it doesn't get me very far to think I'm worthless.
I love this point in my life, this one speck of time where I don't know shit about anything, and I allow myself that luxury. It might be different tomorrow, but I can't expect to know everything before it happens, right? Into the caverns of tomorrow, with just my flashlight and my love, I PLUNGE!
11 July 2010
A Week-Long Paragraph
I was just thinking about how I rarely post day-to-day activities. I suppose there isn't much to say about them, but I've been trying to do important things every day lately in an effort to make my life memorable.
About six months ago, I realized that I'd wake up on Sunday morning and not remember most of the previous week, or I'd be asked a question about a particular day that had passed and not be able to answer, for total lack of recollection. Moreover, I didn't care to remember anything. Nothing happened that seemed worth remembering. Plenty happened every day, but nothing shook me, I guess.
Today, I realized how much I've been remembering.
This is what I did this week, in no clear or particular order, and with no line breaks for convenience:
Bridesmaid shopping with the bride. Had some lunch with them. Thought briefly about what it'd be like to get married. Pricing on veils at the bridal store made me take a mental note to learn how to make veils--it can't possibly be $100 worth of labor. Wrote articles, wrote articles. Walked to Chelsea's to have a beer at happy hour and plan my escape from Louisiana, on paper (the math did work out, thanks). Travis met me; we had a beer, showed each other facebook pictures of our parents. Laid on the golf course by campus at dark, it was very wet and the bugs came, but the stars were out. Mandi, Travis and I had a pajama party at my apartment and Mandi fell asleep in my bed for the 3rd time in a week or two. We all had lentil soup and brown rice, all the bowls I had were dirty (that's not a complaint; just something cute I noticed the next morning). Travis wanted us to put make-up on him, but between two girls, we couldn't figure out how to make eyeshadow look good on anyone but ourselves (is that indicative of something?). Went to Hound Dog's, my favorite gay bar, and had three G&Ts. Watched people play pool. The bartender called me a goddess because I brought back everyone's dirty glasses. At Ross's house, I missed the last stair on his stoop and skinned my knee trying to dodge Blair's giant bike. No one had ever seen me drunk enough to fall down stairs, but the truth is that I fall down stairs sober. I even fall up stairs sometimes; stairs are not my thing. Watched the Motorcycle Diaries with Ross until 5am, something we both needed. Asked him to come somewhere with me eventually, he is thinking. Trained Travis on meatloaf day, secretly so I could say goodbye to Judith Stubblefield. She will always be wheezing and immortal in my mind. Tried to swim with Mandi and Annie for hours, but ended up just drinking a bottle of wine while sitting outside of P's, listening to this unfortunate drunk lady talk about the state of the mental health system. While her story inconvenienced me slightly, I couldn't pull away--she'd gotten picked up by the hospital because, while talking to her sister on the phone about a recent death, her sister called 911 thinking she was suicidal. They kept her institutionalized for 6 days, without allowing her a phone call and her husband was out of town. They called her daughter (who was on vacation in Florida) and said her mother had tried to kill herself with an overdose, even though the tox screen was clear. After we finally broke away from her (then repeating) story, we got to swim; while fun, it was almost anticlimactic. Had lunch with Mandi at Zeeland Street Market, ate a tuna salad with deliciousness so great that I wrote down everything I could see in the salad, and plan to make it at a later date. Went in for an interview and got the job on the spot. Went to Duvic's with Amanda after chugging coffee, which made me very nervous and talkative. Ran into guy I interviewed for BR In Focus the first week I did it; he remembered me. Walked to P's to catch a ride with one of the neighbors, and my old boss summoned such anger inside of me that I just ended up walking the 2.5 miles home at 11pm. It wasn't anything she did outright; it's just now that I've stepped away, I can see exactly how fucked up she really is, and it's gloriously paired with my freedom to leave that building the moment I want to, so I did. Freaked out over silly things, about the paper. Cooking made me feel better, a la always. Over the course of the week, I've made black bean salad, lentil soup with udon, curry vegetables and polenta, miso soup and brown rice. In love with honey and everything whole and tasty. Decided to give away my cover story because I'll be too busy to handle it. My nephew's third birthday party and slip and slide and margaritas and good old boys, staples from my life long ago, the smell of my parents' house and the feeling of someone always hovering over my shoulder at the computer. The latter subconsciously drove me to talk to Josh, even if I couldn't find anything to say. I almost reached for my stash of chocolate covered coffee beans behind the picture frame on the mantle, but I knew they weren't there and thought better of it. Tiger Weekly meeting found me deciding to put my opinions in print next week; I do believe I can find something to be pissed off about by then. I am using a pen name, for I believe my real superpower will shine only through anonymity--it's the way of my existence.
About six months ago, I realized that I'd wake up on Sunday morning and not remember most of the previous week, or I'd be asked a question about a particular day that had passed and not be able to answer, for total lack of recollection. Moreover, I didn't care to remember anything. Nothing happened that seemed worth remembering. Plenty happened every day, but nothing shook me, I guess.
Today, I realized how much I've been remembering.
This is what I did this week, in no clear or particular order, and with no line breaks for convenience:
Bridesmaid shopping with the bride. Had some lunch with them. Thought briefly about what it'd be like to get married. Pricing on veils at the bridal store made me take a mental note to learn how to make veils--it can't possibly be $100 worth of labor. Wrote articles, wrote articles. Walked to Chelsea's to have a beer at happy hour and plan my escape from Louisiana, on paper (the math did work out, thanks). Travis met me; we had a beer, showed each other facebook pictures of our parents. Laid on the golf course by campus at dark, it was very wet and the bugs came, but the stars were out. Mandi, Travis and I had a pajama party at my apartment and Mandi fell asleep in my bed for the 3rd time in a week or two. We all had lentil soup and brown rice, all the bowls I had were dirty (that's not a complaint; just something cute I noticed the next morning). Travis wanted us to put make-up on him, but between two girls, we couldn't figure out how to make eyeshadow look good on anyone but ourselves (is that indicative of something?). Went to Hound Dog's, my favorite gay bar, and had three G&Ts. Watched people play pool. The bartender called me a goddess because I brought back everyone's dirty glasses. At Ross's house, I missed the last stair on his stoop and skinned my knee trying to dodge Blair's giant bike. No one had ever seen me drunk enough to fall down stairs, but the truth is that I fall down stairs sober. I even fall up stairs sometimes; stairs are not my thing. Watched the Motorcycle Diaries with Ross until 5am, something we both needed. Asked him to come somewhere with me eventually, he is thinking. Trained Travis on meatloaf day, secretly so I could say goodbye to Judith Stubblefield. She will always be wheezing and immortal in my mind. Tried to swim with Mandi and Annie for hours, but ended up just drinking a bottle of wine while sitting outside of P's, listening to this unfortunate drunk lady talk about the state of the mental health system. While her story inconvenienced me slightly, I couldn't pull away--she'd gotten picked up by the hospital because, while talking to her sister on the phone about a recent death, her sister called 911 thinking she was suicidal. They kept her institutionalized for 6 days, without allowing her a phone call and her husband was out of town. They called her daughter (who was on vacation in Florida) and said her mother had tried to kill herself with an overdose, even though the tox screen was clear. After we finally broke away from her (then repeating) story, we got to swim; while fun, it was almost anticlimactic. Had lunch with Mandi at Zeeland Street Market, ate a tuna salad with deliciousness so great that I wrote down everything I could see in the salad, and plan to make it at a later date. Went in for an interview and got the job on the spot. Went to Duvic's with Amanda after chugging coffee, which made me very nervous and talkative. Ran into guy I interviewed for BR In Focus the first week I did it; he remembered me. Walked to P's to catch a ride with one of the neighbors, and my old boss summoned such anger inside of me that I just ended up walking the 2.5 miles home at 11pm. It wasn't anything she did outright; it's just now that I've stepped away, I can see exactly how fucked up she really is, and it's gloriously paired with my freedom to leave that building the moment I want to, so I did. Freaked out over silly things, about the paper. Cooking made me feel better, a la always. Over the course of the week, I've made black bean salad, lentil soup with udon, curry vegetables and polenta, miso soup and brown rice. In love with honey and everything whole and tasty. Decided to give away my cover story because I'll be too busy to handle it. My nephew's third birthday party and slip and slide and margaritas and good old boys, staples from my life long ago, the smell of my parents' house and the feeling of someone always hovering over my shoulder at the computer. The latter subconsciously drove me to talk to Josh, even if I couldn't find anything to say. I almost reached for my stash of chocolate covered coffee beans behind the picture frame on the mantle, but I knew they weren't there and thought better of it. Tiger Weekly meeting found me deciding to put my opinions in print next week; I do believe I can find something to be pissed off about by then. I am using a pen name, for I believe my real superpower will shine only through anonymity--it's the way of my existence.
09 July 2010
I run rabid through the city, past the texting drivers and old candy wrappers, the wealthy elderly and underfed youth, smokestacks pumping, wondering what's wrong with me.
Sometimes I get so...angry. One drop of ire heads my way, and it falls into a vast body of water, waiting to be disturbed. It's so still, it begs to be disturbed. When it hits, it ripples out and out and out, onward, until I hate the whole goddamn world because of that one thing.
An hour passes and I'm in love with it again. It's a feeling akin to ripping off old skin. I don't know what to do with myself sometimes, other than tear my skin off. Sometimes that's the only thing that works when I don't feel like being anywhere. I don't feel like I belong anywhere right now, or that I even want to belong anywhere, but I'm here anyway. I have no idea what I want.
I think everyone feels this way from time to time. I hope so, anyway. For how alone I always want to be, I wouldn't mind someone telling me they've felt this before, even if I already know it's true. A voice would be better than my thoughts alone.
I do sometimes get what I ask for, and that's when I tend to learn a thing or two about what I asked for. I should remember that.
Sometimes I get so...angry. One drop of ire heads my way, and it falls into a vast body of water, waiting to be disturbed. It's so still, it begs to be disturbed. When it hits, it ripples out and out and out, onward, until I hate the whole goddamn world because of that one thing.
An hour passes and I'm in love with it again. It's a feeling akin to ripping off old skin. I don't know what to do with myself sometimes, other than tear my skin off. Sometimes that's the only thing that works when I don't feel like being anywhere. I don't feel like I belong anywhere right now, or that I even want to belong anywhere, but I'm here anyway. I have no idea what I want.
I think everyone feels this way from time to time. I hope so, anyway. For how alone I always want to be, I wouldn't mind someone telling me they've felt this before, even if I already know it's true. A voice would be better than my thoughts alone.
I do sometimes get what I ask for, and that's when I tend to learn a thing or two about what I asked for. I should remember that.
08 July 2010
You Don't Belong Where the Humans Eat
And she claimed it took no effort of will to hold him as he wept as he raped her. She just stared into his eyes lovingly the entire time. She stayed where he left her
all day in the gravel, weeping and giving thanks to her religious principles. She wept out of gratitude, she says.
She had addressed the psychotic's core weakness, the terror of a soul-exposing connection with another human being. Nor is any of this all that different
than a man sizing up an attractive girl at a concert and pushing all the right buttons to induce her to come home with him and lighting her cigarettes and engaging in an hour
of post-coital chitchat, seemingly very content and close. But what he really wants to do is give her a special disconnected telephone number and never contact her again. And that the reason for this cold and victimizing behavior is that the very connection
he had worked so hard to make her feel, terrifies him.
all day in the gravel, weeping and giving thanks to her religious principles. She wept out of gratitude, she says.
She had addressed the psychotic's core weakness, the terror of a soul-exposing connection with another human being. Nor is any of this all that different
than a man sizing up an attractive girl at a concert and pushing all the right buttons to induce her to come home with him and lighting her cigarettes and engaging in an hour
of post-coital chitchat, seemingly very content and close. But what he really wants to do is give her a special disconnected telephone number and never contact her again. And that the reason for this cold and victimizing behavior is that the very connection
he had worked so hard to make her feel, terrifies him.
07 July 2010
50 to Free
1. How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
2. Which is worse, failing or never trying?
3. If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many things we don’t do?
4. When it’s all said and done, will you have said more than you’ve done?
5. What is the one thing you’d most like to change about the world?
6. If happiness was the national currency, what kind of work would make you rich?
7. Are you doing what you believe in, or are you settling for what you are doing?
8. If the average human life span was 40 years, how would you live your life differently?
9. To what degree have you actually controlled the course your life has taken?
10. Are you more worried about doing things right, or doing the right things?
11. You’re having lunch with three people you respect and admire. They all start criticizing a close friend of yours, not knowing she is your friend. The criticism is distasteful and unjustified. What do you do?
12. If you could offer a newborn child only one piece of advice, what would it be?
13. Would you break the law to save a loved one?
14. Have you ever seen insanity where you later saw creativity?
15. What’s something you know you do differently than most people?
16. How come the things that make you happy don’t make everyone happy?
17. What one thing have you not done that you really want to do? What’s holding you back?
18. Are you holding onto something you need to let go of?
19. If you had to move to a state or country besides the one you currently live in, where would you move and why?
20. Do you push the elevator button more than once? Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?
21. Would you rather be a worried genius or a joyful simpleton?
22. Why are you, you?
23. Have you been the kind of friend you want as a friend?
24. Which is worse, when a good friend moves away, or losing touch with a good friend who lives right near you?
25. What are you most grateful for?
26. Would you rather lose all of your old memories, or never be able to make new ones?
27. Is is possible to know the truth without challenging it first?
28. Has your greatest fear ever come true?
29. Do you remember that time 5 years ago when you were extremely upset? Does it really matter now?
30. What is your happiest childhood memory? What makes it so special?
31. At what time in your recent past have you felt most passionate and alive?
32. If not now, then when?
33. If you haven’t achieved it yet, what do you have to lose?
34. Have you ever been with someone, said nothing, and walked away feeling like you just had the best conversation ever?
35. Why do religions that support love cause so many wars?
36. Is it possible to know, without a doubt, what is good and what is evil?
37. If you just won a million dollars, would you quit your job?
38. Would you rather have less work to do, or more work you actually enjoy doing?
39. Do you feel like you’ve lived this day a hundred times before?
40. When was the last time you marched into the dark with only the soft glow of an idea you strongly believed in?
41. If you knew that everyone you know was going to die tomorrow, who would you visit today?
42. Would you be willing to reduce your life expectancy by 10 years to become extremely attractive or famous?
43. What is the difference between being alive and truly living?
44. When is it time to stop calculating risk and rewards, and just go ahead and do what you know is right?
45. If we learn from our mistakes, why are we always so afraid to make a mistake?
46. What would you do differently if you knew nobody would judge you?
47. When was the last time you noticed the sound of your own breathing?
48. What do you love? Have any of your recent actions openly expressed this love?
49. In 5 years from now, will you remember what you did yesterday? What about the day before that? Or the day before that?
50. Decisions are being made right now. The question is: Are you making them for yourself, or are you letting others make them for you?
Taken from this place.
2. Which is worse, failing or never trying?
3. If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many things we don’t do?
4. When it’s all said and done, will you have said more than you’ve done?
5. What is the one thing you’d most like to change about the world?
6. If happiness was the national currency, what kind of work would make you rich?
7. Are you doing what you believe in, or are you settling for what you are doing?
8. If the average human life span was 40 years, how would you live your life differently?
9. To what degree have you actually controlled the course your life has taken?
10. Are you more worried about doing things right, or doing the right things?
11. You’re having lunch with three people you respect and admire. They all start criticizing a close friend of yours, not knowing she is your friend. The criticism is distasteful and unjustified. What do you do?
12. If you could offer a newborn child only one piece of advice, what would it be?
13. Would you break the law to save a loved one?
14. Have you ever seen insanity where you later saw creativity?
15. What’s something you know you do differently than most people?
16. How come the things that make you happy don’t make everyone happy?
17. What one thing have you not done that you really want to do? What’s holding you back?
18. Are you holding onto something you need to let go of?
19. If you had to move to a state or country besides the one you currently live in, where would you move and why?
20. Do you push the elevator button more than once? Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?
21. Would you rather be a worried genius or a joyful simpleton?
22. Why are you, you?
23. Have you been the kind of friend you want as a friend?
24. Which is worse, when a good friend moves away, or losing touch with a good friend who lives right near you?
25. What are you most grateful for?
26. Would you rather lose all of your old memories, or never be able to make new ones?
27. Is is possible to know the truth without challenging it first?
28. Has your greatest fear ever come true?
29. Do you remember that time 5 years ago when you were extremely upset? Does it really matter now?
30. What is your happiest childhood memory? What makes it so special?
31. At what time in your recent past have you felt most passionate and alive?
32. If not now, then when?
33. If you haven’t achieved it yet, what do you have to lose?
34. Have you ever been with someone, said nothing, and walked away feeling like you just had the best conversation ever?
35. Why do religions that support love cause so many wars?
36. Is it possible to know, without a doubt, what is good and what is evil?
37. If you just won a million dollars, would you quit your job?
38. Would you rather have less work to do, or more work you actually enjoy doing?
39. Do you feel like you’ve lived this day a hundred times before?
40. When was the last time you marched into the dark with only the soft glow of an idea you strongly believed in?
41. If you knew that everyone you know was going to die tomorrow, who would you visit today?
42. Would you be willing to reduce your life expectancy by 10 years to become extremely attractive or famous?
43. What is the difference between being alive and truly living?
44. When is it time to stop calculating risk and rewards, and just go ahead and do what you know is right?
45. If we learn from our mistakes, why are we always so afraid to make a mistake?
46. What would you do differently if you knew nobody would judge you?
47. When was the last time you noticed the sound of your own breathing?
48. What do you love? Have any of your recent actions openly expressed this love?
49. In 5 years from now, will you remember what you did yesterday? What about the day before that? Or the day before that?
50. Decisions are being made right now. The question is: Are you making them for yourself, or are you letting others make them for you?
Taken from this place.
Calgon, Human Beans and Unemployment
Today, my room reminds me of the one I had at my parents' house. I'm laying on the bed, mostly unemployed, drinking coffee from my Human Bean mug, listening to Death Cab For Cutie. I'm apparently still in high school. It's nice to go back every once in awhile. My shirt even smells like the calgon spray I put on every day for 5 years or so.
It's fabulous to be unemployed. My bout with unemployment won't last long, though--I've got an interview on Friday for a more normal day job, still working for Tiger Weekly and I got another interview for a company that ghostwrites email for online daters (it takes a long time to explain). I'm starting to think that my parents didn't know what the hell they were talking about when they said "it's easier to find a job when you've got a job." Yeah, to hell with that. Some jobs are so mindwrecking and unhealthy that you have to quit just to think clearly. And, for at least a month, I've been wondering why the hell I didn't do this six months ago, or even a year, when I got the degree and made all these half-hearted promises to myself. I guess I was too scared, too comfortable, too addicted to things. Who knows. I can't afford to spend more time worrying about it right now, though I'll probably dig it up later and do an autopsy.
Reading Mandi's 101 in 1001 list makes me want to write one. Today seems like a good day for that, since I've apparently moved to Seattle as far as weather is concerned. It's been raining every 20 minutes for days. Not joking.
It's fabulous to be unemployed. My bout with unemployment won't last long, though--I've got an interview on Friday for a more normal day job, still working for Tiger Weekly and I got another interview for a company that ghostwrites email for online daters (it takes a long time to explain). I'm starting to think that my parents didn't know what the hell they were talking about when they said "it's easier to find a job when you've got a job." Yeah, to hell with that. Some jobs are so mindwrecking and unhealthy that you have to quit just to think clearly. And, for at least a month, I've been wondering why the hell I didn't do this six months ago, or even a year, when I got the degree and made all these half-hearted promises to myself. I guess I was too scared, too comfortable, too addicted to things. Who knows. I can't afford to spend more time worrying about it right now, though I'll probably dig it up later and do an autopsy.
Reading Mandi's 101 in 1001 list makes me want to write one. Today seems like a good day for that, since I've apparently moved to Seattle as far as weather is concerned. It's been raining every 20 minutes for days. Not joking.
03 July 2010
The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas
It might be too early to say this, and I might be jinxing myself, but I think I've got a novel growing in. My brain is too small for it right now. I hope it doesn't have to be extracted, and instead my brain grows to accommodate it.
Tonight is my last shift at Pinetta's. I'll be really sad on some level--you don't just work for someone for 5 years and not be sad when you have to part ways. And my co-workers, I'll never have co-workers like that again. The bar is perpetually raised, and though I've never worked at another restaurant before, I know I won't find such a tight-knit group anywhere else. They're my siblings in some parallel universe, where our mother is abusive and we have no choice but to fraternize and unite against the injustice being served to us.
Everyone who just read that thinks I'm absolutely nuts. I'll keep going anyway.
My idea of Pinetta's is intertwined with my idea of the South. It's originally from Croatia, but there's this spirit of Louisiana in it that mimics old South values. The unchanging decor, the rarely-changed menu, the pride with which we serve the food (there are no substitutions, additions or alterations), and the favoritism that goes on (no substitutions, additions or alterations, unless you're Mr. xxxxx or Mrs. xxxxx or the daughter of Mr. xxxxxx). The emphasis is on family, who's who, and fighting fiercely to keep tradition the same. To keep that way of life the same, because if it's not, somehow everything else starts to crumble. It's a building made up of illusions and worldviews.
And, as if I needed more validation, no matter how many times the owner is rude or runs people away or pisses people off, we still somehow manage to go on a wait every weekend. We just get busier as time goes on. People LIKE the way she fights for it. The people who claim they'll take an ad out in the paper against Pinetta's, never do. Same goes for the ones who say they'll report us to the Better Business Bureau. We never hear from those people again, and no one notices them gone, because they didn't fit in with the illusion, therefore we cannot see them.
The novel seems to dance around this, slightly circle around it without ever smashing it to pieces. Because no matter how much the employees might hate the institution or the person representing it, they can't do a damn thing to change it except remove themselves from it. After that, it can crumble, because the group of disgruntled employees is a necessary component of the South, and maybe not just the South. Maybe it's a component of a lot of other social systems in the world. I'm not talking about slavery... It's something more universal, some part of free enterprise that no one likes to talk about, the part where we need a lower class and peons, the krill of society, in order for anyone to get rich or be successful.
The grand illusion of the South was that they could support a grandiose lifestyle with all the finest of everything, a true Southern Gentleman, while simultaneously condoning human slavery not ten feet away at all times.
I'm not saying Pinetta's employs slaves, but damnit, we felt like we were. And that sentiment was never acknowledged or given any thought when it was brought up, in the entire five years I've worked there. It's not just us being young, either: when I first started working there, I worked with people anywhere from five to twelve years older than I was. They felt the same, five years ago. What this did to us, was kind of instill a fear of leaving in us. We have always been free to go, but for some reason, never did, or always came back. Paternalism and fear.
In a lot of ways, the restaurant is the last bastion, the final stand. The most unique restaurant in Baton Rouge. Truly, there are a hell of a lot of reasons to fight for its survival, but just like the old South, the cushy ladylike comfort of it is entirely an illusion. It's a memory people are trying to preserve.
I quit.
Tonight is my last shift at Pinetta's. I'll be really sad on some level--you don't just work for someone for 5 years and not be sad when you have to part ways. And my co-workers, I'll never have co-workers like that again. The bar is perpetually raised, and though I've never worked at another restaurant before, I know I won't find such a tight-knit group anywhere else. They're my siblings in some parallel universe, where our mother is abusive and we have no choice but to fraternize and unite against the injustice being served to us.
Everyone who just read that thinks I'm absolutely nuts. I'll keep going anyway.
My idea of Pinetta's is intertwined with my idea of the South. It's originally from Croatia, but there's this spirit of Louisiana in it that mimics old South values. The unchanging decor, the rarely-changed menu, the pride with which we serve the food (there are no substitutions, additions or alterations), and the favoritism that goes on (no substitutions, additions or alterations, unless you're Mr. xxxxx or Mrs. xxxxx or the daughter of Mr. xxxxxx). The emphasis is on family, who's who, and fighting fiercely to keep tradition the same. To keep that way of life the same, because if it's not, somehow everything else starts to crumble. It's a building made up of illusions and worldviews.
And, as if I needed more validation, no matter how many times the owner is rude or runs people away or pisses people off, we still somehow manage to go on a wait every weekend. We just get busier as time goes on. People LIKE the way she fights for it. The people who claim they'll take an ad out in the paper against Pinetta's, never do. Same goes for the ones who say they'll report us to the Better Business Bureau. We never hear from those people again, and no one notices them gone, because they didn't fit in with the illusion, therefore we cannot see them.
The novel seems to dance around this, slightly circle around it without ever smashing it to pieces. Because no matter how much the employees might hate the institution or the person representing it, they can't do a damn thing to change it except remove themselves from it. After that, it can crumble, because the group of disgruntled employees is a necessary component of the South, and maybe not just the South. Maybe it's a component of a lot of other social systems in the world. I'm not talking about slavery... It's something more universal, some part of free enterprise that no one likes to talk about, the part where we need a lower class and peons, the krill of society, in order for anyone to get rich or be successful.
The grand illusion of the South was that they could support a grandiose lifestyle with all the finest of everything, a true Southern Gentleman, while simultaneously condoning human slavery not ten feet away at all times.
I'm not saying Pinetta's employs slaves, but damnit, we felt like we were. And that sentiment was never acknowledged or given any thought when it was brought up, in the entire five years I've worked there. It's not just us being young, either: when I first started working there, I worked with people anywhere from five to twelve years older than I was. They felt the same, five years ago. What this did to us, was kind of instill a fear of leaving in us. We have always been free to go, but for some reason, never did, or always came back. Paternalism and fear.
In a lot of ways, the restaurant is the last bastion, the final stand. The most unique restaurant in Baton Rouge. Truly, there are a hell of a lot of reasons to fight for its survival, but just like the old South, the cushy ladylike comfort of it is entirely an illusion. It's a memory people are trying to preserve.
I quit.
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