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.
07 July 2010
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.
29 June 2010
Into the caverns of tomorrow with just our flashlights and our love
June has been good to me.
Rounded it off with a gathering of unique souls yesterday and last night. It's amazing what people can do when we set our sights on one goal, especially when that goal is our own happiness.
I've been happy before, but this is something entirely different. The things that came out of us last night felt like ectoplasm in a seance, something wholly not of us, but partly possessing us. Using us for some purpose that none of us would have thought of, something that no one believes has a purpose anymore.
To play is to remember what it was like before I imposed limitations on myself, before I became self-conscious about the only body I'll ever have. Before I was taught that life was pain, a constant lack of money, and a series of unhappy relationships.
Before all of that, I was brilliant. I remember now.
Rounded it off with a gathering of unique souls yesterday and last night. It's amazing what people can do when we set our sights on one goal, especially when that goal is our own happiness.
I've been happy before, but this is something entirely different. The things that came out of us last night felt like ectoplasm in a seance, something wholly not of us, but partly possessing us. Using us for some purpose that none of us would have thought of, something that no one believes has a purpose anymore.
To play is to remember what it was like before I imposed limitations on myself, before I became self-conscious about the only body I'll ever have. Before I was taught that life was pain, a constant lack of money, and a series of unhappy relationships.
Before all of that, I was brilliant. I remember now.
28 June 2010
The Pool
I've always been a vagrant. Mostly in my mind, not travelling as I'd like to, I separate myself from those I should be most close to. I like to look at them as I'd look at an ant farm, watching them procreate and interact, seeing how they do things. I've never really counted myself as one of them.
But I am one of them. Undeniably, I am just another person who feels at least just as strongly about anything as they do, about the same things they do. Instead of living in the pool though, I prefer to pace the edge, deciding when and where I dive in and getting out quickly after, lest I be swirled into the ebb and flow of human drama. Sometimes I think I'm kidding myself, or putting myself above everyone I love. Other times, I feel that by doing this, I'm below them--less courageous somehow, not able to risk my skin over something I believe in.
Yet the fact remains that I love them, deeply. Sometimes I want nothing else but to jump in the water with them, and stay there, losing myself in a big whirlpool along with everyone else. It's human nature to connect, to desire that connection that keeps friends around us as we age. As the years go by, the water gets warmer, and the more inviting it becomes.
I'd love to say it's because I've been hurt before, but everyone has. It's not because I've been hurt. I don't know why I prefer to dance around real commitment in relationships or friendships. I don't want people to think I'll be around forever, because I've always known I won't be.
My sister told me recently that she always knew I'd leave. That I wouldn't be me if I stayed here, that if I did, she'd know I wasn't happy. My mother told me something similar, but in a more worried tone. I guess I won't know how much I worry her until I have a child like myself--a wild girl who seems to never be satiated. I'd never wish it on anyone to raise a child like me. It's far easier to have a normal child who wants the things she's raised to want. Toys, boys and rings. Cushy comfort, monetary happiness. It's easy enough to gain that in this day and age. I wish I could jump in that pool, and I've definitely tried to before.
I'm just not happy there. It's unnaturally warm, and I have this feeling that it'll boil without me ever noticing, when I'm 35 or so. And when it starts to hurt, I won't know what's happening. I'll have forgotten what it's like to be uncomfortable, and I'll just die slowly, on my own neglected watch, forgetting everything I've sacrificed to get that comfort that I don't even actively enjoy.
It's a sad story, but it won't be mine. I'm not meant to be satiated or satisfied. I'm meant to starve and strive for everything I want, because that's what people like me have to do to be happy. I don't have a choice. I never did.
And still, I want to drag them all out of the pool with me, because I love them. Such is the heartbreak of life, because I'll never get them out of there. It's too comfortable. I can't blame them.
But I am one of them. Undeniably, I am just another person who feels at least just as strongly about anything as they do, about the same things they do. Instead of living in the pool though, I prefer to pace the edge, deciding when and where I dive in and getting out quickly after, lest I be swirled into the ebb and flow of human drama. Sometimes I think I'm kidding myself, or putting myself above everyone I love. Other times, I feel that by doing this, I'm below them--less courageous somehow, not able to risk my skin over something I believe in.
Yet the fact remains that I love them, deeply. Sometimes I want nothing else but to jump in the water with them, and stay there, losing myself in a big whirlpool along with everyone else. It's human nature to connect, to desire that connection that keeps friends around us as we age. As the years go by, the water gets warmer, and the more inviting it becomes.
I'd love to say it's because I've been hurt before, but everyone has. It's not because I've been hurt. I don't know why I prefer to dance around real commitment in relationships or friendships. I don't want people to think I'll be around forever, because I've always known I won't be.
My sister told me recently that she always knew I'd leave. That I wouldn't be me if I stayed here, that if I did, she'd know I wasn't happy. My mother told me something similar, but in a more worried tone. I guess I won't know how much I worry her until I have a child like myself--a wild girl who seems to never be satiated. I'd never wish it on anyone to raise a child like me. It's far easier to have a normal child who wants the things she's raised to want. Toys, boys and rings. Cushy comfort, monetary happiness. It's easy enough to gain that in this day and age. I wish I could jump in that pool, and I've definitely tried to before.
I'm just not happy there. It's unnaturally warm, and I have this feeling that it'll boil without me ever noticing, when I'm 35 or so. And when it starts to hurt, I won't know what's happening. I'll have forgotten what it's like to be uncomfortable, and I'll just die slowly, on my own neglected watch, forgetting everything I've sacrificed to get that comfort that I don't even actively enjoy.
It's a sad story, but it won't be mine. I'm not meant to be satiated or satisfied. I'm meant to starve and strive for everything I want, because that's what people like me have to do to be happy. I don't have a choice. I never did.
And still, I want to drag them all out of the pool with me, because I love them. Such is the heartbreak of life, because I'll never get them out of there. It's too comfortable. I can't blame them.
I'm
get your saddle
don't bother putting on your boots
go as you are
chopping off her hair
clothes bespeak the person
exchanging slippers for walking boots,
chose a pair rough
"I mustn't polish my boots any more."
she was growing less distant
through her skill at disassembling
she was growing in grace
she made no reference to the last evening
the topics they had broached
not to be touched upon again
don't bother putting on your boots
go as you are
chopping off her hair
clothes bespeak the person
exchanging slippers for walking boots,
chose a pair rough
"I mustn't polish my boots any more."
she was growing less distant
through her skill at disassembling
she was growing in grace
she made no reference to the last evening
the topics they had broached
not to be touched upon again
I carry you around
These sights disturbed him deeply
the animals coughing and
sneezing
imagine
a nuclear war. A layer of sweat
inside his plastic head bubble,
he could
hear them, shrieking and calling distantly beyond
claustrophobia or panic
fitting each syringe with a needle
to be filled with drugs
"You are going to euthanize,
don't get attached"
They were going to die
anyway
They have to go
every last one
the animals coughing and
sneezing
imagine
a nuclear war. A layer of sweat
inside his plastic head bubble,
he could
hear them, shrieking and calling distantly beyond
claustrophobia or panic
fitting each syringe with a needle
to be filled with drugs
"You are going to euthanize,
don't get attached"
They were going to die
anyway
They have to go
every last one
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