I've been out of work for about a week now due to a mysterious illness that has creeped into my foot and lower leg- it swells, it's discolored, and it tingles like it's asleep and then hurts like hell in turns. I've barely managed to drag my ass to school all week, and in fact, I missed a day because of having to go to the hospital, and I missed a day of work because of having to have tests AND because the medication that I was given makes me 1) pee a lot 2) feel drunk 3) nearly makes me comatose. I can't really function when I take this medication- in fact, I haven't taken it yet today so that I can write a blog and do some homework.
So what have I been doing with all my time? Homework and reading new books. My mother, bless her, bought over a hundred dollars worth of sale books from the bookstore that enslaves me, and thus has kept me in good reading graces.
A side note about my mother and books: she marathons them. Even when I was a child, if my mother had a book in her hand, it didn't get put down until it was over unless it was a bad read or John Grisham. (She can't deal with John Grisham very well, and as she says: "he writes for people who have no imagination. I don't need him to spend three paragraphs on the wallpaper of a room. He's just like any other damn man for all the other damn men out there who don't have a clue unless they can see it. I'm female- I can create things in my head.") Nothing existed for her until that book was finished, and then she'd return back to reality. She's never read the same book twice. So, I know, when Mom buys lots of books, chances are good that after she reads them, they're going to end up at my house. She loves this, because it clutters up my house and not hers. I love this because I don't have to scrounge up the money to buy them. Plus, this time she bought two books specifically for me: M is for Magic by Neil Gaiman (who is my favorite author) and Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides.
But, when I went to her house last Saturday, the first book that she put in my hand was neither of these Anonymous A-specific reads. It was The Cracker Queen by Lauretta Hannon- I had recommended it to her because someone (a customer, I think) had recommended it to me, and my mother loves Southern writers. So, I sat down beside her, and she handed me this book, saying: "I really think you need to read this. It's so good- it's funny and sad, and just a damn good read. She reminds me of you a lot." To this I replied: "Okay, I'll give it a try, but you know I don't like Southern writers." (There are a few exceptions, like my dear Margaret Mitchell, but they're few and far between.)
I sat it down in favor of beginning M is for Magic... but I couldn't keep my eyes off the cover of The Cracker Queen. I sat for a moment looking at the one in my hand and the one on the coffee table that was trying to cast a spell on me, and finally, I gave in, and announced to no one in particular: "Oh, to hell with it. I'll read that one first. They're all gonna get read anyway." And thus, despite my doubts about a Southern writer, I began The Cracker Queen.
I admit, I had a moment of doubt when I read the words "Scarlett should've been run out of town on a rail a long time ago." (I intend to write to her about this judgement of character.) But, I couldn't put it down. Indeed I finished it that night in about four hours. It's the story of her family, and sometimes it goes back to a time before she was born in order to establish a cause for an action or dysfunction. There's equal amounts of humor and hurt in her stories- such as how her mother manages to get her school clothes every year, her Crazy Aunt Carrie, how her mother and musician father fall apart and away from each other and yet still manage to find a way to be together, she and her father playing psychic games, and her mama buying cartons of cigarettes to throw out on the side of the road to the chaingangs. It's a damn good story, and it's exceptional, in my opinion, for Southern literature.
I'm sure there's someone out there that would defend Tennessee Williams, Flannery O'Connor, and William Faulkner and how great they are- and they might be, if you're the sort that likes literature to put you to sleep. This story, however, will not let you sleep, and in fact, it demands to be finished now. I give it 5 out of 5 stars. Way to go, Lauretta Hannon. It's fantastic.
I'll write about M is for Magic later. Enjoy this youtube video.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
A Quarter Century Assessment
Do you remember being eighteen and having plans? Like, serious oh-my-god-i'll-die-if-this-doesn't-happen plans? And you had deadlines to meet these plans, which were really more goals than anything. For example, my friend Paul wanted to own a home by the time he was twenty-two. Another friend of mine wanted to have a child by the time he was twenty-five. Another friend of mine planned to live so hard and fast and wild that he would be dead before he was thirty. My friend Nikki wanted to be a yoga instructor before she was twenty-five, and my friend Shana wanted to have at least two pair of Jimmy Choos by the time she was twenty-three.
Well, thus so far, Paul is the only one who's dream made it out of the gate, much less finished the race. The rest of us.....we're still standing around in the stable.
While talking to my mother today, I realized that I'm staring twenty-five years of age in the face. I'm not freaked that thirty is not far behind. Getting older has only bothered me once, and that was when I was nineteen and I realized in four months I'd be twenty- and what bothered me then was that I was no longer going to be a stupid kid but a stupid adult. I cried and got over it.
But now....as I stare down this 25 in the face like I'm John Wayne and it's a man in a black cowboy hat, I realize I've fallen short. My plan was to have made it to California and back and everywhere in between by myself- just me, a bag full of clothes, and a guitar and to have graduated from college. I've done neither. I mean, I crossed the continent in a way- I went from Michigan to Alabama- but it wasn't East to West. And as of August, I'll have graduated with a double associates- not a double bachelor's, like intended. I've gone half-way. Half-way has never before been in my vocabulary.
My dad said to me last night that I expect too much of myself- and I heartily disagree. I only expect my best from me, and I know that I'm capable of something great...I just don't know what. It's definitely not a great deal of patience or focus. I get too distracted by the 'shiny' things. I get distracted by loneliness and the next big adventure or a really amazing idea for a band or something. If I'd spent half the energy doing something worthwhile that I'd spent on bullshit, I could've made it to California and back and I could've made it through college already.
Instead, I'm in high school part two and I use electrical tape to get the lint off my boyfriend's work shirts because we're too poor to buy a lint roller or a roll of masking tape.
I'm grateful for my life- I've had a great time and it's been truly epic. I've lived some shit that they make movies out of. But....I've still fallen short of my goals, and I don't know what to do about it. I've run out of time. It's not gonna happen. I can never be a twenty-two year old girl playing an acoustic guitar for money in the middle of Denver, Colorado.
But what is there to do? It's live or die- and I may as well live, even if it is with an undone checklist.
Well, thus so far, Paul is the only one who's dream made it out of the gate, much less finished the race. The rest of us.....we're still standing around in the stable.
While talking to my mother today, I realized that I'm staring twenty-five years of age in the face. I'm not freaked that thirty is not far behind. Getting older has only bothered me once, and that was when I was nineteen and I realized in four months I'd be twenty- and what bothered me then was that I was no longer going to be a stupid kid but a stupid adult. I cried and got over it.
But now....as I stare down this 25 in the face like I'm John Wayne and it's a man in a black cowboy hat, I realize I've fallen short. My plan was to have made it to California and back and everywhere in between by myself- just me, a bag full of clothes, and a guitar and to have graduated from college. I've done neither. I mean, I crossed the continent in a way- I went from Michigan to Alabama- but it wasn't East to West. And as of August, I'll have graduated with a double associates- not a double bachelor's, like intended. I've gone half-way. Half-way has never before been in my vocabulary.
My dad said to me last night that I expect too much of myself- and I heartily disagree. I only expect my best from me, and I know that I'm capable of something great...I just don't know what. It's definitely not a great deal of patience or focus. I get too distracted by the 'shiny' things. I get distracted by loneliness and the next big adventure or a really amazing idea for a band or something. If I'd spent half the energy doing something worthwhile that I'd spent on bullshit, I could've made it to California and back and I could've made it through college already.
Instead, I'm in high school part two and I use electrical tape to get the lint off my boyfriend's work shirts because we're too poor to buy a lint roller or a roll of masking tape.
I'm grateful for my life- I've had a great time and it's been truly epic. I've lived some shit that they make movies out of. But....I've still fallen short of my goals, and I don't know what to do about it. I've run out of time. It's not gonna happen. I can never be a twenty-two year old girl playing an acoustic guitar for money in the middle of Denver, Colorado.
But what is there to do? It's live or die- and I may as well live, even if it is with an undone checklist.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Portability
I am a packrat's worst nightmare.
There are few things more refreshing to me than getting rid of stuff. In fact, the only thing I can think of that's more refreshing is when I showered after a week in the woods.
I got rid of two garbage bags worth of stuff and four or five boxes worth. I'm getting rid of one of the couches in my living room, and maybe a few other things as well. It's time to become one hundred percent portable again. Most people like to have lots of things, and I'm the exact opposite. If I could get to the point that everything I owned fit in one car, I'd be a happy girl. But as is, that one car is completely taken up by dogs and a boyfriend- so I guess a trailer will have to do.
It's spring break from college- and this is how I spend it. Throwing things away. But I'm only doing it so Sean (the new roommate) can have a bed in my spare room....and because I like it. Hopefully, though, it'll all be done before my work week is over so I can actually go have fun for a few days- WOO- blueberry beer, here I come! Get ready for me baby!
There are few things more refreshing to me than getting rid of stuff. In fact, the only thing I can think of that's more refreshing is when I showered after a week in the woods.
I got rid of two garbage bags worth of stuff and four or five boxes worth. I'm getting rid of one of the couches in my living room, and maybe a few other things as well. It's time to become one hundred percent portable again. Most people like to have lots of things, and I'm the exact opposite. If I could get to the point that everything I owned fit in one car, I'd be a happy girl. But as is, that one car is completely taken up by dogs and a boyfriend- so I guess a trailer will have to do.
It's spring break from college- and this is how I spend it. Throwing things away. But I'm only doing it so Sean (the new roommate) can have a bed in my spare room....and because I like it. Hopefully, though, it'll all be done before my work week is over so I can actually go have fun for a few days- WOO- blueberry beer, here I come! Get ready for me baby!
Monday, March 8, 2010
I Am That Chick You Were Warned About....
I quit drinking all together last year- but in recent weeks, I've found myself out at more bars than I've been to in a year. And it's been fabulous! I remember WHY I loved to go to bars so much- there's drinking, and smoking, and funny people, and entertainment. It's loud, if you don't wanna deal with something, you just pretend you didn't see/hear. I love the ritual, even, of getting ready to go to a bar. You know the whole shower, brush the teeth, actually apply makeup for the first time in months, and make sure you look like you could melt butter thing. It's lovely.
And then, when you get there, it's a matter of finding the people you know, all getting drinks (which sometimes seems to require an act of Congress), and sitting down to scream "what's up?" and listen to some really bad or sometimes really good music, and have a good laugh at no one's expense. Plus, there's a lot of camraderie built when you go out drinking with friends- you learn so many thing about people that you wouldn't otherwise know because alcohol takes the filter away- and no one gives a damn. They just say it. And, upon leaving, you know that you know more about those people you were just with than most do- and maybe even more than you wanted. But, you know them, almost in a Biblical sense, and you've become brothers and sisters in a few short hours- all because you had some drinks together.
The drive home, though, is my absolute favorite step in a night out. I feel accomplished. I went out, I had a good time, and there's still a good buzz in my head. I get into my car, light a cigarette, and turn on something good to listen to. As I travel home, I'm chilled, contented, and I'm also high on an adrenaline rush because I'm trying to slip home like a thief in the night- that is, without getting pulled over. And the thrill that I may get caught is just as important as the nice mellow feeling of being a little drunk and the contentedness that comes with a mission accomplished.
Mind you, I'm travelling to my home, not anyone else's, and I'm by myself. My love of a good private thrill doesn't go so far as to take people home- or to go home with someone else for that matter.
But, I am the girl that likes nothing better than a party. Without it, I find I'm not a very happy person. I don't know whether it's the cumulative experience that makes me feel better or if it's the alcohol, but it does something good to my soul.
Alcohol does, indeed, rip families apart. But I find that it brings mine closer together.
And then, when you get there, it's a matter of finding the people you know, all getting drinks (which sometimes seems to require an act of Congress), and sitting down to scream "what's up?" and listen to some really bad or sometimes really good music, and have a good laugh at no one's expense. Plus, there's a lot of camraderie built when you go out drinking with friends- you learn so many thing about people that you wouldn't otherwise know because alcohol takes the filter away- and no one gives a damn. They just say it. And, upon leaving, you know that you know more about those people you were just with than most do- and maybe even more than you wanted. But, you know them, almost in a Biblical sense, and you've become brothers and sisters in a few short hours- all because you had some drinks together.
The drive home, though, is my absolute favorite step in a night out. I feel accomplished. I went out, I had a good time, and there's still a good buzz in my head. I get into my car, light a cigarette, and turn on something good to listen to. As I travel home, I'm chilled, contented, and I'm also high on an adrenaline rush because I'm trying to slip home like a thief in the night- that is, without getting pulled over. And the thrill that I may get caught is just as important as the nice mellow feeling of being a little drunk and the contentedness that comes with a mission accomplished.
Mind you, I'm travelling to my home, not anyone else's, and I'm by myself. My love of a good private thrill doesn't go so far as to take people home- or to go home with someone else for that matter.
But, I am the girl that likes nothing better than a party. Without it, I find I'm not a very happy person. I don't know whether it's the cumulative experience that makes me feel better or if it's the alcohol, but it does something good to my soul.
Alcohol does, indeed, rip families apart. But I find that it brings mine closer together.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
My World Keeps Getting Smaller
I know I've cracked someone, when I've done my job exceptionally well, that the only thing they have left to say is "fuck you". That's when I know I've won.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Strange Things Happen in States of Pessimism
I'm going to warn anyone who reads this now: you need to get your cigarettes, your coffee, and a comfy chair. This is epically long, but I think it may be important.
Some information: The Indians say that every single person is born within the medicine wheel, and they are born with the characteristics that coincides with the part of the medicine wheel they're born in. Every person will travel the medicine wheel, and they will go through life, death, and rebirth. Along the way, each person will travel through each quadrant of the medicine wheel and be taught the attribute associated with it.
Keep this in mind as you read, and if you find it relevant, research it, and figure out where you are.
I've been spending the majority of my time on schoolwork- in fact, since school started back, I've averaged 4, maybe 5 hours of sleep a night, regardless of whether or not I have school the next day. It may be killing me. But recently, I've had a variety of other things to tear my attention away from my studies.
There was a baby born last week, and the girl claims it to be my oldest nephew's child. She had done her best in the past year to manipulate him into just accepting that it was his child without a DNA test. This resulted in a great deal of fighting between them, and many, many hours spent on the phone between him and I- me calming him first, and then formulating a plan to counteract her. When the baby was born, she raised another fit. His mother (not my sister) was doing her absolute best to ignore it and hope it would all go away because she didn't want to be embarrassed at her church. So, he called me and my mother to come up there for support and to help him get all the DNA business underway. My mother and I went, and while subversively getting business in order, we also did good PR work- just in case it is really his baby.
While I was there, I also commenced in cleaning my invalid grandmother's house. Apparently, no one who lives within 15-20 minutes of her is taking very good care of her, which angers me greatly. I live 5 and a half hours away. I've resolved that I'm going to start going up there more than once a month because she would never have let any of us live in such circumstances as I found her: her house was filthy. And when I say filthy, I mean there was fuzzy brown dirt/mold stuff on all the woodwork in her house, and huge chunks of mold growing on her bathtub and toilet. I don't normally use clorox for anything (because it's poisonous and bad for the environment), but I used an entire gallon to clean her house- from the floors to the ceiling. She has food, and Meals on Wheels also stops by every day to deliver her dinner. Sometimes she's able to cook, but not usually. She's not in good shape anyway, and someone needs to spend more time with her. I wish it could be me- but I can't completely drop everything to do it, which is really what would be required.
I have also had the displeasure of having to go visit a good friend of mine in the hospital. She's 19 years old, and she's got stage four clear cell sarcoma, one of the rarest cancers in the world. This is her second time around with cancer in her short life. She's fighting, but she's so sick. As heartbreaking as she is, her mother is the one that can move you to tears. She's in this all alone- it's just her and my friend- and she's already lost two children. She's having to put up the brave, strong, positive front to her daughter, and she's got no one to turn to for extra support. I listened to her all last night while my friend was passed out, let her cry. And after, I responded to all she said with positivity, hugs, holding her hands. I gave her my phone number, and made her promise to call me if she needs anything. I'm going to be going to see my friend every week, maybe twice a week, until the end of this thing- whichever way it turns. And I'm going to be the voice of positive thinking because that's what they need in these dark times.
I defended a man to a preacher last night in my class. The preacher is in one of my classes, and he was telling us about this man in his congregation that's older, around 70 or 80, that had been in jail for killing his wife. Since his release from prison, the man had been very active in the church. And the preacher said he was afraid of him, that he didn't want to talk to him, because he was scared of him. My immediate response was: "Preacher, don't judge the man. You don't know what happened. You don't even know if he really did it. Go talk to the man, find out his story." And it took him aback for a second- how rarely does it happen that a preacher gets told to reserve his judgement, especially from a 24 year old? And the Preacher Man and I have become friends, despite my terrible distaste for social organized Christianity.
These are all terribly negative things, things that I think many people deserve until I see someone I care about get them. I'm finding that I'm an idiot of huge magnitudes. I want these things to be selective- just for the people that are truly awful- and they affect people who are conventional or superb characters. Never, ever does this happen to the ones that really deserve it.
In all of this darkness, I (one of the darkest, most cynical and pessimistic people alive) have suddenly become the voice of live and let live, positive thinking, and all good things. It's a strange thing and it's a strange feeling for me to experience. I hate all these terrible things that are happening to people I know and love- and suddenly, when faced with situations that mirror my attitudes, I change to the polar opposite. This isn't really about me at all, nothing ever has been. I'm no martyr. I'm not a particularly good person. I'm becoming more human than I used to be. I'm holding my breath and holding out my hands to these people, and I'm going to try to help them through all this mess, and I'm going to get through my mess too.
And when all this is over, I'll never be hungry again. Lol
Some information: The Indians say that every single person is born within the medicine wheel, and they are born with the characteristics that coincides with the part of the medicine wheel they're born in. Every person will travel the medicine wheel, and they will go through life, death, and rebirth. Along the way, each person will travel through each quadrant of the medicine wheel and be taught the attribute associated with it.
Keep this in mind as you read, and if you find it relevant, research it, and figure out where you are.
I've been spending the majority of my time on schoolwork- in fact, since school started back, I've averaged 4, maybe 5 hours of sleep a night, regardless of whether or not I have school the next day. It may be killing me. But recently, I've had a variety of other things to tear my attention away from my studies.
There was a baby born last week, and the girl claims it to be my oldest nephew's child. She had done her best in the past year to manipulate him into just accepting that it was his child without a DNA test. This resulted in a great deal of fighting between them, and many, many hours spent on the phone between him and I- me calming him first, and then formulating a plan to counteract her. When the baby was born, she raised another fit. His mother (not my sister) was doing her absolute best to ignore it and hope it would all go away because she didn't want to be embarrassed at her church. So, he called me and my mother to come up there for support and to help him get all the DNA business underway. My mother and I went, and while subversively getting business in order, we also did good PR work- just in case it is really his baby.
While I was there, I also commenced in cleaning my invalid grandmother's house. Apparently, no one who lives within 15-20 minutes of her is taking very good care of her, which angers me greatly. I live 5 and a half hours away. I've resolved that I'm going to start going up there more than once a month because she would never have let any of us live in such circumstances as I found her: her house was filthy. And when I say filthy, I mean there was fuzzy brown dirt/mold stuff on all the woodwork in her house, and huge chunks of mold growing on her bathtub and toilet. I don't normally use clorox for anything (because it's poisonous and bad for the environment), but I used an entire gallon to clean her house- from the floors to the ceiling. She has food, and Meals on Wheels also stops by every day to deliver her dinner. Sometimes she's able to cook, but not usually. She's not in good shape anyway, and someone needs to spend more time with her. I wish it could be me- but I can't completely drop everything to do it, which is really what would be required.
I have also had the displeasure of having to go visit a good friend of mine in the hospital. She's 19 years old, and she's got stage four clear cell sarcoma, one of the rarest cancers in the world. This is her second time around with cancer in her short life. She's fighting, but she's so sick. As heartbreaking as she is, her mother is the one that can move you to tears. She's in this all alone- it's just her and my friend- and she's already lost two children. She's having to put up the brave, strong, positive front to her daughter, and she's got no one to turn to for extra support. I listened to her all last night while my friend was passed out, let her cry. And after, I responded to all she said with positivity, hugs, holding her hands. I gave her my phone number, and made her promise to call me if she needs anything. I'm going to be going to see my friend every week, maybe twice a week, until the end of this thing- whichever way it turns. And I'm going to be the voice of positive thinking because that's what they need in these dark times.
I defended a man to a preacher last night in my class. The preacher is in one of my classes, and he was telling us about this man in his congregation that's older, around 70 or 80, that had been in jail for killing his wife. Since his release from prison, the man had been very active in the church. And the preacher said he was afraid of him, that he didn't want to talk to him, because he was scared of him. My immediate response was: "Preacher, don't judge the man. You don't know what happened. You don't even know if he really did it. Go talk to the man, find out his story." And it took him aback for a second- how rarely does it happen that a preacher gets told to reserve his judgement, especially from a 24 year old? And the Preacher Man and I have become friends, despite my terrible distaste for social organized Christianity.
These are all terribly negative things, things that I think many people deserve until I see someone I care about get them. I'm finding that I'm an idiot of huge magnitudes. I want these things to be selective- just for the people that are truly awful- and they affect people who are conventional or superb characters. Never, ever does this happen to the ones that really deserve it.
In all of this darkness, I (one of the darkest, most cynical and pessimistic people alive) have suddenly become the voice of live and let live, positive thinking, and all good things. It's a strange thing and it's a strange feeling for me to experience. I hate all these terrible things that are happening to people I know and love- and suddenly, when faced with situations that mirror my attitudes, I change to the polar opposite. This isn't really about me at all, nothing ever has been. I'm no martyr. I'm not a particularly good person. I'm becoming more human than I used to be. I'm holding my breath and holding out my hands to these people, and I'm going to try to help them through all this mess, and I'm going to get through my mess too.
And when all this is over, I'll never be hungry again. Lol
Monday, February 8, 2010
Moving Along
It's been a good year for football- Alabama won the college arena and the Saints won the pro. I'm content with that. Too bad my years don't oscillate with the winnings of football; it'd be a great year if that's the way it worked.
As it is, it's not really a bad year. I'm just overworked and broke, and I can barely justify bitching about it since I'm the one that elected to take 17 credit hours. I should've just taken the four classes, but nooooooo- my impatience got the best of me. That little voice that says "I want it done now!" always gets me in trouble. And as for broke, I'd like to know who isn't. I'd like to get cozy with them, maybe see if someone could take care of my electric bill.
There's some hope at the end of all this, though, that I can get out of this mess and into another mess that's slightly more comfortable.
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to look forward to anymore. I look ahead and I see the same scenery for proverbial miles. My mother told me when I was a kid that I should slow down and take some time to do everything otherwise there'd be nothing left later. Well, she was right, and my impatience bit me again. I'm not sure what sort of exhilerating experience I'm supposed to have now. I miss the days when life seemed fresh every single morning, before they all started melting together. Is this just a part of not being a kid, or is it something I've done? I'm not sure, but I bet if I had more hours a day to get all the things done that I needed to get done, things could be different.
I know I'm in a pickle when I can't wait to take a walk by myself- two weeks from now. Because that's the only free time I have. Sometimes I think that it wouldn't be a bad idea to throw away all the things I know I should do and just do what I want to do. It's oh-so tempting because then life would be far more enjoyable, but I always remind myself that there'd still be a piece missing: that college degree I've been wanting and literally working for since I was five.
I suppose it was paranoid, but I pushed myself to always make As in elementary school because I was convinced that a college would go all the way back in my school career, see that I'd made a C in a math class, and then deny me entry. When I was in middle school, I had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't go back that far, or even to middle school- but I made good grades anyway, just in case. I got in highschool, and found out that that's when the grades really mattered, and while I was still making good grades, I was also too hellbent on having fun to really care. Why this all-consuming drive for a college degree? I watched my brothers struggle without one- I watched one try to live on 10 bucks a week after his ex-wife cleaned him out in child support every month. I watched another do basically the same thing. I watched them work shitty jobs that they hated just to pay the bills, and I listened to my parents talk about how disappointed they were that they didn't finish college and how their lives might have been better if they had've. I also listened to my parents talk about how much potential they'd had, what amazing kids they were, how they did everything right where it counted. If all those things aren't an inspiration, I don't know what is.
My biggest inspiration these days? My empty wallet and my head full of hope that it can be fixed.
As it is, it's not really a bad year. I'm just overworked and broke, and I can barely justify bitching about it since I'm the one that elected to take 17 credit hours. I should've just taken the four classes, but nooooooo- my impatience got the best of me. That little voice that says "I want it done now!" always gets me in trouble. And as for broke, I'd like to know who isn't. I'd like to get cozy with them, maybe see if someone could take care of my electric bill.
There's some hope at the end of all this, though, that I can get out of this mess and into another mess that's slightly more comfortable.
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to look forward to anymore. I look ahead and I see the same scenery for proverbial miles. My mother told me when I was a kid that I should slow down and take some time to do everything otherwise there'd be nothing left later. Well, she was right, and my impatience bit me again. I'm not sure what sort of exhilerating experience I'm supposed to have now. I miss the days when life seemed fresh every single morning, before they all started melting together. Is this just a part of not being a kid, or is it something I've done? I'm not sure, but I bet if I had more hours a day to get all the things done that I needed to get done, things could be different.
I know I'm in a pickle when I can't wait to take a walk by myself- two weeks from now. Because that's the only free time I have. Sometimes I think that it wouldn't be a bad idea to throw away all the things I know I should do and just do what I want to do. It's oh-so tempting because then life would be far more enjoyable, but I always remind myself that there'd still be a piece missing: that college degree I've been wanting and literally working for since I was five.
I suppose it was paranoid, but I pushed myself to always make As in elementary school because I was convinced that a college would go all the way back in my school career, see that I'd made a C in a math class, and then deny me entry. When I was in middle school, I had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't go back that far, or even to middle school- but I made good grades anyway, just in case. I got in highschool, and found out that that's when the grades really mattered, and while I was still making good grades, I was also too hellbent on having fun to really care. Why this all-consuming drive for a college degree? I watched my brothers struggle without one- I watched one try to live on 10 bucks a week after his ex-wife cleaned him out in child support every month. I watched another do basically the same thing. I watched them work shitty jobs that they hated just to pay the bills, and I listened to my parents talk about how disappointed they were that they didn't finish college and how their lives might have been better if they had've. I also listened to my parents talk about how much potential they'd had, what amazing kids they were, how they did everything right where it counted. If all those things aren't an inspiration, I don't know what is.
My biggest inspiration these days? My empty wallet and my head full of hope that it can be fixed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)