Been Awhile

I haven't really had anything to talk about lately. Work is still the same except I'm moving to a new unit in June, so that'll be exciting. It's one the busier units so hopefully I'll have more tasks and won't go crazy with the slow pace. I really hate that.

I've begun writing children's stories. They aren't being published yet or anything but I have two stories written so far for varying reading levels. They're about our awesome dog, Eddie, and her fun happy dog times. I just need to find an illustrator but I've read that if your story isn't already illustrated and a publisher likes, then they'll work with you to find someone. Since most major publishers don't accept unsolicited manuscripts or ideas, I have to find an agent first. So... I guess that's my next step. Otherwise it comes down to finding an illustrator and the funds to self-publish with the hopes that it gets someones attention.

Writing for a living always seems like such a fantastic concept, and then you start researching publishing and the like, and it starts to seem like a terrible, rejection-laden concept. We'll see how the cookie crumbles, I suppose.

I've also inexplicably decided to let people read my stuff, with the intention of getting feedback. That's right. I'm asking people to please read my work that I put my heart and soul into, and then to tell me what they think. Because I am a masochist.

I gave someone a hard copy of an incomplete short I've been working on for some months now. The moment I realized it was out of my possession, I started to freak out. It doesn't matter how good you think your work is. The second you let someone read it, even if they aren't reading it while you're there, you start to doubt everything you've written.

It's a super fun awful time.

When I was 11 I wrote this poem (have I told you this story before?). I really liked it, I thought it was neat. I had never written a poem before, not in earnest and of my own accord. It wasn't for school or anything. I just thought these words and I wrote them down, and when I was finished I realized my intention the entire time was to create something beautiful and moving. It got left out on the coffee at home one day and my dad read it. He asked who wrote it and I said that I had. He said it was phenomenal. He used that word. Phenomenal.

Nobody had ever referred to anything I had ever done so positively before.

That same year I wrote a letter to a teacher who had retired from the school I was at. I told her about the poem. I told her, at 12, that I thought I found my calling. I was going to be a writer. I was going to write things that made people use words like 'phenomenal.' And they would be talking about me. She never responded to the letter.

A few months later I had successfully written another poem. I was proud of it. I let my dad read it. He was unimpressed. I reminded him that he thought the last one was so great. He was still unimpressed.

A few years later I had written a very short story. I was always writing. This story in particular I felt no real connection to, so when a friend asked if he could use it for an English assignment that he didn't really want to do, I had no problems saying yes. He got an A on the assignment. Nobody knew I had written it.

I was still letting some people read my work around this time. Just two very close friends. I thought about letting others read it, but then I remembered my conversation with dad, remembered the last time someone liked my work but didn't know I had written it. I wondered if they had, if they still would've liked it. I wondered if my dad was impressed with the poem because it was impressive, or if he was impressed with the poem because he didn't think his daughter was capable of something impressive. I didn't know if there was a difference. I still don't.

I wouldn't get any real feedback from my friends. They would say my stories were good, but they were never specific about what was good. It started to feel futile. I wasn't asking if I was any good. I was asking how I could be better. Having a grasp of the English language and a vague understanding of human nature doesn't make you the next great American novelist. (Does it?) I always needed (and still do) to be challenged. Hearing, 'this is really good' isn't a challenge. It's nice, it's reassuring. But it doesn't help me be better.

Eventually, I stopped letting people read. I kept hoping someone would ask and I would feel, I would know, this is the person who will help me. This is the person who will make me really look at my work, they will help me become confident in it and myself. This is the person that will challenge me.

That person never asked.

So I asked myself.

I sat down to write one day, with no intention of actually writing (as one does) and I immediately started a story and I didn't stop writing until I had finished it. I re-read it. And I re-read it. And I re-read it so many times. I liked it. More than that, I knew other people would like it. I set it aside and I went back to my older stories. The ones I set aside because I would always get to a point where I was forcing the story and it never felt natural. I took a long hard look at my work and I decided that I liked it. Most of it. I decided that other people would like it to. And then I decided that I could do better. So I've been doing better.

I don't need people to tell me my work is phenomenal. It's nice, it's reassuring. Of course it is. I need to tell myself my work is phenomenal. I'll never believe it when someone else says it anyway. I have to get there on my own.

I don't know what this all means right now. It's mixed up in my head still. It's mixed up in this post. I don't even know if it makes sense. I know I'm confident in my work for the first time since I was 11. I know I'll never write something and let someone else take credit for it again. I won't abandon my work like that. I pour so much of myself into my words, to just hand it over to someone and let them put their name on it sounds absolutely nuts to me at 25. I know I'm tired of seeking other's approval.

I'm a good writer. Sometimes, I'm awful. Sometimes, I'm phenomenal.

I said it.

Dialogue

Question I didn't think I would ask at work: So, regarding patrons, what's our policy on napping?

Answer I got that made me really glad I asked: Who the hell is- where's the damn guard?

Sometimes I'm Racist

Discovered how racist I am while at work today. While tagging books a slim, bright red book with yellowing pages fell off the truck and into my lap. I looked down, surprised, and the book spoke to me. It said, 'this year you write your novel.' Curious, I looked more closely and discovered the author. A one Walter Mosley. I thought, 'who is this Walter Mosley, and what makes him qualified to tell me how to write a novel?' So I researched him, and just by typing in his name to my library's catalogue I was already discovering new insights into my psyche.

I assumed he was white.

Based entirely on the title of the book, and his name. That is how my head works.

When I'm reading, I always assume all the characters are white. Unless I know otherwise from the beginning I assume every author I'm reading is white.

Does this happen to other people?

One of his books is called Cinnamon Kiss, another Bad Boy Brawly Brown, and I saw those titles come up first and I immediately thought to myself, 'oh that can't be right, his name must be similar to a black author and the system just threw them both together.'

So not only did I assume that Walter Mosley was white, I also assumed these titles were specifically black titles, somehow aimed at the black reading populace.

What happens in life that results in a white person automatically assuming everyone else of even moderate success is white as well? Do people of other races assume characters in books are the same race as them or have we tarnished their spirit to the point where they also assume everyone is white?

Race equality is still an ongoing struggle.

Even writing this I'm not sure if I'm being racist or not. I probably could have referred to Mosley as African-American. That could have been a start, I suppose, but doesn't that still keep our races separate? By saying that, am I still only showing how naive about race I still am? Can I, as a white female, really comment on how difficult it must be for others?

I feel like- I know that I need real answers and solutions to these questions and problems, but I don't know where to begin, or how. It feels like something is off in my brain, something that makes me think the race I come from and claim as my own is somehow superior to any other. That doesn't seem healthy to me. That sounds like a mental disorder. Like an imbalance of chemicals.

I want to have a proper balance of chemicals. I want to assume that a writer is a writer, a person is a person. I want to assume that we're all the same underneath. I don't know how to make my brain do that.

Untitled Post

For World Book Night yesterday, mom and I put books on people's cars like the religious rubbish I always find on mine. My literature was about a different god though. That was exciting for me. Passing along the good word about books. I'm about that. It was also Fahrenheit 451, which is not my favorite Ray Bradbury book but obviously I love it because he's an amazing writer and his work never fails to make me fall desperately in love with the human race all over again despite its many, many failings. (Kinda like watching Doctor Who.)


Overheard a woman at work saying a lovely sentence: my cousin was married to Juicy.

That's it.

I wrote that shit down the minute she finished saying it. What a friggin' sentence, man. 'My cousin was married to Juicy.' I have so many questions.


A woman I basically grew up with comes into the one branch frequently and when she looks me, there is not even the slightest flash of recognition in her face. She knew me through the end of grade school and all through high school, the period of your life where you do a great deal of changing physically. She knew me before I had glasses, knew me when I got them, before I had braces, when I got those, when I got those taken off; she knew me while I was gradually getting taller because I'm short so naturally I didn't have a sudden growth spurt. I spent countless days and nights at her house with my best friend and she looks me in the eye and there isn't even a glimmer. I don't register to her at all. She's seen my name tag, that also means nothing. She knew my mother and her family and I wonder if she would recognize any of them anymore, or if they've been obliterated like me. It's stunning. Other than that, she doesn't show any other signs of memory loss or deterioration. She drives herself to the library, she reads constantly, her hearing was always a little bad when I knew her and it doesn't seem to have gotten any worse really, she knows off the top of her head that May 15 is a Wednesday this year (when her books are due back). So at a glance, it seems like the only thing she's forgetting is me. Which I guess, having not spoken to her in almost another decade, isn't too much to complain about. It just makes me curious about the brain and its workings.

Love and Marriage and Work and the English Language

When I've been up for a while and Jeremy is still asleep, I'll pass the bedroom and see him taking up the entire bed and think, 'man that guy's amazing, I'm glad we're best friends... how do we both fit on that thing?' (cause he's kinda tall, I don't know if I've expressed that before). Then I'll go in and kiss his forehead or whatever. Except I always give him a heads up like, 'Husband I love you,' or 'Jeremy I'm going to kiss you,' or my personal favorite, 'hey don't punch me in the throat,' cause of that one time I attempted to kiss him while he was sleeping and he tried to punch me in the throat. Cause he thought I was a zombie.

This is what I married, guys.

I chose him.

He was like, 'you wanna do this thing?'

And I was like, 'pssh, hell yeah!'

Yesterday at work I wrote angry missives to each patron I had. Well, almost each patron. I would finish our interaction, and write a few lines on some scrap paper about how much they were damaging the human race. Then I would tear that shit up and pretend it never happened. It made the day a little better.

Also of note, I went to the wrong library yesterday by accident. (Obviously, because who would do that on purpose?) When I showed up at the right library the guard was like, 'this one is ----' and I was like 'oh no kidding asshole? I thought it was ----.' (Dashes because while yes, it's pretty clear where I work, I don't think I've been specific about names... Have I?) I really hate it when people think they're being clever by pointing out the mistakes you are already aware of. When it happens to me I always have to rifle through my extensive memory and check if it's a thing I do and this is the universe telling me not to be such a douche. I do it. To be fair though, I only do it if I know the other person won't be aggravated by it. To be more fair, I don't mind it sometimes, but first thing in the morning when I'm clearly running late because I can't read a schedule, apparently, and I'm worried that not even a full week after an excellent evaluation my coming into work late because I'm an idiot will make my supervisors reconsider their position... that is not a good time to think you're clever, random security guard.

Light note: a patron owed money and when she asked how much I told her three fifty. She replied, tree fiddy? And I stifled a laugh. (Guys I just learned that I've been spelling 'stifled' wrong, for years. Blogger just angry red lined it when I put two F's in it. How did I not know this? It's literally been years.)

I Got Angry Suddenly

I watched a movie in the dark last night while the Husband was at a karate class. I was thoroughly enjoying the film and the comfort of the dark on a humid night and then Husband called to let me know he was on his way home. When he asked what I was doing and I told 'watching Sunset Boulevard in the dark' he said, 'mhrm, weird.' Then I thought about it, and is it actually weird? I don't know what's weird anymore. I can't see where the line is. So I just keep doing my thing and learn what's weird when people are like, 'Storm, that's weird, stop doing that.' Except I rarely quit because I generally enjoy what I'm doing. Like watching movies in the dark.

I'm still learning social cues. How sad is that? At 25 I still don't have a full grasp of 'time and place for everything.' I got an inkling of it when I read Where The Wild Things Are, but then on later reflection I discovered I was probably misunderstanding the point of that story. (Everyone has a mental disorder? Sometimes people are bipolar? I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually.)

Some cues I've stumbled across recently:

• When people ask if you've lost weight, they don't really care if you have or not, they want you to ask if they have.
• When people how you've been or what you've been up to, they don't care they just want you to ask what they've been up to. You could have pulled a child from a burning building or scaled Kilimanjaro, they aren't interested. In fact, to tell them about that would be in bad taste because you'll only make them feel like they're underachievers.
• If you've done anything charitable or good, tell everyone. Just throw it in their faces so they feel like shit because what the fuck have they done lately? Oh you rearranged the living room? That must look real nice. Yes I always thought that end table would look lovely by that window. You must be so proud. (This conflicts with the previous knowledge I've presented regarding social situations. That's actually a recurring theme in humans.)
• Do you think :insert name of person, animal, special interest, etc. here: is the best thing ever? You're probably right. Go ahead and tell everyone that what they think is best is wrong and then tell them it's because your best thing is the best because you said so and if they ever thought their best thing was best then they were stupid. Cause your thing is best.
• Humans have no grasp of the concept of 'opinion' and like to make everyone else feel terrible for disagreeing with them. They also really love to 'disown' people, or stop beings friends with them for not having same interests, or not knowing the same things they know. You've never heard of this movie? We can't be friends anymore. You don't know this song? I can't be seen with you. You don't know who this person is? Were you raised by wolves? (This is an especially interesting quality in the race. It seems that they feel if their friends would only listen to a particular song, or read a certain book, show an interest in anything that a person has an interest in then they would immediately love it the, exact, same, way that that person does. This is ludicrous. Nobody loves anything exactly the same way. Nobody feels the exact same way as anybody else. That's part of makes humans so diverse. Maybe they will like it, maybe they won't. Admittedly, at least give it a try, is a nice concept. Regardless though, sharing interest in something so trivial shouldn't determine whether you can be friends with a person or not. I'll allow an exception for things that have sincerely changed your life for the better. And if a person constantly makes fun of the thing you're into, instead of being an adult about it and accepting that if nothing else at least it makes you happy.)
• Everything is a double standard. Everything.

I've gleaned more, but this turned into something angry unintentionally so I'm going to go deal with that anger through the therapy of written word. I stole that line from The Following, which by the way I am still not a big fan of. I wish Joe Carroll had been portrayed by the dude playing Roderick. That guy was charming and enigmatic and I buy people following him blindly. James Purefoy... make better decisions.

Weight Issues. What's New?

Got out my summer clothes to make myself feel shitty cause I like the abuse. Not really, but it's hard not to think that's why I did it. I knew full well none of those clothes would fit me cause despite my best efforts I've managed to tack on approximately 10-15 pounds since last summer. I guess I was just hoping they would fit a little better than they ended up fitting even if they were still too small. A few pairs of shorts weren't  completely god awful, and one bikini still fits well, but everything else? I definitely need to lose about 10 pounds before summer. That or buy a whole new summer wardrobe.

I keep getting asked if I've lost weight, which is nice since I'm trying to (cause I hate my body, like every other woman alive), but I haven't so when I say no they disagree with me. Like I would lie about it. How do I benefit from that? I don't understand this concept. Sometimes I just wear more flattering clothing. I try to dress for my body, but it's that weird shape, where it doesn't fit into hourglass or pear but it's somewhere in the middle. Whatever. I have a pretty nice ass so if nothing else, ya know. That.

I would rely on my intelligence and humor, like I've done all my life, but I find more and more that people are intimidated by it, or flustered by it, or in the case of my humor, don't always get it. That's frustrating for me. A friend recently told me she was nervous to talk to me when we originally met because I seemed so smart and she didn't want to sound stupid. She's over that now obviously, cause we're friends, but I hope when she said she was over it she meant being nervous to talk to anyone that seemed smarter than her. Guys, smart people want friends too. Not a lot of them, cause we aren't very social people. But some. Some friends. Who are also smart. I have those friends. We talk about you when you're not around. (JK... but seriously.)

Clerk Apprentice I

I had my six week evaluation yesterday. I've worked there longer but your time is determined by how many hours you work, which is also how I gain seniority (so note to self, start picking up more hours). They may have also waited till they had done everyone else's yearly evaluations, and there's a bunch of us so that takes time. Regardless, I am now officially a Clerk Apprentice I. I got to switch out my name tag and everything. I also got glowing reviews and I was even complimented on my eloquent grasp of the English language. Seriously. Last week I had to turn in the goals and objectives, and when I met with my supervisor yesterday she said that she normally has to change some wording or sometimes rewrite the goal entirely so that it reads more professionally and she barely had to change anything in mine. She was very impressed with how well I presented myself.

I had gotten to a point at work where I was just doing my thing and hoping it was good enough, sub-par at best, and I was fine with that approach. It didn't occur to me that even when I'm not really trying I'm still excelling because it's in my nature to work hard. But I don't like not caring. I felt like I was doing good work, but no one was saying that so I had no idea if I actually was. Turns out that because I don't receive praise a lot, I often forget the good things about myself. If I'm not constantly being reminded that I'm good at things, I start to forget and end up thinking I'm actually not good at anything. It's pretty rough. A person shouldn't need constant validation. That's unhealthy. But I've recognized that trait in myself and I'm trying to correct it. I don't like that it's me this many years to see it though.

I was worried that maybe I was too quiet at work, and that's something I thought I should work on in my goals. Then I was complimented on that aspect because it creates a more trusting environment where people feel secure that I won't be talking about them behind their backs. Which happens a crazy lot, but that's to be expected when you have women working together unfortunately. They think I'm calm, adaptable, timely, efficient, and polite. These things are all true. They also think I show potential for more responsibility, which I guess is good. I don't know that I really want that right now. I suppose if it leads to something full-time then I should be more open to it. I don't like being responsible for things though. It doesn't make me nervous I just don't like having to deal with people who don't take direction well and then I end up having to correct their mistakes and doing twice the work. That doesn't sound fun at all.

Oh, also, I get an automatic raise in six months.

I Wrote This

I can't believe I still haven't told you guys about my awesome exchange with my landlord regarding fixing our GD toilet and bathroom sink. It's best if it's brief. He said he'd stop by last Wednesday, which was cool cause I didn't have anywhere to be until 2. He never showed up, never called. I assumed we'd just end up having to call a guy. Thursday while I'm at work, before we open, my phone rings. It's him. He was like, are you home? I said no. He said he was going to stop by anyway and just put the dog in our room while he was working. No, landlord I am not at home. Because you were supposed to stop by on Wednesday like we agreed. Not Thursday. Whatever. At least he was fixing stuff.

Later I get a voicemail from him that says lots of fun stuff. 'I have to have someone come out to take a look at the sink, we'll be there about 11 tomorrow, it's a bigger problem than I thought. If you're not home we'll just put the dog in the bedroom again. And I put all the parts back in the toilet. Alright bye.'

He put all the parts back in.

That's how he fixed our toilet.

He put all the parts back in.

When I told Jeremy about it he said the same thing I said when I first heard that sentence: were there parts missing? Could we have fixed this ourselves if we had only known where he was storing the parts?

It still makes me laugh.

That same day at work (the super slow day) I took a few brain tests to determine whether I'm right or left brain dominant. I took four actually, and these results are no joke. The first test, of 22 questions I answered with a left brain dominance 11 times. That's right. I broke even. Second test I answered primarily with the right side. Third test I answered primarily left. Fourth test? I broke even again. From four different sites. Basically online tests are bullshit. That or I sometimes use both sides and sometimes use one side more than the other. Like a normal human being!

I stumbled across a set of lines I wrote in a notebook back in January, I know because I haven't used that notebook since then. These lines were effin' prolific to me. No frontin'. They were like a damn fairy tale. And I had no recollection of ever thinking of them, or writing them. But I was flipping through the notebook and there they were, in my tiny tight and careless scrawl. They moved me. (So obviously I knew they weren't my own.) The third line I knew for a fact was from a Tom Waits song, but I couldn't figure out where the other ones came from. Even Google gave me confused results. Eventually I managed to hunt down a second line that I paraphrased from a Christina Perri song. Which led to the assumption that the other two were from songs. I was right. Sort of. I paraphrased Ellie Goulding in one and the last line I can't track down. I've been rifling through my library trying to find where I may have heard something either exact or similar since I seem to have used parts of lyrics to make my own lines. Anyway here it is.

fever in my bones
dancing in an empty room
never be free of me
follow the path of the dead

I keep getting different imagery when I read it or say it, so I'm not even sure what I may have been trying to say. It reads like blackout poetry, except with lyrics. (Which are a form of poetry.) If anyone knows where I may have gotten the last line from it would be super awesome if you could let me know. It's driving me bonkers not knowing.

Pills, Work, Words, Iceman

Every morning I go through the arduous task of trying to swallow my birth control pill. From the time I put it in my mouth, to the time I actually manage to swallow it, always differs. This morning it was only like, fifteen seconds. Yesterday morning it took me almost a full minute. I don't have the easiest time taking pills but I really didn't think a pill this tiny would be so difficult.

I have to have liquid in my mouth before I can put any kind of pill in it, cause I'm insane and I imagine that if I put the pill in first it'll just sit on my tongue like so much dead weight and no matter how much I drink it'll never move until it dissolves and then I'll be stuck with that awful taste. So I take a drink first and then imagine the pill is just floating around in the there trying to find the back of my throat cause it wants to go home. (In this analogy, home is heaven and the back of my throat is the guiding light. It's fucked up, I know.)

Sometimes I have to take a second drink cause I've managed to swallow all of the first sip without taking the pill so it's just sitting there drying out and making me feel sick. Sometimes I use a really cold beverage and by the time I manage to get the stupid pill down that sip can be best described as lukewarm. (Occasionally, hot. Gross.) Sometimes it gets stuck between my back molars and the inside of my cheek, that happened three consecutive mornings last week. I was angry. Once I thought I had taken it, but it turns out it started to dissolve and had reached the point where when it was trapped between my molar and mouth, it was so tiny that I didn't even notice I hadn't actually swallowed it.

Sometimes I can take the pill with just a handful of water from the bathroom sink. If you've never taken a handful of water from a faucet before, what have you been doing with your entire life? I bet you also use an actual cup to rinse your mouth after brushing your teeth. You pretentious ponce. It's not a whole bunch of water, in that handful, is the point I was trying to get at. I used to take a super tiny pill with basically the equivalent amount of water, and it was no trouble. I did it just last Sunday. Why is my mouth-throat-water-pill-situation never the same?

Those are just the issues with the birth control. I take vitamins too. Half of them I chew. They're not chewables. I have some issues with swallowing small objects. Which... I guess is... good? At least I know I'll never be inclined to eat like, Legos, (Lego's?) or something. (At 25. When the pallet finds Legos most delectable.)


A couple days ago at work some broad asked me to help her retrieve a password that had been sent to her email. I saw it was a yahoo address, I directed her to the yahoo website. She said, do I type it in here? and gestured to some random point on screen. I corrected her and prepared myself for the absurdity that I knew was forthcoming. We go through her logging in process and it says the username and password is incorrect. I asked her to try typing in the password again and she says, I don't remember it. I ask if she was trying to tell me that the password she was trying to get was for her email. She says no and gestures wildly to some lottery scratch-off cards she has in front of her, eventually explaining (I made a lot of helpful guesses in this game of 'guess what this string of mumbles and murmurs means'.) that she had entered an email address on this website and that they had sent a password to this email for her to use on the same website. Or some such nonsense.

Long story short (too late): she didn't even have an email address. She had made one up for the purpose of that website, and if that email already existed then she's out of luck because somebody else has the password she was looking for.


The other day, while killing time at the slowest branch at work, I found one of the loveliest definitions to an already lovely word.

    suspire:

1. to breathe
2. to sigh

"And from that one intake of fire/ All creatures still warmly suspire" - Robert Frost
(Thank you Free Dictionary.)

I love the word 'wherein.' I think it's so magical. It sounds like an adventure awaits, and not just any adventure. This particular adventure has sword fights, and eye patches, and a rambling old fool who turns out to be the rightful lord of the land, and a damsel who for once isn't in any distress. Speaking of which, one of my favorite things ever in film is the scene in Enchanted when Giselle slays the dragon, because I'm bored of women always finding themselves in trouble and then having to wait for a white knight to save them. Save yourself, for god sake. You're better than that. 

This brings me to another point, RE The Following. Can anyone tell me why every female character, even the FBI agent whose name I don't remember because that's how much of an impression her character has made on me, is either a victim or a psycho? Also, I don't honestly care about Joe Carroll. I want to know what's up with Harper, and I want to know what's up with Bobby Drake. I want detailed back stories and I want them now. Bobby Drake is having some issues right now, everyone knows that. Why is it that when he lashes out in an unconventional interrogation Harper's all, what's up with you man? Are you kidding me, Harper? That dude was forced into a Fight Club because he knew where your lady love was and they practically killed him when he wouldn't say. He is going through some shit right now, Harper. He needs time to process and talk to a therapist.

To be fair, I honestly have no idea how much time has passed on this show so maybe he did have sufficient time off to deal with his problems and he just didn't? I don't know. What I do know is that the writers are making me angry and I'm only continuing to watch cause of that reveal at the end of the last episode that made me go, oh-HO SNAP RYAN HARPER you're hardcore! Also, I would have sex with Bobby Drake.

Alright that's it.

Conversation I Recently Had

Me (on the phone): Oh no that's awful. Yeah happy to help.

Mom: Did someone die?

Me: Yeah some broad at work, her granddad passed away recently so I'm picking up her shift Friday.

Mom: Oh that's terrible.

Me: He was like ninety and had been dying for like, a year.

Mom: That's still sad though.

Me: I mean yeah, but after that long aren't you kinda relieved that it's finally done with. And aren't you a little pissed that they've taken so long? It's been a year, come on now.

Mom (laughs, maybe uncomfortably at first): I guess so yeah. Your grandma seemed to drag it out near the end there.

I'm a terrible person. I also paraphrased mom a little there on that last line, but I can vouch that it did seem to take her mom forever to die. I feel like I grew up in that hospital while that woman was slowly but surely kicking the bucket.

Untitled Post

While putting off emailing a supervisor a set of goals and objectives to reach said goals, I started browsing the internet and got distracted by THE WORLD, as I often do. I kept telling myself I was waiting for Jeremy to proof-read it before I sent it, but really I just don't want to send it. Having a job where I have to set goals for myself is irritating. Especially because they aren't goals to improve my job performance, or advance my position. I'm already excelling in the performance area, and I can't advance my position until the people hired before me either advance their own or decide they don't want to. I'm dependent on them. I don't like it. They're personal goals, to I guess help me enjoy my work day? I made stuff up that sounded like what they would want to hear.

In more important news, I definitely don't like my job. I told my brother that and he said, 'I could've told you that.' So uh... why didn't you? I keep that maybe if I were in a different unit I would enjoy it but I can't really say for sure that what I don't like can be narrowed down to a specific thing like that. There's a lot I don't like, and not much I do. When I was discussing this with my aunt about a month ago the things I did like outweighed the things I didn't and we decided that while it wasn't perfect it was still better than having a job and disliking the majority of it. I've reached the point where I dislike the majority of it.

Jeremy and I were talking about our mutual dislike of our current means of employment and I was saying how I need a job where I don't have to go anywhere if I don't want to, that allows me to be creative and challenges me, affords us the kind of vacation time we want (a week off without having to schedule months in advance, or even just a weekend off without having to schedule a month in advance and still not be totally sure that I'll get it), and also affords our expensive taste. Or even moderate taste. Comfortable living, really, is what we're aiming for right now.

I said, I need something...

Jeremy said, write.

Except for some reason I heard that word as, right.

I think both words apply.

Until then, I guess I just have to pretend I like my job and hope that eventually it'll come back to me and I won't be pretending anymore. And also keep writing. Always always writing.

Teavana!

Yesterday I took my first foray into Teavana. I can easily see blowing an entire paycheck in that store, and not just because some of the tea is very pricey. $12 for 2 ounces? Come on son. No, I mean because the moment I walked in that store I wanted to buy everything I saw. Tea sets, more than I could ever need, all the tea, I mean ALL the tea, even the floral ones that I don't even really like cause they always taste like I'm eating a flower, I would buy them all. I have no logical explanation for this response, but it exists. Maybe they put something in the air in the store that just makes a general tea drinker want to buy more tea than one human could possibly need.

We went in with Scotty and Ashley, and we were sampling some teas and the girl asked if we were tea drinkers and all three of them pointed to me. I got out of there with one tin (the smaller of the two) of Earl Grey Cream, and it didn't even make my wallet cry. Scotty, as Ashley pointed out, did not come away so well. The amount of money that kid spent on tea, a thing that you will literally piss away, made me hate him a little bit.

I said it.

Turns out, I bookmarked the Teavana website like, two years ago, and have not purchased a single thing from it. Probably cause it seemed crazy expensive. The problem now is that after being in there and trying the teas, I want to buy more. The page is open in the next tab in my browser. I just have to click over and boom! All my money, gone.

I really love tea, you guys. Like, really love it. It's one of my favorite things in the known world. Did I tell you about my plans to open a book-and-tea shop? We won't sell coffee, because I damn well said so, but we'll sell new and used books, and teas. I have the perfect name for it, and even if I had told you about this, when you read the name you still have to be impressed by it. Because it is so cute and clever!

The Novelty Shop (trademark Storm Michele)

I mean... what a great name. If someone already has this, I'm burning their building to the ground and then finding all documents pertaining to it and also setting those on fire. This is my book-and-tea shop.

Also this weekend, I helped Scotty assemble a dresser for his unborn tiny baby and saw some koi fish because my brother has a koi fish pond. And way too many fish in it. There's like, a bunch. He'll have to kill some apparently, because there's only supposed to be so many and if unattended they'll just keep reproducing until there's more fish than water in the pond. I mean, I imagine that's what would happen.

Briefly

People who talk to themselves aggressively about the situation around them while occasionally making eye contact with others are clearly just hoping someone will say something so they have a reason to start a fight. That's stupid. Just start a fight.

I don't know why I ever imagine shopping will be a hassle free, semi relaxing experience, but I always manage to fool myself into that mindset. Then I find myself in the store, trying to navigate my cart through idiot human being after idiot human being and becoming more and more enraged. They stop in the middle of an aisle, they weave back and forth slowly in front of you like they know you're trying to move past them but they'll be damned if they'll let you because god forbid you should get to the celery before them. I hate them. They let their children roam about aimlessly, always finding their way directly in front of your cart and always finding themselves suddenly stricken deaf so that you have to say 'excuse me can I pass' so loudly that no one believes you sincerely wish to be excused. You're right, terrible absent-minded parent, I don't wish to be excused. I wish to get my friggin' green tea and move on to the next item on my list.

No really. I hate them.

The sign that has hours and whatnot listen behind the circulation desk at the library has one particular note that needs to be shared.

Sorry-

We do not accept foreign currency, including Canadia coins.

My browser underlined the word that you probably think (correctly) is spelled inaccurately, and I noticed it. I would've corrected it, except I want to drive home the point that while I certainly saw the error, because at a glance the wavy red line under the word drew my attention, this sign went past numerous people and various printers, AND NOBODY NOTICED.

It's a big sign too, you guys. Like, sideways poster size. Large. Obvious. Why has nobody fixed this?

Kindness

Twice now I've seen the same girl leave the teen room of the library crying uncontrollably, in the same week. A librarian goes in and talks to the kids still in there, then one or two might be asked to leave, but that's the most action I've seen taken. The girl is almost impossible to understand, but basically she's being verbally bullied in that room but it seems like nothing is really being done about it. Sometimes she dresses provocatively, high heels, fitted clothes, yesterday it was a low cut top. She dresses the way young girls think boys like because boys respond to older women who dress like that. But they just make fun of the girls who do it. And she keeps coming back, that's the awful part. It's like she's hoping a different set of heels or a tighter article of clothing will make these boys like her. It's worrying. I watched a librarian speak to the boys, the walls are glass so I can see the conversation but I can't hear it, and one of the boys actually stopped another from speaking and stood in front of him, like he was protecting him. From what? Being told it's never acceptable to bully someone? Because it isn't and you can't hide from that reality. After everything cooled down I took a moment to reflect and it actually made me feel physically ill.

Why do young women hate their bodies so much? What other reason would we have for putting so much of ourselves on display, even when we're mocked and ridiculed for it, if not because we don't like ourselves and we need validation? If not to have someone notice us, even if it's negatively. At twenty-five, with a husband and best friend who loves me, with friends and family who love me, literally exactly the way I am, why do I still hate my body so much? What does it say about us as a society that an intelligent, funny, fairly well-balanced, caring individual still thinks she's not exceptional because her dress size has two numbers in it?

Some honesty (what else?): Sometimes I like hanging out with my heavier friends cause they make me feel thinner. Sometimes I don't like hanging out with my thin friends cause they make me feel huge. (Like, behemoth huge.) That's sick, I know. It's also totally true. My friends are great, I should want to hang out with them based on that. Not based on if they make me look better, or worse, by comparison. Another example of 'I'm a terrible person.'

Back to the important part: be kind to others and be kind to yourself. The really important part though, in my self-centered opinion, is be kind to yourself. Even when others aren't kind to you. Everything else will stem from there, at least that's what I find. When I'm nice to myself, I'm more inclined to be nice to others.

More Musings

We celebrated my birthday early this month and mom posted some pictures of the festivities on Facebook and people wished me a happy birthday. Except it wasn't on my actual birthday. So now people think my birthday is March 2nd. It's not. I don't have my birthday on Facebook cause I don't like insincere birthday wishes. If you remembered on your own and it's like, two days later, that's cool. But if you only remembered because Facebook told you, and not because you scheduled a reminder or something, and you felt it was necessary to say something, I would rather you didn't. It makes me think you want people to think you're thoughtful and kind when really it was just bold text on your page that caught your eye.

Except my sister's mom. She can wish me a happy birthday in July if she wants to and I'd be pleased as punch about it cause she's one of most earnest people I know. Her well-wishings just make me think... she wishes me well. For Christmas one year, she got me a coat and scarf. It was a great coat too, which I still have even though it no longer fits cause I got chubby. (And fabulous!)

My mom made me a cake. It was, and still is, delicious. The other half of it is in my fridge and keep refraining from eating the entire thing. It's a struggle. She also hosted a taco night for me and I got to see friends who I rarely ever see. It was pretty exciting times guys.

I'm focusing on my birthday cause it's in a few days (obviously) and when I thought about it a few months ago it really brought me down. I was in that state of mind where it felt like everyone I knew was doing these great things, and reaching the goals you're supposed to reach when you become an adult. Not immediately when you become an adult, but at least before you're thirty because the stigma seems to be that after thirty if you haven't accomplished certain things than you're a loser or you lack motivation and drive, you have no ambition, blah blah blah.

At 8:37 Thursday morning I will officially turn a quarter of a century old.

I'm incredibly excited about it. I have no idea what's been happening lately with me mentally but this is the same event that made me devastated about the state of my life when I thought about it not even six months ago. Yet somehow, when I've considered it more recently, I am genuinely happy about it.

I thought by now I would have a better car, a better home (maybe be on the way to owning that home), be pregnant (if I didn't already have at least one tiny baby), have money saved so that when I had to take maternity leave we wouldn't be in the shit house, have a matching set of pots and pans (still a thing I hope to have one day... :le sigh:), have finally received an acceptance letter from an agent/editor/publishing house... I thought I would have done more by now.

Of the things that I have accomplished, which is absolutely not any of the above, I manage to look at my life and think how great it is. I know that where I am now isn't where I'll be in five years, or even next year. Twenty-five is exciting instead of terrifying because I say it is.

I have an amazing best friend, an amazing dog, a shabby apartment that people always seem to think is 'cute', I have a pretty great job (even though the people are disgusting), I write as often I can, I read as often as I can, every once in awhile I get in touch with people I haven't spoken to or seen in a long time and it doesn't seem like it's been that long, my family is insane but I guess I love them anyway, my Jeep is a piece of crap but Jeremy and I make jokes about it and it's not so bad afterward- what I'm driving at here is that there isn't an obvious amount of terrific going on in my life. And the operative word is 'obvious.' (Because it seems pretty terrific to me right now.)

Unrelated (Related) Things

I was talking to mom today about my new daily affirmations, and it occurred to me that I didn't remember if I talked about them with you yet. Everyday something happens to affirm that I am correct in hating everyone. That's basically it. At least once I day, instead of getting angry that people make me angry, I say to myself 'there's the reason I hate everyone' and I feel a little less angry. Yesterdays affirmation, for example, happened when I was turning left onto a road with a business entrance about 20-some feet from the corner and some idiot decided he could swing on in there in front of me. I ended up having to slam on my brakes and swerve into the lane next to me, where fortunately there was no other car, to avoid hitting him. In situations like that, I'm not sure why I never lay on the horn, but I don't. I slam my hand against the wheel in rage while I yell incoherent curses at the individual in question, but I just never hit the horn. Afterward, I always feel like I would've felt better if I had, but I never remember to. Ever. I started the affirmations as a joke, in my rage, but I honestly do feel better when they occur. If the human race is good at one thing, it's proving time and time again that we're all a bunch of assholes with no consideration for anyone else.

I wanted to share a picture with you. It's of my keychain. I felt it was important that you see it.

So, what you're looking at is a mess of items. A Walgreens discount thingy, a fob for the door at work, some keys, there's a Power Up card for Gamestop which I've never used because I buy games for Jeremy online, but what I want you to pay attention to are three items in particular. The silver shiny item splayed out to the right there, the red pendant with a weird feathery looking creature, and a superhero in need of a serious paint job. These are the items that will best define me and yes, they are seriously hanging out on my keychain. I keep them there because it feels like the place they'll be closest to me, and not because if anything happens to me and the authorities find only my keys (for some reason) they'll be able to discern my character from them and then determine what happened to me from there and how I would've responded in whatever situation I managed to find myself in. (Kidding, that's totally what they're there for. So, pay attention in case I go missing but leave my keys.)

The shiny silver item is a multi-tool. It opens up to a tiny set of pliers, a flat tip screwdriver, and a cross tip screwdriver. The superhero is Batman, and he very much needs painted, but then he's been around since the early 00's. The red pendant is a phoenix.

I believe in a lot of things, but there are four things in particular that I believe in above most others.

• Love ('above all else, I believe in love')
• Always being prepared
• Ordinary people being heroes
• Living forever

I am an idealist, a romantic, a cynic, a realist, and many other things that seem to contradict one another. They do not. They are just parts of my character. The whole of which, is me. Super awesome and terrible at the same time.

I'm telling you this because I don't want you to think that I sincerely believe the human race is only good at proving that it's selfish and uncaring. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. And sometimes, when people are driving like idiots and being reckless with their own lives and the lives of others around them just because they can, I sincerely hope they get in an accident and break both of their legs. (That's the rage talking.)

Work-Related Musings

The days when I'm trying to find ways to fill time are the worst. I'm not accustomed to down time at work. My previous experience has been that of 'if you have time to lean, you have to clean.' (Thanks, McDonald's) All this trying to look busy nonsense is driving me nuts. I keep stressing out. My conditioning and work ethic are not inclined to this atmosphere.

Tasks I found myself doing yesterday and today to fill time:

• wiped down my area of the countertop (twice)
• emptied out the pencil sharpener
• sharpened pencils (in that order)
• organized the little desk caddy next to the computer (with pens and paperclips and an obscene amount of rubber bands), then I found more rubber bands in the bottom of the pen holder portion that were black with ink (which was gross and neat)
• walked to the interior bookdrop upwards of 20 times to see if any books had come in since I last checked
• made a rubber band ball

Pretty sure when the clerks are on desk and there aren't any patrons, they're either compulsively checking their emails or they're looking up records. Like, of books. That's what it always looks like they're doing. Refreshing their email or looking at records. Personally, to look busy, sometimes I'm just looking at my own record. 'Oh yes, I do still have the same items checked out as when I looked five minutes ago.' I do it cause I forgot my email password. I'd ask someone what it's supposed to be but I don't want to look stupid. So I just check it home, where my browser kindly asked if I wanted the password saved. I should not have said yes. Apparently we're changing servers so I may have to address the issue soon.

Found a rusted and horrific looking X-acto  knife mixed in with the pens where the money is counted. I guess it gets rough in that area of the 'behind the front desk.'

A boy scout troop had a meeting the other night. They played a DVD. There was applause. I wonder what the merit badge for 'watched a DVD in a group setting' looks like.

Apparently, after six, it's totally cool to just straight up read a book while on desk. I can't tell if this place is amazing or just gives no fucks.

The Time is Now 10:59 am

During my 4-hour shift yesterday, I discovered all the things I hate about the job. Fortunately, it all boils down to two things: the patrons, for obvious reasons, and the employees. God in heaven, I hate my fellow employees. Not all of them, obviously, I'm not that hateful (I probably am) but a very large majority of them. I thought maybe there were tasks I didn't like (inaccurate, I love all the tasks), but it turns out I don't like being told to do them as if I weren't intelligent enough to figure them out on my own. 

I can see that items need checked in. I will check in the items. I do not need to be told to check in the items.

I'm searching for a patron. I've been here five weeks. I'm fairly certain that in that time, I've searched for a patron at least one goddamn time (I've searched for patrons countless times in fact. Literally, I've lost track of how often I have had to search for any patron.). I know the command for it. So when I bring up to my supervisor that the record is blah blah blah, I do not need to be reminded how to properly search. What I need is to be told why the record is blah blah blah. But thank you for assuming that in five weeks, I haven't managed to glean the simplest of tasks.

I ask if there is a specific location for new items when taking them off the truck, before they are moved out to the front desk. As in, 'should these items have their own cart before I take them out to the front desk, or can I just stack them with these items?' The answer, for some reason, is an incredibly drawn out and completely unnecessary diatribe on how the person I asked clears off the truck, which includes a lot of laughing at, what I guess are, her own jokes, and has countless 'does that make sense's thrown in. No. It does not make sense. What would make sense is answering my question. My question, to be clear, was not 'could you please explain to me your method of moving items from one location to the next as though I am an absolute idiot?' 

(I still don't know if the new items are supposed to be on a separate cart before they go out, so I just do it my way and ignore the consult of whomever happens to remark on it.)

I am corrected by multiple people, multiple times, when I do a task incorrectly. (I think that's the meaning of life though. To be corrected numerous times for the same error even though you've only done it once and you've already learned from, and/or corrected, the mistake.)

There are other people with odd names. Those people do not get stupid as hell jokes made about their name. Which I cannot fathom. One woman is named Rain, you guys. How does Storm merit jokes, but Rain does not? I have never considered going by a different name more than I have in the last two years. (But I'm stubborn, and my name is badass.)

Basically what it comes down with the employees is that everyone assumes I'm an idiot. That alone would be aggravating enough but considering how intelligent I am, (I'm super smart, guys, but you already know that) it makes me hate them. It makes me hate them in ways that blind me with rage. It makes me conscious of everything they do, and how they're doing it incorrectly, and how long it takes them to comprehend they're inaccuracies. It makes me vigilant. I see their mistakes and I think to myself, 'Storm, you could help. You could make them better.' And then I squash that thought because why would I want to help my enemies? I mean, really. It's not like I'll ever move up the ladder before they do, because that isn't how unions work. Instead, I see their mistakes and I think to myself, 'oh god really? Who let's you out in the world?' and it makes me happy.

I'm a bad person.

I Was On the News (Briefly)

A week or two ago at work a local news crew was in filming for some local highlights kind of thing, various action shots with commentary, a little talking to patrons and some employees, that sort of thing. Anyway, I'm in it, checking out DVD's to a patron. It actually aired, which I wasn't aware of, but it was emailed to everyone and while at work a few of the ladies saw it and started making movie star jokes and I had no idea what was going on. Then they explained it, and now I'm concerned that that joke isn't going to go away. Here's a link for the clip. I'm somewhere around 3:25, it's really short but I wanted everyone to see it, cause my hair looks cute.

Also happening at work, a new tech advance that a whole bunch of people are against cause they fear change. I'm excited about it, which makes those people hate me, which is an awesome impression to make. The other day I saw my friends mom at work. It was awkward, but then it always is when I interact with other humans.

Nothing new is happening in my life. And I just thought you'd like to know that. Although I did find the battery charger for the digital camera, so... that's kinda cool.

Honesty You Never Asked For

I once sent a guy an indecent grainy cell phone picture of my rear end. So, that's out there somewhere.

I Facebooked stalked this one dude for like, a year and a half. When I saw that he had broken up with his girlfriend, I sent him a message saying I was sorry to hear about it, or some stupid shit like that. This same guy I once included in a group message about a weird-ass dream I had. The dream part was true, he had been in it, as well as a bunch of other people who were also included in the message.There was no earthly reason that he needed to know that. I did it because I knew someone else would reply to it, and that it would keep popping up in his inbox, so he would be reminded of me. Like a psychopath.

A few weeks ago Jeremy had a couple friends over for drinks. They ended up crashing and in the morning when I was shuffling about in the kitchen and they were getting ready to leave, we exchanged goodbyes. I never offered them coffee or anything and I still feel shitty about it. I should have been more hospitable. I spent a good deal of time afterward wondering if they thought I was an asshole.

For some reason, in a conversation once about swearing I told someone I didn't swear. I was joking, they took it seriously, and I never corrected them. I have no idea why. How hard would it have been to be like, 'oh that was a just a bad joke, I swear all the time.' Which is true, I do swear a lot. It's not even a funny joke. Who jokes about not swearing to be funny? Apparently, me. I also may have said that it was against my religion, but I honestly don't remember. It seems like something I would say.

I once printed out a fanfic about NSYNC that some girl posted on an angelfire webpage, the entire fucking thing, and crossed out every instance of this one characters name and wrote mine in over it because the character got together with JC. The entire, fucking, thing I did this to. There were over twenty chapters. Thirteen year old me was apparently effin' wacky.

Also when I was thirteen (and fourteen, it continued through) I thought it would be super cool to be in a girl group. So I started writing some really dreadful songs, just lyrics of course because I have no idea how to write music. Then I showed some of them to my best friend at the time and I was like, 'we should be in a girl group' to which she replied 'yeah sure.' Then we added two other friends for whatever reason and we would hang out at each other's houses and sing along to songs and decide who would sing what parts and all that crap. We got hooked on the Moulin Rouge theme song and each took a vocalists part, and I decided that I was good enough to sing Christina's part, and to my friends everlasting credit, they never corrected me. The next summer we kicked out one of the members but still wanted to hang out with her, so we wrote her a letter explaining everything. Apparently she took it hard cause her mom actually yelled at me for it.

All through my teen years, and yes sometimes now, one of the greatest joys in my life was turning my music up really loud, turning off the lights, and dancing like a weirdo in the dark of my bedroom. Sometimes in the summer I would get pissed off because it was daylight so long and I just wanted to effin' dance but I was scared that if the lights were on that somehow everyone would see and they would judge me. I tried closing the curtains but it would still be too bright and I would have to wait. I'd stay up at all hours of the night playing my crappy music, pretending I looked cool. I know now like I knew then that I looked like a damn fool.

I wished I still danced like a weirdo. I mean I do, obviously, still dance like a weirdo, but I wish I did it more. Or at all really.

Sometimes I use words incorrectly but the person I'm speaking to doesn't know it, so I'll make up a definition to suit my purposes and just hope that they never interact with someone else who uses that word properly. Other times I will use a word improperly and someone will call me out on it, and I'll make up some utter lie about having heard someone else use it in that context so that the imaginary person seems like the idiot. I'll even say things like, 'see that's what I thought it meant, but I heard Sheila at work use in this context so I thought I had been using it wrong.' There is no Sheila at work, she did not use the word in any context, there was no context, I am just a goddamn idiot and I really do not want you to know that.

I was sick on my wedding day, no idea with what, but I had been coughing like crazy all day before and a little in the morning. At dinner I bit into a pepper and it agitated the hell out of my throat apparently because I immediately started coughing so hard that I actually threw up a little into my napkin. At the table. Everyone kept asking if I needed to leave but I kept shaking my head and coughing into my napkin. Then I vomited a little and finally decided that I should excuse myself. I'm not sure how many people know about that, but I know my one brother does. A few seats away, just after it happened, I heard him say, 'yeah that's vomit.' That fucking napkin stayed on the table until we left, balled up all disgusting and shameful. (Side note, while writing that I made myself laugh so hard. So I hope you also found it amusing.)

Alright, that's all I've got for now. There is plenty more though, I'm a disastrous human being.

Yeah Work!

I saw my pregnant sister today. You guys, she is so fuckin' cute. Oh my god. I want to hang out with her all the time and have many pictures taken so that when I see other knocked chicks who are not taking to pregnancy well, I can give them a picture and be like, 'this is how you're supposed to do it, get it together.' Not even kidding, she's adorable. I'm so excited for a few weeks after the baby's born when it's super cute and not all weird-faced like newborns can be. The best part about that sentence is that everyone in our family agrees with it.

You guys, my new job, is the best thing ever. I could only be happier making a living if I were getting paid to write. As it is, if I could do this for the next twenty years I seriously don't think I would get tired or frustrated with it at all. Of course it's easy to say that now when I've only worked two days and I haven't started checking books in and out to patrons. I spent four hours today just scanning books in and putting them on the hold shelf. It was effing terrific. Yesterday I spent three hours shelving books. It was quiet. It was organized. I couldn't stop grinning. Not like a maniac though, just to myself. I love dressing nice for work and it being practical. I actually kinda like some of the people I work with. I love going to work.

We're rewatching The West Wing. I love Aaron Sorkin.

This post is filled with so much love.

Back to the work thing for a minute more. When I was busy freaking out about my first day apparently my friends and loved ones were all about being awesome and supportive. I got texts and facebook messages and my grams called and left a voicemail. Ashley reminded me to pack a lunch. Mom and dad called me 'library lady' cause I kept yelling at dad for calling me a librarian (which I am not). So... everyone is amazing. I'm full of love. This is terrific.

Some Lists

I wanted to write something meaningful, but I'm really nervous about work tomorrow so I keep stumbling over what I want to say. Instead, I will regale you with some lists.

First up, I owe $2.70 in fines to the library, that place I'll be working at tomorrow, and these are the items I forgot to return on time or forgot to renew:

• Heaven's Net is Wide: The First Tale of the Otori - Lian Hearn
• The End - Lemony Snicket
• The Penultimate Peril - Lemony Snicket
• Out of The Silent Planet - C.S. Lewis
• That Hideous Strength: A Modern Fairy-Tale for Grown-Ups - C.S. Lewis
• Perelandra - C.S. Lewis
• Rave On Buddy Holly
• Jekyll & Hyde: The Gothic Musical Thriller
• Jekyll & Hyde: The Original Cast Recording

The second list is brought to by my iTunes library, where we see the 5 most played songs (insightful shit here, kids):

• Everybody Loves Me - OneRepublic (40 plays)
• Planetary (GO!) - My Chemical Romance (33 plays)
• Kiss With a Fist - Florence & the Machine (30 plays)
• Kill, Kill, Kill - The Pierces (27 plays)
• Lovely Flower in Your Pretty Red Hair - The Zou (27 plays)

Well that says a lot about me, for example how I'm apparently an emo-tastic teenager. 

I've been trying to figure out what to wear for my first day for like, the past two weeks. It has been weighing on me. I thought I finally figured it out, and I put it all together accessories and all, I even tweeted about it (picture included) and now I hate the entire outfit. I want to wear blue. I feel most confident when I'm wearing blue. But I don't have a blue shirt long enough for me to feel comfortable with my muffin top. AND I have to get my picture taken tomorrow, so whatever I wear has to be good enough that I won't hate looking at my ID badge for the next however-long-I-have-to-wear-that-thing cause I don't know how often those are updated.

It's a full day and I have an hour lunch. Do I even bother bringing food? I'm going to be stressing out all day. Do I leave for lunch? I know I can, and I'll have an hour, but I don't know if it'll be during the usual lunch time or not so I don't know if it'll be a waste of an hour having to wait in line wherever I go and then having to stuff my face in the remaining five minutes. Who am I kidding? I'll be too nervous to eat. There's all the paper work, and orientation crap- seriously though, what if I'm awful? What if I'm not the quick learner I always thought was? What if, what if, what if... 

I'm going to be up all night with this crap. Good thing I bought energy drinks when we went grocery shopping. Maybe I should light some candles. Aromatherapy and shit.

I guess the outfit is cute and practical though. That's important, right? My palms are sweaty. Oh my god I hate tomorrow.

Wish me luck.

New Story

Posted the first two chapters of a new story I'm working on. It's likely just going to end up being a long short story, like most of my work, but for now I'm keeping things separated. So check that out when you have some time. Still haven't figured out a good title yet for it. It's saved on my flash drive as 'Killers, Objects' because it was the only way I could think to remember what it was about. I hate having things saved under 'Untitled' and it's even worse when I have more than one thing Untitled because then I have to open each file up to see what the hell it is. So I try to use short, succinct descriptors.

Been watching some more Supernatural (thank ya Netflix) and it's stunning how far I have not gotten. There are 8 frickin' seasons, you guys. I just started 4. And sometimes I'm like, this episode is super not important and I'll do other stuff and then suddenly something awesome is happening and I'm completely lost. Just watched the episode where Dean goes back in time by magic or whatever and initially I was like, 'Dean don't touch your dad! Bad stuff could happen! Gross don't say your mom was a babe!' but then I thought, 'no it's cool, it's not science it's just angels and stuff.' But what if it's all the same you guys? I know, it blew my mind too.

I feel like this is reading like I'm hyper or something. If it is, that is because I am a little hyper. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, even though I buried my head under the covers like I was sleeping like a champ. Kept having super bizarre dreams, which seems to be my thing lately. Except instead of the horrifying nightmares I tend to have that make me wake up kicking blankets and whatnot all over the place, screaming, or crying (sometimes all of the above) I actually woke myself up from a dream yesterday, laughing. Not just chuckling, or light laughter, no. I woke up laughing hysterically. And I remember the dream too, cause I was laughing in it. It was not that funny guys. My subconscious has a terrible sense of humour.

I start work next Tuesday. I'm super nervous. I related this to Jeremy, he was all comforting and 'you'll do fine.' Then I worried that I would get fired, and he was all comforting and 'it'll take them a year to replace you anyway.'

Because it took them almost a year to hire me.

He's a hoot.

This All Gets a Little Confused Near the End

I feel like I'm hearing people talk about how they don't want people to read things they wrote when they were younger, or that they don't want to expose themselves too much in regards to their literary pursuits, quite a bit lately. It's strange to me, in the way that when you learn a new word suddenly everyone is using it. I'm sure the people in my life who are talking about these things now have been for some time but I'm only realizing it now. Except it isn't because I've found myself in the same mental position, it's the opposite really.

Without making any conscious effort, I've found almost absolute clarity. This also didn't occur to me until someone told me that's what was happening, well they said something to the effect. We had been talking about trying to find direction and consistency in our work and lives and when she was leaving she said I seemed focused. This possibility had never occurred to me. She said she thought I was going to be fine and that even though I didn't see it in myself she felt that I seemed focused. That's the word I zeroed in on. After she left I thought about it constantly. I kept going back to it. Focused. This whole time I've felt directionless, like I had no idea what I wanted, and even if I did know I had no idea how to get it. But someone heard me talk, they saw how I carried myself, and they said to themselves, 'that girl seems focused.' I couldn't stop replaying it in my head, and that night, well very very early the next morning, I lay awake in bed because I just wasn't tired and I said to myself, 'maybe I am focused.' Somehow that made it true.

So now I'm focused. Once I said it, everything felt like it fell into place. I want to be a writer. I want to share my stories, my thoughts, my inconsequential opinions, with as many people as possible, as often as possible. And I want them to share with me. Which brings me back to that first paragraph up there. Remember me telling you about deleting half of my work and how it seemed to be an insult to a friend of mine? I do absolutely believe that sometimes you have to be willing to just throw some things out. Which is why I did. But I also believe that sometimes you have to be willing to show people the parts of you that are so embarrassing they're practically shameful, because it helps you accept yourself. I published some of my awful, awful poetry on the website linked on the right of this page (where you can also find some of my awful, awful short stories) and the only apology I made was that I was once a young, passionate teenager. That is the only excuse I made for my work. I shouldn't have even had to do that, but I haven't reached full acceptance yet. When I do, I like to think that instead of using my youth as an excuse for my shitty melodramatic poetry, I'll use it to mount my defense. 

You should read my poems. Because it's the work of someone who has cared very deeply, and very much, and tried so hard to be open and vulnerable that she didn't realize she was the only one hurting herself. It's the work of someone who grew up way too fast, and not fast enough at the same time. Literally the exact same time. It's honest, and it's tries way too hard, and it's over-the-top, and it has no discernible direction except that of moving forward; sometimes at a steady pace, sometimes at a gallop, sometimes in a clumsy stumble. If nothing else, it is always earnest.

After that, you should read my short stories.

After that, you should ask me what else I'm working on, if I've written anything new, and can you read it. You should ask because chances are exceptionally high that it will be crap and you will not like it, but chances are also pretty good that you'll find something small and interesting in it. Something that will make you want to keep reading on the off chance that my work gets better. Then you can say you've been a fan from 'way back when she was writing really shitty, angsty things about fire, and love, and werewolves, and fanfiction like she actually knew anything about anything.' It'll be cool. Promise.

The reason I maintain this blog still, even knowing it could be damaging later in life when I'm super successful and respected (things like that, saying things like that could do damage), even knowing there's only a handful of people reading, is because at some point someone will stumble upon it, the way I stumbled onto so many unexpectedly fantastic things in my life, and it will make them feel like they're not completely alone. That's what I want to do. I want to make people feel like they belong somewhere, even if I never know I've done it.

Writing feels like the way for me to do that.

Wherein I Talk About Words As If They're People

I've been encouraging people to read my blog lately. This is absolutely frightening behavior for me. As a general rule, I don't even tell people about anything I write, or if I do it's in passing and if they ask about it I sort of gloss over it. "Oh you write a blog?" "Yeah. So I was doing the laundry yesterday and I found a receipt for Sheetz, which I haven't been to in like, a month. How the hell long has it been since I washed those jeans?" "You mentioned short stories?" "I basically just write anything, to clear some space in my head so I have more room to analyze how Sherlock survived that fall last season."

Things like that.

But I keep reconnecting with people who seem to think there's something interesting about me, and it's making me think there might actually be something interesting about me. So I'm all, yes read my work and help validate my existence. Except that isn't how I feel anymore. I used to think that in order for me to feel confident in my work and about my work that people had to like it. In a way, a very small way, I do still think that, but I've found myself at a point in life recently where I can feel confident regardless of whether people will like it. This world is nowhere near as small as people keep saying it is. It is incredibly vast, and there are so many people on it, and they all have different tastes. So if I'm going to be a successful author, I can't keep writing in the hopes of making everyone love me. I have to write so that I love me, and keep believing that the audience I'm trying to reach is also trying to find me.

The other day I woke up with residual writer's block from the previous evening when I had apparently exhausted all of my mental faculties, which culminated in my writing the same sentence almost word for word three different times with the exception of the last effort, where I actually wrote "insert character name here" instead of the characters name. Which I knew. So I decided it was time for bed. Woke up the next morning feeling the same exhaustion but instead of taking a break from writing and waiting for it to come to me, as is my usual approach, I made myself a cup of coffee (cream, no sugar), opened up the document, and forced myself to write. Forty-five minutes later I had written just over one thousand words. And not only did I not absolutely despise them, they were actually kind of okay. Maybe I'm growing.

I forgot to mention this, or maybe I didn't, but I surpassed my goal for November of 50,000 words by 7. I set the whole thing aside and didn't come back to it until a few days before Christmas. When I deleted more than half of them. That's right. I went through each story, found the really awful parts, found the not-so-good parts, found the parts that were kind of good but felt forced, I even found some really good parts that in a different context would've worked really well. And I deleted the fuck out of them.

When I told a friend about this, it was like I had slapped her in the face, In all honesty, this reaction never occurred to me. At some point very recently, I decided that if I keep holding on to things in the hopes of them getting better I'll never be able to get to the things that are already better, the things that don't need so much work and hand-holding, the things that take so much more time than they should. Writing should be like being in love. Sometimes it's really easy and it just makes sense and it doesn't take any effort whatsoever, it just happens. Sometimes it does take effort, and it is work, but both parties are working, both parties want the best for each other. The things I had to let go of, they weren't working with me. They didn't want to help. They didn't have my best interests in mind. I had theirs in mind, and I knew they would be better off without me. The thing that felt most natural to me, was deleting them. So I set them free.

Maybe they'll come back. But if they don't, it's not the end of the world. If they don't, we'll both still manage.