Pretty Girl is suffering while he confesses everything. She’s beautiful as usual, with bruises on her ego and her killer instinct tell hers to be aware of evil men. Well, that’s what you get for falling again—you can never get him out of your head. It’s the way he’s in your mind. It’s the way he kisses you. It’s the way he makes you fall in love.
One. That number has haunted me all my life. It’s so solitary, so intimidating. So unresolved. I don’t like feeling like I don’t have control over my feelings. I’ve gotten good at surviving all these years with being “one”. So when someone comes along and catches me off guard, I don’t know what to do. I was not expecting this—someone to come along right now and make me question everything that I finally thought I had figured out.
I don’t even know how it happened. This thing that keeps eating away at me. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. Not even a little bit—I went into that class with the firm resolve that I was finally accepting myself. Maybe I was just hiding behinda farce to avoid dealing with my feelings of inadequacy around men. I don’t know, but what I do know is that I don’t want to feel like this anymore.
I took a two week bartending course that I have thoroughly enjoyed. But I feel like I didn’t get any closure. I was just getting used to going there every night and then it was over. I am going to miss it – and I don’t feel like I’m ready to get a job yet. I could use another week of training. I’m going to miss sitting on those smelly barstools next to Carol listening to her ramble on. I’m going to miss the bathroom that never had toilet paper and smelled like pee. I’m going to miss Renee’s jolly laugh and incomprehensible English. Andrea and 100-proof smoking in the freezing weather. Mixing drinks and making mistakes, but always knowing I could start the time clock over again. I get attached to things too fast, many of us do. And I mourn their losses, their endings. I guess it’s only a natural part of life. I didn’t think I would miss it this much- being apart of something other than my normal life. It felt so great to escape for a change. I could be anyone I wanted to be there. I could write my own story. I don’t know what exactly about that experience made me so happy, but I’m going to miss it. I’ll miss the drive and the small school inside of a strip mall. Two weeks isn’t a very long time to love something—but I’ve fallen for things in much less time than that, and other things have had to work for years to get my love. I guess that’s why it’s the most painful—it hurts more when you fall hard and fast then when you love slow and steady.
It hurts because everything happened so fast. Within the course of one night my life was changed. I’m so tired of this life – it’s so boring. I wish everyday could be like that day.
and Valentine's Day is on wednesday. when boys who are asking me to fuck them at a bar proceed to invite me on a little shopping trip to pick our presents for their girlfriends, it makes me want to kill myself.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Monday, January 15, 2007
Just another Manic Monday
Yeah, so we were supposed to have off today for MLK day. But it's deadline time, and so we're all here, slaving away while the rest of the working world is enjoying their holiday. I think I may go back to grad school and get my teaching certificate. Who am I kidding? I'm not cut out for the fashion world. But then I'd have to give up New York. Oh dear god. We'll leave this life decision mess for another day.
I haven't been really feeling right since the holidays. My stomach is all messed up and I've been really sluggish and tired, more so than usual. Anyway, on Friday I ate something questionable for lunch and ended up getting pretty bad cramps towards the end of the work day. So around 4:30, I remember going to the bathroom and being in there for awhile. Now mind you, this is close of the work day on Friday, so I'm not too worried about missing anything. And besides, when you gotta go, you gotta go. So I was probably in the bathroom for 20 minutes, tops. I come back to my desk, then jet out again to the bathroom. DID NOT FEEL WELL FOLKS!
Apparently, my boss, who is based in NJ, was looking for me while i was in the bathroom quite sick. But I guess the other boss who is in my office thought I left for the night. So she told him I went home early. Now I get into work today, MLK day, supposed to be an easy breezy day. And I get a phone call from the Big Boss in NJ about my behavior on Friday.
He's all "You can't just leave early. We had this conversation once before. I expect you here during business hours when I need you. No one could find you. Why did you leave early? I don't want to have this conversation again."
Now this completely blindsided me, so I didn't know what to say. I was just like "okay, sorry?" After we hung up, I started to think about Friday. (not that i can actually remember through my drunkfest of a weekend) and realized that Hey! i didn't leave early on Friday, I was stuck in the bathroom. So I wrote him an email basically saying that I was sick in the bathroom and I didn't leave early. True, maybe it was total TMI, but I'm not going to let him think I skipped out early when I didn't. Maybe he'll fire me for being so inappropiate. Maybe he'll do me a favor. But knowing my luck, I'll still be here tomorrow!
I haven't been really feeling right since the holidays. My stomach is all messed up and I've been really sluggish and tired, more so than usual. Anyway, on Friday I ate something questionable for lunch and ended up getting pretty bad cramps towards the end of the work day. So around 4:30, I remember going to the bathroom and being in there for awhile. Now mind you, this is close of the work day on Friday, so I'm not too worried about missing anything. And besides, when you gotta go, you gotta go. So I was probably in the bathroom for 20 minutes, tops. I come back to my desk, then jet out again to the bathroom. DID NOT FEEL WELL FOLKS!
Apparently, my boss, who is based in NJ, was looking for me while i was in the bathroom quite sick. But I guess the other boss who is in my office thought I left for the night. So she told him I went home early. Now I get into work today, MLK day, supposed to be an easy breezy day. And I get a phone call from the Big Boss in NJ about my behavior on Friday.
He's all "You can't just leave early. We had this conversation once before. I expect you here during business hours when I need you. No one could find you. Why did you leave early? I don't want to have this conversation again."
Now this completely blindsided me, so I didn't know what to say. I was just like "okay, sorry?" After we hung up, I started to think about Friday. (not that i can actually remember through my drunkfest of a weekend) and realized that Hey! i didn't leave early on Friday, I was stuck in the bathroom. So I wrote him an email basically saying that I was sick in the bathroom and I didn't leave early. True, maybe it was total TMI, but I'm not going to let him think I skipped out early when I didn't. Maybe he'll fire me for being so inappropiate. Maybe he'll do me a favor. But knowing my luck, I'll still be here tomorrow!
Why is work the worst?
Did you ever wake up one morning and realize that you’re life is not on track? I’m sure everyone has. I feel like I’m wasting my life. Sitting here, watching the minutes tick by. I can see myself in three years, five years, if I stayed here. I would be her. Living in a one-bedroom apartment with my cat, paying the rent and still driving the same beat up car. Realizing that your dreams will never come true, that you’re destined to fulfill the role as the typical middle American corporate climber is enough to make me want to kill myself. God knows people have to pay their bills. It’s a part of life- necessary to stay afloat and live the life you need. But where do you draw the line? When can you say, this job is paying my bills, but at what price? If you are utilizing your talents, and you are making money, then by all means, keep trucking. If you feel fulfilled coming to a fourth floor office suite everyday and answering to your relentless boss who isn’t even in the same state, please stay. Maybe it’s not fulfilling your every dream; maybe it’s not the job you wished for as a teen. Maybe if you had seen yourself here when you graduated from college, you would have pursued that lead to Rolling Stone. I don’t know, I can’t answer for other people. The only person I have to answer to is myself. I feel confined here; I feel suffocated. I feel like every time I walk through the doors of Two Cheekwood Square the life is being slowly drained out of my soul. I have a pretty strong spirit and a pretty energetic outlook on life. But sitting here, day after day, watching the sun fade through the trees and parking lot, burning into the blacktop, I feel so empty.
The more they tell me that I’m late and inconsistent, the more it makes me want to stick it to them. To show them that I don’t need this job, I don’t need their charity. Maybe I do, I don’t know. I just can’t see the point in staying here. The more they criticize me, the later I come in. Because the only thing that gets me through is that knowing in four months I will walk into their offices, sit down and proclaim that I am going back to school to become a teacher. Thank you for the opportunity, but I’m not cut out for the corporate world. It has no soul for me; it holds no meaning. And without any meaning, I will not do a good job. It’s better for both of us if I wash my hands of this crime I’ve committed against myself. I just have to free myself before they do it for me. I thought I was doing the absolute minimum needed to get by, just enough to stay afloat. I don’t want a bad review; I don’t want to get fired. I just want to be. I cannot bring myself to go out of my way for them. I think what they do is shallow and empty and petty. It doesn’t matter in the long run. But guess what, if they knew me, they would see my dreams as shallow and empty too. But those are my dreams, and they are what is real to me. What makes me high.
People weren’t meant to spend their days inside whitewashed walls, staring into cyberspace. I know I’m not special, everyone feels this way about their job. We’re almost inebriated to think that people are supposed to hate their jobs. After all, isn’t that why they call it work? But that hollow explanation isn’t good enough for me. Maybe it’s because I do have some luxuries that other people don’t have. I have the support from my parents, financial and otherwise, to possibly pursue an obscure dream. That’s not to say I can piss away their money any way I see fit. But I can continue living at home if I decide to take a different path.
Maybe I’m not cut out for the corporate world. I just can’t make sense of all this constant chaos- it’s so, so meaningless to me. We sell ads to companies who sell products. In return for their money, we grant them ad space and editorials on the glorious world of convenience store retailing. It’s a giant circle- one without proper cause or conviction. I don’t see the purpose in business-to-business retailing. Some people live for it- I’d rather die than see my life be here.
I know what my interests are- I know what I’m good at. I think I’m late all the time because I have no motivation to care. There’s nothing here for me worth caring about. My writing is the only salvation at this soulless enterprise. Seeing my name in print almost makes everything worth it- almost. I feel like that is where Kristy finds her solace, her reason to hanging onto this place. Because she knows that no matter what bullshit is going on, the corporate politics, and ass kissing of retailers, that she will find her name in print at the end of each month. That she knows she is accomplishing is still art- in a very limited, watered-down way, but nonetheless, it’s still her art. She is creating something out of nothing, putting these people’s stories into words. That is her savior- her writing. I guess it’s all she ever wanted to do, and she got it. She’s in charge here, she gets to write her pieces each month. It’s a good job, a steady job, a solid job- it pays her bills and allows her for one minute each month to revel in the fact that maybe she’s done something to better the world. She’s put her talents out there for everyone to read. Even if she’s only writing about grocery stores, it’s still her writing on the page.
Maybe I’m not that strong, or maybe I’m not that stupid. I don’t know which it is. I’m not a follower- I never have been. I can’t make my way in this world by being blind. I know better- I’ve seen better. I know that it’s possible to be great. Not mediocre, not the best out of a bunch of losers. But to live out something is inside of you burning- something that fills your soul and brings the light to your eyes. I want to live that- I want to live my truth.
The more they tell me that I’m late and inconsistent, the more it makes me want to stick it to them. To show them that I don’t need this job, I don’t need their charity. Maybe I do, I don’t know. I just can’t see the point in staying here. The more they criticize me, the later I come in. Because the only thing that gets me through is that knowing in four months I will walk into their offices, sit down and proclaim that I am going back to school to become a teacher. Thank you for the opportunity, but I’m not cut out for the corporate world. It has no soul for me; it holds no meaning. And without any meaning, I will not do a good job. It’s better for both of us if I wash my hands of this crime I’ve committed against myself. I just have to free myself before they do it for me. I thought I was doing the absolute minimum needed to get by, just enough to stay afloat. I don’t want a bad review; I don’t want to get fired. I just want to be. I cannot bring myself to go out of my way for them. I think what they do is shallow and empty and petty. It doesn’t matter in the long run. But guess what, if they knew me, they would see my dreams as shallow and empty too. But those are my dreams, and they are what is real to me. What makes me high.
People weren’t meant to spend their days inside whitewashed walls, staring into cyberspace. I know I’m not special, everyone feels this way about their job. We’re almost inebriated to think that people are supposed to hate their jobs. After all, isn’t that why they call it work? But that hollow explanation isn’t good enough for me. Maybe it’s because I do have some luxuries that other people don’t have. I have the support from my parents, financial and otherwise, to possibly pursue an obscure dream. That’s not to say I can piss away their money any way I see fit. But I can continue living at home if I decide to take a different path.
Maybe I’m not cut out for the corporate world. I just can’t make sense of all this constant chaos- it’s so, so meaningless to me. We sell ads to companies who sell products. In return for their money, we grant them ad space and editorials on the glorious world of convenience store retailing. It’s a giant circle- one without proper cause or conviction. I don’t see the purpose in business-to-business retailing. Some people live for it- I’d rather die than see my life be here.
I know what my interests are- I know what I’m good at. I think I’m late all the time because I have no motivation to care. There’s nothing here for me worth caring about. My writing is the only salvation at this soulless enterprise. Seeing my name in print almost makes everything worth it- almost. I feel like that is where Kristy finds her solace, her reason to hanging onto this place. Because she knows that no matter what bullshit is going on, the corporate politics, and ass kissing of retailers, that she will find her name in print at the end of each month. That she knows she is accomplishing is still art- in a very limited, watered-down way, but nonetheless, it’s still her art. She is creating something out of nothing, putting these people’s stories into words. That is her savior- her writing. I guess it’s all she ever wanted to do, and she got it. She’s in charge here, she gets to write her pieces each month. It’s a good job, a steady job, a solid job- it pays her bills and allows her for one minute each month to revel in the fact that maybe she’s done something to better the world. She’s put her talents out there for everyone to read. Even if she’s only writing about grocery stores, it’s still her writing on the page.
Maybe I’m not that strong, or maybe I’m not that stupid. I don’t know which it is. I’m not a follower- I never have been. I can’t make my way in this world by being blind. I know better- I’ve seen better. I know that it’s possible to be great. Not mediocre, not the best out of a bunch of losers. But to live out something is inside of you burning- something that fills your soul and brings the light to your eyes. I want to live that- I want to live my truth.
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