In the previous post, I just realized, I used the wrong "affect/effect" twice. I am truly, truly ashamed of myself.
I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because peanut butter contains both sugar for an immediate EFFECT and protein for a lating EFFECT.
/shame
November 17, 2010
November 16, 2010
My Eating Habits
When I started at my job five years ago, I had a pretty poor diet. One thing which didn't help was the store I work at was two minutes from Taco Bell and I'm a sucker for that place. A likely meal for me would be a bean burrito with no onions and extra cheese, a Reeces Cup, and a Mountain Dew. I drove to get those things.
In the past three years or so, a lot has changed. Two years ago the store moved, which helped a lot, but the changes had begun even before then. I began walking to Kroger down the strip to buy a frozen dinner and a juice. I stopped eating things like candy and cake. I slowly stopped drinking pop.
This year alone, I can truly count on my fingers the times I've had pop. I have had maybe five orange-soda-floats from Wendy's. I've had, I believe, two Mountain Dews from Taco Bell and two from KFC. Cakes, brownies, and whole candy bars make me want to vomit (cake really, truly makes me feel ill when I eat it).
My parents keep buying me sweets when they go to the store, and right now, I can see a package of carmalized waffle cookies, a box of smores cereal, a box of strawberry shortcake rolls, and a giant Hershey's bar which does have a few bites out of it but that's because my mother wanted some. I have eaten a few of the cakes, with milk, and only when I feel shaky like I'm having a low blood sugar attack (hypoglycemia). What I prefer when I feel an attack is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, mostly because peanut butter supplies both the sugar for immediate affect and protein for a lasting affect. Sometimes I munch here and there out of the cereal but it's taking a long time.
So here's the bottom line: I don't like sweets. And I'm beginning to abhor "home cooking" because all my mother ever makes is fried chicken and macaroni and cheese and hamburger steaks (fried) and fried potatoes and etc. etc. ad nauseum. It's disgusting. I try to keep back-ups for these occasions. Salsa, hummus, cous-cous, guacamole, assortments of cheeses, deli-thin ham.
And breakfast has become some kind of religious experience for me. When I was in grad school, I got out of bed, took a bath, left for school, returned home, ate a bowl of soup, returned to school, returned home, ate cheese and crackers, did homework (ahem, um, yeah) and went back to bed. I lost forty pounds.
Now, breakfast can't just be waffles (my mother happily pulled them out of the bag as though I should have jumped up and down because she bought them - I reminded her I'd throw up within the hour if I ate waffles for breakfast), and it can't just be cereal, and it can't just be a banana. It has to be a meal. A typical breakfast for me, with ingredients hoarded away in the little refrigerator in my bedroom, is an English muffin with an egg, ham, amish swiss cheese, and garden vegetable cream cheese on it. Or it's a breakfast burrito with sausage, egg, cheese, avocado-ranch mix, and taco sauce. Or it's chili cheese home fries with a few slices of turkey bacon. Tomorrow morning I think it's going to be a grilled cheese sandwich with one slice American, one slice muenster, on honey-wheat bread with turkey bacon.
In general I just can't eat like they do. It's hard to buy groceries for six people on $100 or so a week, so what we buy are things like hamburger and huge pork loins that can be divided up. Chicken legs are always extremely cheap for a large package. The rest of my family thinks macaroni and cheese is a gourmet meal. Spaghetti is relatively cheap. Chili is enjoyed by all (including me) and makes a huge pot so we make it about twice a week (it gets old, though, eating the same thing over and over). Tonight we had chicken legs and macaroni and cheese and corn and cottage cheese. I tried to eat a piece of chicken (but it was undercooked so I stopped), some mac and cheese (but it was undercooked so I stopped), and some cottage cheese (it wasn't cooked so it was fine).
The more and more that things like this go on, the more I dream of a studio apartment where I only have to buy food for myself and since I don't eat much, I can get what I want and make it last. And it will be good food, like fruits and vegetables and juice (I drink one cup of coffee in the morning and juice or occasionally tea the rest of the day). I can only imagine the dinners I could make with $100 a week for just me. I don't know that I would even need that much money.
In the past three years or so, a lot has changed. Two years ago the store moved, which helped a lot, but the changes had begun even before then. I began walking to Kroger down the strip to buy a frozen dinner and a juice. I stopped eating things like candy and cake. I slowly stopped drinking pop.
This year alone, I can truly count on my fingers the times I've had pop. I have had maybe five orange-soda-floats from Wendy's. I've had, I believe, two Mountain Dews from Taco Bell and two from KFC. Cakes, brownies, and whole candy bars make me want to vomit (cake really, truly makes me feel ill when I eat it).
My parents keep buying me sweets when they go to the store, and right now, I can see a package of carmalized waffle cookies, a box of smores cereal, a box of strawberry shortcake rolls, and a giant Hershey's bar which does have a few bites out of it but that's because my mother wanted some. I have eaten a few of the cakes, with milk, and only when I feel shaky like I'm having a low blood sugar attack (hypoglycemia). What I prefer when I feel an attack is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, mostly because peanut butter supplies both the sugar for immediate affect and protein for a lasting affect. Sometimes I munch here and there out of the cereal but it's taking a long time.
So here's the bottom line: I don't like sweets. And I'm beginning to abhor "home cooking" because all my mother ever makes is fried chicken and macaroni and cheese and hamburger steaks (fried) and fried potatoes and etc. etc. ad nauseum. It's disgusting. I try to keep back-ups for these occasions. Salsa, hummus, cous-cous, guacamole, assortments of cheeses, deli-thin ham.
And breakfast has become some kind of religious experience for me. When I was in grad school, I got out of bed, took a bath, left for school, returned home, ate a bowl of soup, returned to school, returned home, ate cheese and crackers, did homework (ahem, um, yeah) and went back to bed. I lost forty pounds.
Now, breakfast can't just be waffles (my mother happily pulled them out of the bag as though I should have jumped up and down because she bought them - I reminded her I'd throw up within the hour if I ate waffles for breakfast), and it can't just be cereal, and it can't just be a banana. It has to be a meal. A typical breakfast for me, with ingredients hoarded away in the little refrigerator in my bedroom, is an English muffin with an egg, ham, amish swiss cheese, and garden vegetable cream cheese on it. Or it's a breakfast burrito with sausage, egg, cheese, avocado-ranch mix, and taco sauce. Or it's chili cheese home fries with a few slices of turkey bacon. Tomorrow morning I think it's going to be a grilled cheese sandwich with one slice American, one slice muenster, on honey-wheat bread with turkey bacon.
In general I just can't eat like they do. It's hard to buy groceries for six people on $100 or so a week, so what we buy are things like hamburger and huge pork loins that can be divided up. Chicken legs are always extremely cheap for a large package. The rest of my family thinks macaroni and cheese is a gourmet meal. Spaghetti is relatively cheap. Chili is enjoyed by all (including me) and makes a huge pot so we make it about twice a week (it gets old, though, eating the same thing over and over). Tonight we had chicken legs and macaroni and cheese and corn and cottage cheese. I tried to eat a piece of chicken (but it was undercooked so I stopped), some mac and cheese (but it was undercooked so I stopped), and some cottage cheese (it wasn't cooked so it was fine).
The more and more that things like this go on, the more I dream of a studio apartment where I only have to buy food for myself and since I don't eat much, I can get what I want and make it last. And it will be good food, like fruits and vegetables and juice (I drink one cup of coffee in the morning and juice or occasionally tea the rest of the day). I can only imagine the dinners I could make with $100 a week for just me. I don't know that I would even need that much money.
November 15, 2010
Indistinguishable Work Rant #4000
I called in today to find out my hours for Wednesday. I didn't have them written down. Of course the conversation turned to scheduling the Thanksgiving holiday week and that's when everything blew up and the conversation ended with a looonnngggg awkward silence.
I work at a retail job. You know, if your career goal is to manage your own store or work you way up through a company to CEO or something, that's great. What bothers me is when managers try to force everyone on staff to think of their jobs as the MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THEIR LIVES.
I work 3-5 days a week. This job has a good deal of importance to me right now because it's my only job. We have some people, though, who are in high school or who are just using this job as a supplemental income for their full-time job. They shouldn't have to worry about this job being intrusive on their everyday lives. It shouldn't be a priority to them.
But our company tries to force them to feel like it's a priority. One of the "rules" we have is that you can't expect a set schedule, and you also can't expect weekends off. But you know, if you have a forty-hour job you've worked at for ten years and you're used to having weekends off, or you're used to a set schedule, it might be hard going to get used to being told "no" when you ask for a lot of days off. But on the other hand, you were hired to only work 1-2 days a week anyway, so as long as you're doing that, and as long as there are others who are willing to work the days you're not willing to work, there should be no problem.
And this is what I argued today, because we have an employee who works a full-time job where she has had weekends off for the past ten years or so and she is used to certain traditional vacations and such. She doesn't always request weekends off, but at this time of the year, with extended holidays and traditions, she has requested a good number of days off (still giving us leeway to schedule her 1-2 shifts each week, though). But she isn't working any weekend day in November. She has told us she's almost completely open in December to make up for this. What's the problem, right?
It's a huuugggeee problem to the company. Because we have to look at this as a business, you know. And if our needs say you can't go on your traditional Thanksgiving trip for no other reason than we think you should be forced to work at least one weekend in November, then you'll just have to suffer. We never promised you'd get days off if you request them.
My manager and I got into a huge (but calm) argument where she tried to remind me that she can't be worried about the other coworker's perspective, but has to think about our needs. But you know what? We don't need her to work any of those weekends. We have plenty of people who are available and WILLING to work those weekends. This is nothing more than the company's power play, underscored by my manager's words of "I can't give [the coworker] the upper hand." And I just interrupted her after a while and said, simply, "I don't agree." And I repeated it after she tried to convince me a few more times and then there was awkward silence which she ended by saying, "So you just needed your schedule," and my reply of "Yep."
I'm just so tired of hearing the words "This is retail." So the fuck what? And furthermore, exactly! I really, really don't have what it takes to care about a business like this.
I work at a retail job. You know, if your career goal is to manage your own store or work you way up through a company to CEO or something, that's great. What bothers me is when managers try to force everyone on staff to think of their jobs as the MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THEIR LIVES.
I work 3-5 days a week. This job has a good deal of importance to me right now because it's my only job. We have some people, though, who are in high school or who are just using this job as a supplemental income for their full-time job. They shouldn't have to worry about this job being intrusive on their everyday lives. It shouldn't be a priority to them.
But our company tries to force them to feel like it's a priority. One of the "rules" we have is that you can't expect a set schedule, and you also can't expect weekends off. But you know, if you have a forty-hour job you've worked at for ten years and you're used to having weekends off, or you're used to a set schedule, it might be hard going to get used to being told "no" when you ask for a lot of days off. But on the other hand, you were hired to only work 1-2 days a week anyway, so as long as you're doing that, and as long as there are others who are willing to work the days you're not willing to work, there should be no problem.
And this is what I argued today, because we have an employee who works a full-time job where she has had weekends off for the past ten years or so and she is used to certain traditional vacations and such. She doesn't always request weekends off, but at this time of the year, with extended holidays and traditions, she has requested a good number of days off (still giving us leeway to schedule her 1-2 shifts each week, though). But she isn't working any weekend day in November. She has told us she's almost completely open in December to make up for this. What's the problem, right?
It's a huuugggeee problem to the company. Because we have to look at this as a business, you know. And if our needs say you can't go on your traditional Thanksgiving trip for no other reason than we think you should be forced to work at least one weekend in November, then you'll just have to suffer. We never promised you'd get days off if you request them.
My manager and I got into a huge (but calm) argument where she tried to remind me that she can't be worried about the other coworker's perspective, but has to think about our needs. But you know what? We don't need her to work any of those weekends. We have plenty of people who are available and WILLING to work those weekends. This is nothing more than the company's power play, underscored by my manager's words of "I can't give [the coworker] the upper hand." And I just interrupted her after a while and said, simply, "I don't agree." And I repeated it after she tried to convince me a few more times and then there was awkward silence which she ended by saying, "So you just needed your schedule," and my reply of "Yep."
I'm just so tired of hearing the words "This is retail." So the fuck what? And furthermore, exactly! I really, really don't have what it takes to care about a business like this.
November 13, 2010
"By"
I wish when people did translations/put out editions/wrote forwards for books, places like Amazon wouldn't list the book by the translator's/editor's/forwarder's name. I went to purchase The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann, and the first book is listed as "By H.T. Lowe-Porter, Thomas Mann, and John E. Woods." I don't know who Lowe-Porter is in the book, but John Woods is the dude who translated from German to English. You know, mad props to him because that's an endeavor, but it still doesn't mean that he wrote it. It should just be by Thomas Mann, with special thanks somewhere else on the Amazon page and somewhere in the beginning of he book (on the title page?) for the other guys. This is really, really confusing to kids who have no idea how to do a bibliography and who have no idea who really wrote this book.
This also applies to the date a certain edition was published. I bought The Water-Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby by Charles Kingsley and my edition (elsewhere in the house and I'm not getting it right now) has a copyright of, like, 1956 or something. Now, I know, because I know, that the book was written around 1834. But what if someone didn't know that? I just went to make sure I was getting the title right and the edition I saw said 2008. It just makes me insane. And sometimes, the copyright page does not have the original date on it. Trust me, my edition of The Water-Babies doesn't.
This also applies to the date a certain edition was published. I bought The Water-Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby by Charles Kingsley and my edition (elsewhere in the house and I'm not getting it right now) has a copyright of, like, 1956 or something. Now, I know, because I know, that the book was written around 1834. But what if someone didn't know that? I just went to make sure I was getting the title right and the edition I saw said 2008. It just makes me insane. And sometimes, the copyright page does not have the original date on it. Trust me, my edition of The Water-Babies doesn't.
November 9, 2010
Conan's Ratings
Last night, Conan O'Brien's new show debuted on TBS. It drew 4.2 million viewers, beating both Jay Leno and David Letterman. Um, but not by much and, worse, that's no spectacular debut even for cable. Where are all the fans who promised to follow him and support him? His ratings might go up, but by most accounts that will probably drop and he'll eventually be even with Leno and Letterman. So, what did this get him other than a martyr card? A good deal of the reviews I've seen are all about the ratings because when it is about the content it's mediocre at best, especially the interviewing. So he's just going to do another damn talk show? Like the one he failed with at NBC? Like all of the ones that are failing on all the networks right now?
In Response
This is in response to a post on another site. It will be short and sweet.
Once you told me you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with your husband when you realized you wanted to talk to him, day and night, and be with him, day and night.
When you call me about whatever it is you call me about...friends, family, the smelly guy on the bus...I answer because I want to talk to you day and night.
There's a man I let get away while chasing another man. He was a Prince in literal terms - it was his last name. I loved talking to him because I felt like he understood me on every level I could imagine and boy was that sexy once I realized he was gone.
I know you might not understand every decision I make but I feel like you understand me. We don't always agree but that's not what friendship or marriage or world peace is about. And I feel like you understand this as much as I do.
Once you told me you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with your husband when you realized you wanted to talk to him, day and night, and be with him, day and night.
When you call me about whatever it is you call me about...friends, family, the smelly guy on the bus...I answer because I want to talk to you day and night.
There's a man I let get away while chasing another man. He was a Prince in literal terms - it was his last name. I loved talking to him because I felt like he understood me on every level I could imagine and boy was that sexy once I realized he was gone.
I know you might not understand every decision I make but I feel like you understand me. We don't always agree but that's not what friendship or marriage or world peace is about. And I feel like you understand this as much as I do.
Series Reading
Ever since I was little, I've read book series...es. It started off with The Sleepover Friends and a little of The Babysitters Club and from there graduated on to series...es with multiple authors like Star Trek: The Next Generation and Dragonlance. Of course, you know how much I love The Dark Tower Series, not to mention The Dark Is Rising and Harry Potter.
Oh, and there's The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. But not so much, really.
I just enjoy, more than anything, becoming attached to these characters. A friend of mine in college said he couldn't get into Harry Potter (during the time our entire magazine staff was passing around my copy of The Goblet of Fire) because it involved getting committed to the characters. Of course, he had at that time a reputation for dating all the women in the department. I remember another friend saying she was going to be the one who changed him, and then he dumped her like a month later. What does it say about our characters by the books we choose?
I also get attached to celebrities. Vehemently. And always older men. It started with strange small crushes when I was little...like Ed Begley F...ing Jr. You read that. Transylvania 6-5000 anyone? While my sisters were swooning for Jeff Goldblum I was in love with Ed. Begley. F...ing. Jr. (I still, stupidly, get butterflies when I see him.)
Then it was Garth Brooks. Then Jay Leno. Now it's Tim Gunn. Attached.
The heroes of my favorite books are all men. Roland from Dark Tower. Commander Riker and then Lt. Commander Data from Star Trek. Not just from series...es, but also from novels in general. Aureliano Buendia from One Hundred Years of Solitude. Agamemnon from The Iliad. The author Jorge Luis Borges (most brilliant mind in all of literature). What does this obsession with men say about me?
I know what one person out there is thinking. And, well, yeah, I do. But I've been thinking a lot about what one of my college professors asked me about my writing: "Why don't you ever have female characters?" My main characters are always men. My book series, the one I'm writing, has two male leads and one female lead. She isn't the main character (although close). When her parts were a separate (somewhat autobiographical) novel, I felt like it would get critical acclaim but that I wouldn't love it. The series I'm writing is one I feel like I could love, like I could write it forever, but I think it's going to get a lot of flack. It's...grand, and I mean that in the sense that magical shit along with preposterous shit is going to happen, but...it's my fantasy. Even though the female character is in a sense me plopped down into my own fantasy I feel closest to the two men. I don't know how to describe it, which is my job, you know?
I'm just trying to make heads or tails with what I'm doing as I plug along in my writing. I feel like it's silly to feel like I have to justify why I'm writing this series. It goes back to what one of my favorite professors asked me once, somewhat painfully, "Why would anyone ever write this story?" I think now that he was trying to get me to answer important questions about my purpose in my own writing - was I in it for entertainment or critical acclaim or what - but at sometimes I worry that he meant the story was just plain awful. I don't know.
Oh, and there's The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. But not so much, really.
I just enjoy, more than anything, becoming attached to these characters. A friend of mine in college said he couldn't get into Harry Potter (during the time our entire magazine staff was passing around my copy of The Goblet of Fire) because it involved getting committed to the characters. Of course, he had at that time a reputation for dating all the women in the department. I remember another friend saying she was going to be the one who changed him, and then he dumped her like a month later. What does it say about our characters by the books we choose?
I also get attached to celebrities. Vehemently. And always older men. It started with strange small crushes when I was little...like Ed Begley F...ing Jr. You read that. Transylvania 6-5000 anyone? While my sisters were swooning for Jeff Goldblum I was in love with Ed. Begley. F...ing. Jr. (I still, stupidly, get butterflies when I see him.)
Then it was Garth Brooks. Then Jay Leno. Now it's Tim Gunn. Attached.
The heroes of my favorite books are all men. Roland from Dark Tower. Commander Riker and then Lt. Commander Data from Star Trek. Not just from series...es, but also from novels in general. Aureliano Buendia from One Hundred Years of Solitude. Agamemnon from The Iliad. The author Jorge Luis Borges (most brilliant mind in all of literature). What does this obsession with men say about me?
I know what one person out there is thinking. And, well, yeah, I do. But I've been thinking a lot about what one of my college professors asked me about my writing: "Why don't you ever have female characters?" My main characters are always men. My book series, the one I'm writing, has two male leads and one female lead. She isn't the main character (although close). When her parts were a separate (somewhat autobiographical) novel, I felt like it would get critical acclaim but that I wouldn't love it. The series I'm writing is one I feel like I could love, like I could write it forever, but I think it's going to get a lot of flack. It's...grand, and I mean that in the sense that magical shit along with preposterous shit is going to happen, but...it's my fantasy. Even though the female character is in a sense me plopped down into my own fantasy I feel closest to the two men. I don't know how to describe it, which is my job, you know?
I'm just trying to make heads or tails with what I'm doing as I plug along in my writing. I feel like it's silly to feel like I have to justify why I'm writing this series. It goes back to what one of my favorite professors asked me once, somewhat painfully, "Why would anyone ever write this story?" I think now that he was trying to get me to answer important questions about my purpose in my own writing - was I in it for entertainment or critical acclaim or what - but at sometimes I worry that he meant the story was just plain awful. I don't know.
November 1, 2010
A Post.Script.
I don't talk about my FEELINGS very often because I don't feel like I really deserve to have any form of depression. What do I have to be depressed about? Who the hell am I? Aren't there people I know, who I love, who have real problems and I'm just a horrible human being for selfishly talking about me?
The answers to these questions are: Nothing. Nobody. Yes and, quite frankly, yes.
I don't know what to do with all of this. It's coming out in the novel, which has morphed from being two separate stories into one gigantic, epic...thing.
Maybe I've been misunderstanding what I can talk about here. Maybe this can be a sort of therapy, even if I am both patient and therapist. Maybe I can purge myself and maybe this can be a good enough screaming session.
It's also because I don't want anyone to really worry about me. I can take care of myself, mentally. I think. Please just read this and don't worry because I'm just venting and maybe this will at least give me some kind of relief. It is already, I can tell you that.
The answers to these questions are: Nothing. Nobody. Yes and, quite frankly, yes.
I don't know what to do with all of this. It's coming out in the novel, which has morphed from being two separate stories into one gigantic, epic...thing.
Maybe I've been misunderstanding what I can talk about here. Maybe this can be a sort of therapy, even if I am both patient and therapist. Maybe I can purge myself and maybe this can be a good enough screaming session.
It's also because I don't want anyone to really worry about me. I can take care of myself, mentally. I think. Please just read this and don't worry because I'm just venting and maybe this will at least give me some kind of relief. It is already, I can tell you that.
Get Out of My Fucking House!
Please give me a job, Marion Technical College.
I have to get out of here.
Right now, there are eight other people in my house. Every five minutes they say they're leaving and then something - remembering why they need to use our phone or why they need to drink another glass of milk - stops them. There are two five-year-olds, two teenagers, a twenty-something, a married couple who do nothing but scream at each other, and my mother. Oh, wait, my mother just took my debit card to put gas in my car to go get another teenager. The two five-year-olds are throwing fits and the one who isn't related to me is being extremely rude. I don't like her. I refuse to hide it.
They are right now going in and out and slamming the door and yelling and I JUST. CAN'T. TAKE. IT. Why aren't you doing this at your own house? Why, every day, do you ALL have to come into mine?
I applied at the Columbus Dispatch and the Delaware Gazette. I applied at Marion Tech. I recontacted Ohio Wesleyan and put my name in their brains again. I asked for an application at the library and they told me they weren't hiring. I'm thinking of applying at Kroger.
It's not really for lack of money or for want of anything. I (with the coming of the Kindle) have everything I could ever want, materialistically. I have shelter and food and enough spending money to splurge here and there.
But what I NEED is peace and mutha fuckin' quiet. You know, back in the day, I wanted so badly to have twelve kids and now - NOW - I just want a studio apartment where I grow old with my cat. Because I've had enough socialization. I'm not a social butterfly by nature and even with my bedroom door closed and locked I can feel their negativity oozing in under the door. I might begin insulating it with towels. They call to me to ask if I have Ibuprofen. They call to me to ask if I want candy from last night. They call to me to ask if I have money.
I can't even leave because my mother is off with the car. When I do leave to go somewhere, say the library or the local bookstore/coffee shop, my mother calls me five minutes after I get there to ask if I can go pick up my niece from school (where she's pretending to be sick) or if I can go to the bank and get ten dollars so my brother can have gas for his car (money I will never see again). Can I drop my nephew off at work on the other side of town before I head off to work? Can I give my sister twenty dollars so she can get some cigarettes and pop? Can I be dropped off and therefore imprisoned at work so yet another niece can be picked up from work in the meantime with my gas and with an attitude like she's entitled to the world?
I used to bite my fingers when I wanted to scream and I don't want to get to that place again. Because I just did it.
I'm getting $100 from my work in a few days for being there for five years. That's what (or more accurately - all) five years is worth to them. I plan to buy all business clothes with it.
The Serious Novel (this is not its title) is about this place I used to be in. Don't worry about me because I'm not going to let myself get there again, but I can't tell you how happy I am when I'm alone. And I can't tell you how alone I feel with all of these people on top of me.
I can't believe I just expressed all of these FEELINGS. I have never, ever spoken about them except to my non-fiction workshop because I had to. Not because I was forced to but because when I WAS forced to write a memoir there was only one topic that felt like the truth. There are eight other people who know about that former place. Sometimes it amazes me what I can give to the public that I can't give to someone face-to-face.
I have to get out of here.
Right now, there are eight other people in my house. Every five minutes they say they're leaving and then something - remembering why they need to use our phone or why they need to drink another glass of milk - stops them. There are two five-year-olds, two teenagers, a twenty-something, a married couple who do nothing but scream at each other, and my mother. Oh, wait, my mother just took my debit card to put gas in my car to go get another teenager. The two five-year-olds are throwing fits and the one who isn't related to me is being extremely rude. I don't like her. I refuse to hide it.
They are right now going in and out and slamming the door and yelling and I JUST. CAN'T. TAKE. IT. Why aren't you doing this at your own house? Why, every day, do you ALL have to come into mine?
I applied at the Columbus Dispatch and the Delaware Gazette. I applied at Marion Tech. I recontacted Ohio Wesleyan and put my name in their brains again. I asked for an application at the library and they told me they weren't hiring. I'm thinking of applying at Kroger.
It's not really for lack of money or for want of anything. I (with the coming of the Kindle) have everything I could ever want, materialistically. I have shelter and food and enough spending money to splurge here and there.
But what I NEED is peace and mutha fuckin' quiet. You know, back in the day, I wanted so badly to have twelve kids and now - NOW - I just want a studio apartment where I grow old with my cat. Because I've had enough socialization. I'm not a social butterfly by nature and even with my bedroom door closed and locked I can feel their negativity oozing in under the door. I might begin insulating it with towels. They call to me to ask if I have Ibuprofen. They call to me to ask if I want candy from last night. They call to me to ask if I have money.
I can't even leave because my mother is off with the car. When I do leave to go somewhere, say the library or the local bookstore/coffee shop, my mother calls me five minutes after I get there to ask if I can go pick up my niece from school (where she's pretending to be sick) or if I can go to the bank and get ten dollars so my brother can have gas for his car (money I will never see again). Can I drop my nephew off at work on the other side of town before I head off to work? Can I give my sister twenty dollars so she can get some cigarettes and pop? Can I be dropped off and therefore imprisoned at work so yet another niece can be picked up from work in the meantime with my gas and with an attitude like she's entitled to the world?
I used to bite my fingers when I wanted to scream and I don't want to get to that place again. Because I just did it.
I'm getting $100 from my work in a few days for being there for five years. That's what (or more accurately - all) five years is worth to them. I plan to buy all business clothes with it.
The Serious Novel (this is not its title) is about this place I used to be in. Don't worry about me because I'm not going to let myself get there again, but I can't tell you how happy I am when I'm alone. And I can't tell you how alone I feel with all of these people on top of me.
I can't believe I just expressed all of these FEELINGS. I have never, ever spoken about them except to my non-fiction workshop because I had to. Not because I was forced to but because when I WAS forced to write a memoir there was only one topic that felt like the truth. There are eight other people who know about that former place. Sometimes it amazes me what I can give to the public that I can't give to someone face-to-face.
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