Week ending 10/27/2013.
Fear: I can't sleep between 4:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m. Why? Night Terrors. Often, outright hallucinations, usually about clothing, towels, and curtains. Patterns turn into faces, people in pictures move, a crumpled pair of jeans is really a demon. The truth is, for that hour, I watch the clock like a fucking maniac, because at 5:00 I will be safe again. Nothing can get me at 5:00 a.m.
Disgust: A frequent customer (who...does not have a rockin' body) came out of the fitting room on Tuesday wearing only her sweatshirt, her underwear, and a pair of cowboy boots she was trying on. She wanted to try other sizes in the boots. So she bent over to read box sizes and exchange between the sizes. Pink granny panties, FYI.
Sadness: A teenager called me middle-aged. She was talking to me and two other ladies. We are 34, 31, and 49 years old. The teenager was talking about technology, and said, "Middle-aged people like you all just didn't grow up with it like we did." I...don't want to be one of those women who can't face her age, but sometimes reminders creep up on me that I'm not exactly young anymore and that I need to get going with my life.
Anger: I have a plane ticket from Seattle to home. Not one from home to Seattle, though. Because at the time when I had just enough money for one ticket, the flights there numbered twenty and the flights back numbered five. I thought, I'd better secure a seat on one of those five planes and I'll have the money for one of the outgoing planes soon. Nope! That was June. Every time I have the money something happens. Is it a sign? I've never been on a vacation, not really, especially one on my own. I want this so badly.
Happiness: A real phone! With texting! I was tired of all these people around me, who have no jobs, who steal and sell other people's possessions for drug money, having phones worth hundreds of dollars while I had a five-year-old flip phone. So, I sucked it up and got a Smartphone. It isn't the greatest one out there, but it will do and it will do everything theirs will do without the hefty $600 or so price. How do they even get these phones? Whatever, it doesn't matter because now I have a real phone, too!
Surprise: The cat lady asked me to babysit her cats again while she's on vacation for a week. She pays well. This is at a time when I'm a little stretched, monetarily, and her offer was just amazing timing. She...always seems to make these offers at the exact time I need a little extra cash. It gives me pause.
Random Fact: If you want to kill me, lock me in a room with only canned food and an electric can opener. I do not understand how to work them. My mother once threw away all the manual can openers and that night we had to go buy a new one so I could open cans when no one else was home.
Showing posts with label my new life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my new life. Show all posts
October 28, 2013
December 31, 2012
New Year's Resolutions/Confessions
Happy New Year!
The past year has been one where I've been very unhappy. I don't know if it's been THE most miserable of my life, but it's up there. This year I learned how I look to creditors (like a wet-behind-the-ears child), I felt like a prisoner (had to give up my car for a few months when we lost our second car), I feared losing people I love (friends and family), and I struggled with money (having to support my sister and her brood when she blew through $10,000 and then again when she up and quit her job and didn't get another one for over a month). I've been very stressed out. Normally, I don't talk about my FEELINGS, so I don't really open up to many people. I've always felt a little like my problems are less than others' problems so I bottle myself up. This post is going to be about expressing some FEELINGS and making some resolutions.
First, I wanted to run through the six major emotions and give an example of how I've felt each one in the past twelve months. The six emotions are fear, disgust, sadness, anger, happiness, and surprise. I've said it before (though somewhere else, I believe), those are some depressing emotions. The only chance for happiness is, well, happiness, and possibly surprise. Let's see if I was surprised for the better this year -
1) Fear: This year I've been afraid that I'm just a convenience to most people. I feel this way a lot, in every aspect of my life. From my house, where I feel like a convenient meal ticket, to my job, where I feel like a convenient filler, to my friendships, where I feel like a convenient backup. I wonder what's wrong with me? I fear that people often realize there isn't much to me, that I'm too boring, too shy, too nervous. I fear that I have to admit they're right. In the beginning, I meet new people and they want to go out after work or out to dinner on a weekend. We make plans a few times, we go out. Eventually I ask them to go out and they're busy. Then they aren't busy as long as someone else is coming. Then they make plans with that person right in front of me and don't invite me and that is very painful. But then I think how I'm not exciting. My hobbies are reading and video games. Who the hell would be interested in me? Sometimes later they ask me after they've been rejected and don't realize I was standing right there and now I know they're only asking me for their own convenience. I'm probably not even Plan B.
2) Disgust: I've felt disgusted with several members of my family. From my sister mooching from everyone around her to my niece's "I just tell the truth" piss-poor attitude, I've felt disgusted at a lot of the hypocrisy surrounding me on a daily basis. On Christmas my sister, who got pregnant at seventeen years old, told another niece she was a whore for getting pregnant at twenty-one. ON CHRISTMAS. Then, hours later, several members of my family decided to rant and rail about this WHORE in front of a guest, a somewhat stranger, a ninety-year-old invalid who my sister-in-law takes care of and who has no family and came to our house to celebrate Christmas with someone. I was so embarrassed. My mother was mortified. She tried to get them to stop but, you know, sorry, someone has to tell the truth and they're all just telling the truth. The truth hurts. It's also ugly. And often hypocritical. And disgusting.
3) Sadness: It was sad that my middle sister, who is handicapped but pretty much totally independent, was told she might have to make a choice between death and being bedridden for life. It's been frustrating and sad to see someone punished who is trying, who is taking care of her children, who helps her parents and everyone around her whenever she can. What force in the universe has decided this? I know it's just the luck of the draw, just circumstance, but where am I supposed to scream about the unfairness of it all? I'm somewhat sad that I have nowhere to turn for even cathartic blame. Luck. Fucking LUCK. So far my sister has staved off making this choice. I don't know when her LUCK will run out, though. It's sad that I know in my heart it will be soon.
4) Anger: Anger. I have felt a lot of anger. I'm angry at myself, mostly. I've made my bed. I've relied on my parents for too long and caused the situation where I have no substantial credit history. I've allowed myself to get comfortable in a mediocre job. I've procrastinated. I've wallowed in so-called "writer's block." I've secreted myself away and pushed away my friends. Isn't my sister who lives with me just projecting her internal FEELINGS when she calls people lazy, calls them stupid, calls them WHORES? My anger with her is anger with myself. I haven't saved money. I haven't endeavored for a better job or developed the discipline to turn my talent into something real. I haven't changed my routine of wake up, work, play on the computer, read, sleep. Again, who could be interested in me? Not just socially but financially, career-wise, etc.? Who am I and what am I doing? Where am I going, where have I been? I'll be thirty-four and I can't even FIND my diploma for graduate school. What the hell have I done with it?
5) Happiness: I don't know. There were little moments. I was happy when I got my car back after about six months of never being able to use it. I was happy when I discovered the writer Haruki Murakami. I was happy when I found a Chocolate Orange in a random place at the grocery store because I've searched up and down for them. I was happy listening to Gene Wilder read an audiobook. I was happy when an antibiotic finally cleared up the acne on my face (please let it last). I'm trying so hard to think of something big. To think of a moment that carried me through longer than a day or two. Maybe...maybe happiness is just those little moments? Maybe I should print that out and tape it above my bed. Maybe every day I need to sit down and remember the one thing that made me happy that day, even if it's just the hot UPS man calling me "dear."
6) Surprise: I was suprised to admit to myself it's okay to be unhappy. I've spent so much time being upset when my somewhat happier childhood was brushed off as though I was less of a person for feeling happy. Pain is supposedly what makes us human. I hated the words, "You don't know how that feels," because it was like my life was not valid because I hadn't experienced this or that. I still don't cater to that theory. Everyone, even happy people, are valid. Their opinions and FEELINGS are valid. But...I'm a little less happy than I have been in the past. And that doesn't break my theory. I don't feel stronger. I don't necessarily feel weaker, either. I feel...different. I feel...focused? I feel...exposed? I feel....
So I've made some resolutions. Some I've made before, like reading and writing schedules. It WILL happen. This time (I mean it) I don't have a goal as much as a routine. I will read one book, then take a day off to reflect on that book, then read another book, etc. One thing I've learned about myself recently is that I don't like to read books back-to-back. I like to ruminate. I like to bounce around ideas and uncover flaws and discover wonders. I like to return to particularly intriguing passages. When I was finished reading 1Q84 by Murakami, I tried immediately reading another book and what happened was I hated the newer book because I wanted to return to parts of 1Q84 and think. I know, it sounds like homework, this routine. It sounds like all of the pleasure is being taken out of picking up a book and getting lost in it. But I promise, for me, this is how I can make myself happy.
The next resolution is about money. I'm going to keep a ledger. I want to see where my money goes. I already started an informal one and for the most part my money goes toward the little groceries we need to keep the house running (milk, toilet paper, bread) and I go to the store for those things almost daily. Last week I bought five gallons of milk. FIVE GALLONS. Everyone at my job knows when my parents call me they're going to ask me to pick something up at the grocery store after work. So my resolution is this: I will keep two columns - one where I write down the exact amount I've spent and one where I round up to the next dollar. At the end of the month I will put the difference into a separate account. Also, any money left out of my paycheck at the end of every two weeks will go into my savings account. That's a third account, by the way. I will have two checking accounts and a savings account. The savings account is for absolute - and I mean life-and-death - emergencies. The second checking account is for smaller emergencies, though my plan is to try very hard not to touch it either. These two accounts are secret. I also have a 401(k) and life insurance. I WILL start saving money.
My final (big) resolution is to get out and do something. The local bookstore hosts readings, bands, and other events and I'm going to attend at least one of these events each month. There is a great wood-fired pizza place right down the street and the bookstore has wi-fi, coffee, and well, books. Yeah, I'll need some money. But when I look at how much money I spend getting Subway when I could be making cous-cous and salads that last for several meals and are awesomely fresh-sealed in a jar, I realize that splurging on a $7 pizza and a $10 book once a month isn't what will break my bank. And now that I have my car back, I can go anywhere I damn-well please for as long as it pleases me. And I WILL.
I need to do these things to put myself on some sort of track. These things aren't major life changes but they are what I feel I can do right now. Do what you can with what you have, right? Right.
I WILL have a happier new year.
The past year has been one where I've been very unhappy. I don't know if it's been THE most miserable of my life, but it's up there. This year I learned how I look to creditors (like a wet-behind-the-ears child), I felt like a prisoner (had to give up my car for a few months when we lost our second car), I feared losing people I love (friends and family), and I struggled with money (having to support my sister and her brood when she blew through $10,000 and then again when she up and quit her job and didn't get another one for over a month). I've been very stressed out. Normally, I don't talk about my FEELINGS, so I don't really open up to many people. I've always felt a little like my problems are less than others' problems so I bottle myself up. This post is going to be about expressing some FEELINGS and making some resolutions.
First, I wanted to run through the six major emotions and give an example of how I've felt each one in the past twelve months. The six emotions are fear, disgust, sadness, anger, happiness, and surprise. I've said it before (though somewhere else, I believe), those are some depressing emotions. The only chance for happiness is, well, happiness, and possibly surprise. Let's see if I was surprised for the better this year -
1) Fear: This year I've been afraid that I'm just a convenience to most people. I feel this way a lot, in every aspect of my life. From my house, where I feel like a convenient meal ticket, to my job, where I feel like a convenient filler, to my friendships, where I feel like a convenient backup. I wonder what's wrong with me? I fear that people often realize there isn't much to me, that I'm too boring, too shy, too nervous. I fear that I have to admit they're right. In the beginning, I meet new people and they want to go out after work or out to dinner on a weekend. We make plans a few times, we go out. Eventually I ask them to go out and they're busy. Then they aren't busy as long as someone else is coming. Then they make plans with that person right in front of me and don't invite me and that is very painful. But then I think how I'm not exciting. My hobbies are reading and video games. Who the hell would be interested in me? Sometimes later they ask me after they've been rejected and don't realize I was standing right there and now I know they're only asking me for their own convenience. I'm probably not even Plan B.
2) Disgust: I've felt disgusted with several members of my family. From my sister mooching from everyone around her to my niece's "I just tell the truth" piss-poor attitude, I've felt disgusted at a lot of the hypocrisy surrounding me on a daily basis. On Christmas my sister, who got pregnant at seventeen years old, told another niece she was a whore for getting pregnant at twenty-one. ON CHRISTMAS. Then, hours later, several members of my family decided to rant and rail about this WHORE in front of a guest, a somewhat stranger, a ninety-year-old invalid who my sister-in-law takes care of and who has no family and came to our house to celebrate Christmas with someone. I was so embarrassed. My mother was mortified. She tried to get them to stop but, you know, sorry, someone has to tell the truth and they're all just telling the truth. The truth hurts. It's also ugly. And often hypocritical. And disgusting.
3) Sadness: It was sad that my middle sister, who is handicapped but pretty much totally independent, was told she might have to make a choice between death and being bedridden for life. It's been frustrating and sad to see someone punished who is trying, who is taking care of her children, who helps her parents and everyone around her whenever she can. What force in the universe has decided this? I know it's just the luck of the draw, just circumstance, but where am I supposed to scream about the unfairness of it all? I'm somewhat sad that I have nowhere to turn for even cathartic blame. Luck. Fucking LUCK. So far my sister has staved off making this choice. I don't know when her LUCK will run out, though. It's sad that I know in my heart it will be soon.
4) Anger: Anger. I have felt a lot of anger. I'm angry at myself, mostly. I've made my bed. I've relied on my parents for too long and caused the situation where I have no substantial credit history. I've allowed myself to get comfortable in a mediocre job. I've procrastinated. I've wallowed in so-called "writer's block." I've secreted myself away and pushed away my friends. Isn't my sister who lives with me just projecting her internal FEELINGS when she calls people lazy, calls them stupid, calls them WHORES? My anger with her is anger with myself. I haven't saved money. I haven't endeavored for a better job or developed the discipline to turn my talent into something real. I haven't changed my routine of wake up, work, play on the computer, read, sleep. Again, who could be interested in me? Not just socially but financially, career-wise, etc.? Who am I and what am I doing? Where am I going, where have I been? I'll be thirty-four and I can't even FIND my diploma for graduate school. What the hell have I done with it?
5) Happiness: I don't know. There were little moments. I was happy when I got my car back after about six months of never being able to use it. I was happy when I discovered the writer Haruki Murakami. I was happy when I found a Chocolate Orange in a random place at the grocery store because I've searched up and down for them. I was happy listening to Gene Wilder read an audiobook. I was happy when an antibiotic finally cleared up the acne on my face (please let it last). I'm trying so hard to think of something big. To think of a moment that carried me through longer than a day or two. Maybe...maybe happiness is just those little moments? Maybe I should print that out and tape it above my bed. Maybe every day I need to sit down and remember the one thing that made me happy that day, even if it's just the hot UPS man calling me "dear."
6) Surprise: I was suprised to admit to myself it's okay to be unhappy. I've spent so much time being upset when my somewhat happier childhood was brushed off as though I was less of a person for feeling happy. Pain is supposedly what makes us human. I hated the words, "You don't know how that feels," because it was like my life was not valid because I hadn't experienced this or that. I still don't cater to that theory. Everyone, even happy people, are valid. Their opinions and FEELINGS are valid. But...I'm a little less happy than I have been in the past. And that doesn't break my theory. I don't feel stronger. I don't necessarily feel weaker, either. I feel...different. I feel...focused? I feel...exposed? I feel....
So I've made some resolutions. Some I've made before, like reading and writing schedules. It WILL happen. This time (I mean it) I don't have a goal as much as a routine. I will read one book, then take a day off to reflect on that book, then read another book, etc. One thing I've learned about myself recently is that I don't like to read books back-to-back. I like to ruminate. I like to bounce around ideas and uncover flaws and discover wonders. I like to return to particularly intriguing passages. When I was finished reading 1Q84 by Murakami, I tried immediately reading another book and what happened was I hated the newer book because I wanted to return to parts of 1Q84 and think. I know, it sounds like homework, this routine. It sounds like all of the pleasure is being taken out of picking up a book and getting lost in it. But I promise, for me, this is how I can make myself happy.
The next resolution is about money. I'm going to keep a ledger. I want to see where my money goes. I already started an informal one and for the most part my money goes toward the little groceries we need to keep the house running (milk, toilet paper, bread) and I go to the store for those things almost daily. Last week I bought five gallons of milk. FIVE GALLONS. Everyone at my job knows when my parents call me they're going to ask me to pick something up at the grocery store after work. So my resolution is this: I will keep two columns - one where I write down the exact amount I've spent and one where I round up to the next dollar. At the end of the month I will put the difference into a separate account. Also, any money left out of my paycheck at the end of every two weeks will go into my savings account. That's a third account, by the way. I will have two checking accounts and a savings account. The savings account is for absolute - and I mean life-and-death - emergencies. The second checking account is for smaller emergencies, though my plan is to try very hard not to touch it either. These two accounts are secret. I also have a 401(k) and life insurance. I WILL start saving money.
My final (big) resolution is to get out and do something. The local bookstore hosts readings, bands, and other events and I'm going to attend at least one of these events each month. There is a great wood-fired pizza place right down the street and the bookstore has wi-fi, coffee, and well, books. Yeah, I'll need some money. But when I look at how much money I spend getting Subway when I could be making cous-cous and salads that last for several meals and are awesomely fresh-sealed in a jar, I realize that splurging on a $7 pizza and a $10 book once a month isn't what will break my bank. And now that I have my car back, I can go anywhere I damn-well please for as long as it pleases me. And I WILL.
I need to do these things to put myself on some sort of track. These things aren't major life changes but they are what I feel I can do right now. Do what you can with what you have, right? Right.
I WILL have a happier new year.
June 14, 2012
Living for Me
This weekend, I bought a new refrigerator to go in my bedroom. It's 3.2 cubic-inches and holds about three times as much food as my previous fridge. My plan was to feed myself. I'm quite tired of feeding five lazy people. I don't mind feeding my parents - they pay almost all of the utilities and the rent and, besides, they fed me. But every time I go to the grocery store and buy food, it will be eaten within twenty-four hours. Last weekend my mother bought a pack of twenty Hot Pockets and it was gone by that evening. I can't afford this any more. A few weeks ago we came downstairs to breakfast to find my nephew making four subs - two for himself, one for his girlfriend, and one for the kid who slept over the night before.
It's not like we can designate food to people, either. If my mother buys herself ice cream and tells those people not to eat it because she's treating herself, she better buy a serving she can eat in one sitting because as soon as she goes to bed they are going to eat that ice cream behind her back. I can't stock up on frozen meals to take to work either because even if I write my name on them in permanent marker they will eat them. (Or they will microwave them, I will catch them, they will get angry that I'm angry, and they will throw it away saying, "Fine, I won't eat your stupid dinner then.") Today my father went to get some leftover chilli and when he opened the container someone (read: my nephew) had decided they didn't want to scoop out a serving into a bowl so they put crackers in the container and then decided they didn't want it anymore, so they just put the lid back on it and walked away. It was a mushy, disgusting mess and an incredible waste.
I think I've mentioned this before, but I also can't buy food I want to eat because I have to worry about portions that will feed eight people. I have to buy chicken legs, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, five-pound-packages of hamburger, spaghetti (yuck), white bread, American cheese, tater tots, ground steak patties - this is a weekly list. We eat those things freaking weekly. And they must be in constant supply. I just can't take it.
So tonight, I went to the store and spent way more money than I had intended to fill the new fridge. But I bought things I want to eat. I bought bacon-flavored cheese-filled mushrooms, salsa, tortilla chips, gouda cheese, salami, and two kinds of hummus. I've decided that every paycheck I will buy the ingredients for a recipe, starting with recipes from Martha Stewart's Food Magazine.
This week's special: Baked Eggs in Tomatoes.
I will substitute feta cheese for the parmesan, though, because I only like parmesan on pizza, as a substitute for mozzerella (not my favorite).
I'm tired of being so unhappy. I know they're mad that I've been splurging on myself lately but you know the drill. Fuck 'em. They're selfish bastards and they're breeding a selfish bitch in me.
It's not like we can designate food to people, either. If my mother buys herself ice cream and tells those people not to eat it because she's treating herself, she better buy a serving she can eat in one sitting because as soon as she goes to bed they are going to eat that ice cream behind her back. I can't stock up on frozen meals to take to work either because even if I write my name on them in permanent marker they will eat them. (Or they will microwave them, I will catch them, they will get angry that I'm angry, and they will throw it away saying, "Fine, I won't eat your stupid dinner then.") Today my father went to get some leftover chilli and when he opened the container someone (read: my nephew) had decided they didn't want to scoop out a serving into a bowl so they put crackers in the container and then decided they didn't want it anymore, so they just put the lid back on it and walked away. It was a mushy, disgusting mess and an incredible waste.
I think I've mentioned this before, but I also can't buy food I want to eat because I have to worry about portions that will feed eight people. I have to buy chicken legs, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, five-pound-packages of hamburger, spaghetti (yuck), white bread, American cheese, tater tots, ground steak patties - this is a weekly list. We eat those things freaking weekly. And they must be in constant supply. I just can't take it.
So tonight, I went to the store and spent way more money than I had intended to fill the new fridge. But I bought things I want to eat. I bought bacon-flavored cheese-filled mushrooms, salsa, tortilla chips, gouda cheese, salami, and two kinds of hummus. I've decided that every paycheck I will buy the ingredients for a recipe, starting with recipes from Martha Stewart's Food Magazine.
This week's special: Baked Eggs in Tomatoes.
I will substitute feta cheese for the parmesan, though, because I only like parmesan on pizza, as a substitute for mozzerella (not my favorite).
I'm tired of being so unhappy. I know they're mad that I've been splurging on myself lately but you know the drill. Fuck 'em. They're selfish bastards and they're breeding a selfish bitch in me.
May 7, 2012
The Remedial Honors Class
It may be emerging from my previous posts that I struggle quite a bit with FEELINGS of inadequacy. One constant struggle is the number of books I read in a year. My goal recently has been to read one hundred books or more every year, and to increase that number as time goes by. I've tried diligently to reach this goal, and have almost always nearly succeeded. If you noticed several qualifiers in that sentence, you're a smart cookie. The truth is I've never read one hundred books in a year. The reason is because I can't.
I think I may need professional therapy over this issue more than any other issue I have (some may disagree). Since I just read an article stating the average American reads four books a year, the fact that I read somewhere around sixty should not put me in such a state of anxiety. I read more books each month than an average person reads in a year. Shouldn't that make me feel good about myself?
Well, really, the problem is I'm not out to compare myself to the average person. I'm comparing myself to the average writer, the average scholar, the average "intellectual." I don't know what the average is for those individuals, but I assume it's higher than four. I assume it's higher than one hundred. I know another problem here is with me making an "ass" out of myself at least. Why am I making up an arbitrary average?
I've seen a few websites devoted to clubs where people document the one hundred books they've read in one year, and they form a community with the intention of encouraging each other toward that goal. That's noble and I wish I thought for one second I would be able to carry out that goal, because I would join one of those websites in a second.
A friend once asked me if I read every word. My reply of "of course" shocked her. Her response was that she basically speed-reads through most of the books she reads, and she goes back and reads every word of the ones she finds to be outstanding. She told me her husband reads every word, too, and so it takes him a long time to read, just like me. I wish I could read faster, especially since I find most books to be mediocre. But I can't. Maybe it's the writer in me, searching through the bad and mediocre just as thoroughly as the outstanding, knowing there are lessons in each.
Recently I conducted an experiment where I timed myself reading a page of fiction. I ended up consistently needing nearly two minutes to read one page. When I would try speed-reading I would just end up frustrated that I didn't know what was going on by about two or three paragraphs later, because I have to know what's going on at all given times. I can't just "get the gist" of a novel. Even a mediocre one.
Today I tried to push myself to a certain page goal, because I wanted to be through a certain part of the book I'm reading before I return to work tomorrow. The amount of pages to reach that goal was around 150. It took me nearly six hours. I know a lot of people would glare at me with contempt for whining about this so-called "problem," but it's like when my friend at work complains about having gained ten pounds and so now she has begun needing size 3 pants. It's a problem to her, and though I shush her when someone who is buying, say, a size 16 or so is around, I know that weight gain means something more to her, like it's the symbol of lost youth or the fall of her marriage. For me, the inability to read at a pace I feel is expected is the symbol of medocrity or laziness.
I devoted my entire attention to that book today and still it took me forever to get through it. It isn't the time spent reading that does me in, but my ability to perform. It's like having incredibly high metabolism, so that no matter how much I consume I gain nothing.
I've decided to accept the number of books I can read. I've decided for now to know my limits. That doesn't mean I won't ever challenge them, but I think a major step forward for me right now would be to stop punishing myself, especially for something I've made up in my head. I've decided to try to be happier with myself because ultimately, lately, I've been on a search for whom I'm supposed to be. I don't know entirely yet, but each day I learn a little more.
I think I may need professional therapy over this issue more than any other issue I have (some may disagree). Since I just read an article stating the average American reads four books a year, the fact that I read somewhere around sixty should not put me in such a state of anxiety. I read more books each month than an average person reads in a year. Shouldn't that make me feel good about myself?
Well, really, the problem is I'm not out to compare myself to the average person. I'm comparing myself to the average writer, the average scholar, the average "intellectual." I don't know what the average is for those individuals, but I assume it's higher than four. I assume it's higher than one hundred. I know another problem here is with me making an "ass" out of myself at least. Why am I making up an arbitrary average?
I've seen a few websites devoted to clubs where people document the one hundred books they've read in one year, and they form a community with the intention of encouraging each other toward that goal. That's noble and I wish I thought for one second I would be able to carry out that goal, because I would join one of those websites in a second.
A friend once asked me if I read every word. My reply of "of course" shocked her. Her response was that she basically speed-reads through most of the books she reads, and she goes back and reads every word of the ones she finds to be outstanding. She told me her husband reads every word, too, and so it takes him a long time to read, just like me. I wish I could read faster, especially since I find most books to be mediocre. But I can't. Maybe it's the writer in me, searching through the bad and mediocre just as thoroughly as the outstanding, knowing there are lessons in each.
Recently I conducted an experiment where I timed myself reading a page of fiction. I ended up consistently needing nearly two minutes to read one page. When I would try speed-reading I would just end up frustrated that I didn't know what was going on by about two or three paragraphs later, because I have to know what's going on at all given times. I can't just "get the gist" of a novel. Even a mediocre one.
Today I tried to push myself to a certain page goal, because I wanted to be through a certain part of the book I'm reading before I return to work tomorrow. The amount of pages to reach that goal was around 150. It took me nearly six hours. I know a lot of people would glare at me with contempt for whining about this so-called "problem," but it's like when my friend at work complains about having gained ten pounds and so now she has begun needing size 3 pants. It's a problem to her, and though I shush her when someone who is buying, say, a size 16 or so is around, I know that weight gain means something more to her, like it's the symbol of lost youth or the fall of her marriage. For me, the inability to read at a pace I feel is expected is the symbol of medocrity or laziness.
I devoted my entire attention to that book today and still it took me forever to get through it. It isn't the time spent reading that does me in, but my ability to perform. It's like having incredibly high metabolism, so that no matter how much I consume I gain nothing.
I've decided to accept the number of books I can read. I've decided for now to know my limits. That doesn't mean I won't ever challenge them, but I think a major step forward for me right now would be to stop punishing myself, especially for something I've made up in my head. I've decided to try to be happier with myself because ultimately, lately, I've been on a search for whom I'm supposed to be. I don't know entirely yet, but each day I learn a little more.
April 10, 2012
Guilt
One of the decisions I made after being turned down for a car loan, a bank loan, and an apartment recently was that I would trudge on, using the credit I do have and paying on it every month to establish a trustworthy credit history. Maybe if my parents can pay on the car loans, credit cards, and tax obligations they have and establish a history of trust they might be able to co-sign for me sometime in the near future. I don't know when that will be, but I'll just have to keep on truckin' and try again to get out of this situation a few months down the road.
So, since I've been good paying on my accounts for some time and I had paid my Dell account way down, I agonized for a long time about buying a Wii with that account. It was only $149. I talked this over with my parents - how would it look to the rest of those people who live in the basement if I did this? Would they get jealous? Would they understand I didn't horde money and that I would actually be paying the same amount I pay on this account every month? Then I had to agonize over the fact that I don't have a TV. Will I risk bringing the Wii downstairs and having all of them want me to leave it down there so they can play it all night (or steal it)? What if they get angry when I refuse to leave it downstairs? Won't it be a pain to have to lug it up and down, plugging it in and unplugging it every time I want to play? What if I want to play when someone is watching TV? What about the fact that someone is always watching TV?
So my parents encouraged me to go ahead and add a TV to the order. I sweated this decision for days on end. How big of a TV? Where will I put it? How much will all of this cost? Do I want to add this much debt?
In the end, after long talks and groans where my parents told me to just do it already, I ordered a Wii and a TV. They are on the way. One minute after I placed the order my mother asked me if my sister would think that I had used the money she gave us to put down for a car to buy myself a TV. Of course, this just stressed me out, because my mother encouraged me to do it. I didn't use any of that money, anyway. It didn't get put down on a car, but part of it did go toward buying food for the extra four people who live in the basement with my sister, people who she pretends she shouldn't have to be responsible for. Oh, it also went toward putting gas in the car to take them places. I began to plan to use the money to fix up my current car so it could last a little longer - it needs an oil change, a new fender, a front end alignment, and a tune-up. Four hundred dollars isn't going to do all of that, but it could help so the car lasts us through the months until something can be done about getting another car.
She wasted $8700, remember? Tonight, my sister came upstairs to me and asked me to give her $40 out of the $400. She held out her hand and I told her I didn't have cash on me. She asked me where the $400 was. I told her it was in the bank and she freaked out. Why is it in the bank? I told her that's where most people put their money, because they don't want thousands of dollars laying around in a purse for anyone to steal (like happened with some of her money). She asked me if it was all there. I told her it wasn't, because I had to buy food on multiple occasions when the people in the basement ate all of the food in the middle of the night, making an entire box of spaghetti and an entire jar of sauce for just one person and then leaving it out on the stove so the leftovers spoiled by morning. I told her I used some of that money but that most of it was still there and I would just replace what I used on Friday when I got paid. She just angrily stomped out of my room.
So now I feel totally stressed and guilty. You know, I have enough money. When I was calculating the money I would need to get a small apartment and live on my own, I added in the amount I pay on my credit lines. And I had enough to get by - not enough to be splurging left and right, but enough to buy food if I budgeted and maybe a book or something nice here and there. I could have given her $40 out of the bank. She didn't even give me a chance to explain that. And so now I have to feel guilty about the packages that will either come tomorrow or the next day, because I'm worried that she will think I spent her money.
I SHOULDN'T BE WORRIED ABOUT THIS. I didn't do anything wrong. She revealed to us the other day that she bought my nephew a Playstation 3 and $300 worth of games for it. She is also sporting a whole new wardrobe. She gave my other nephew $1500 and who knows what he did with that? She's renting a tux for my nephew to go to prom in and she's planning to buy him these fancy tennis shoes that look like "dressy" tennis shoes because he's refusing to wear real dress shoes. One day she spent $75 between three fast food places. My father drove her to Wal-Mart (she has no license) and said that by the amount of bags she brought out with her he wages she spent about $500. The other day I came home and there were eight twelve-packs of name-brand pop sitting in the hallway and they took them all downstairs into the basement. My father said he took her to buy cigarettes one day and she came out with hundreds of dollars worth of cartons.
But that $400, it's not fair that we didn't use it for what she gave it to us for. Why isn't the $400 a month she pays enough to buy food? There are five people in the basement. That's less than $100 each for an entire month. Last month, on top of paying the phone/cable/internet bill, I also paid on the electric bill and paid the insurance for the car. That was $300 and I bought food, probably around $200 worth (I usually spend around $50 a week buying little things here and there when we run out, like milk, bread, eggs, ham, cheese, etc.). I also put the majority of the gas in the one car we have right now. And here I am, agonizing because I did something nice for myself, something that I'm not even spending extra money on right now (I understand the principle that in the end, I will be spending that money), that I didn't use any of her precious $400 for. Why do I feel guilty?
Because I'm the only one who will.
So, since I've been good paying on my accounts for some time and I had paid my Dell account way down, I agonized for a long time about buying a Wii with that account. It was only $149. I talked this over with my parents - how would it look to the rest of those people who live in the basement if I did this? Would they get jealous? Would they understand I didn't horde money and that I would actually be paying the same amount I pay on this account every month? Then I had to agonize over the fact that I don't have a TV. Will I risk bringing the Wii downstairs and having all of them want me to leave it down there so they can play it all night (or steal it)? What if they get angry when I refuse to leave it downstairs? Won't it be a pain to have to lug it up and down, plugging it in and unplugging it every time I want to play? What if I want to play when someone is watching TV? What about the fact that someone is always watching TV?
So my parents encouraged me to go ahead and add a TV to the order. I sweated this decision for days on end. How big of a TV? Where will I put it? How much will all of this cost? Do I want to add this much debt?
In the end, after long talks and groans where my parents told me to just do it already, I ordered a Wii and a TV. They are on the way. One minute after I placed the order my mother asked me if my sister would think that I had used the money she gave us to put down for a car to buy myself a TV. Of course, this just stressed me out, because my mother encouraged me to do it. I didn't use any of that money, anyway. It didn't get put down on a car, but part of it did go toward buying food for the extra four people who live in the basement with my sister, people who she pretends she shouldn't have to be responsible for. Oh, it also went toward putting gas in the car to take them places. I began to plan to use the money to fix up my current car so it could last a little longer - it needs an oil change, a new fender, a front end alignment, and a tune-up. Four hundred dollars isn't going to do all of that, but it could help so the car lasts us through the months until something can be done about getting another car.
She wasted $8700, remember? Tonight, my sister came upstairs to me and asked me to give her $40 out of the $400. She held out her hand and I told her I didn't have cash on me. She asked me where the $400 was. I told her it was in the bank and she freaked out. Why is it in the bank? I told her that's where most people put their money, because they don't want thousands of dollars laying around in a purse for anyone to steal (like happened with some of her money). She asked me if it was all there. I told her it wasn't, because I had to buy food on multiple occasions when the people in the basement ate all of the food in the middle of the night, making an entire box of spaghetti and an entire jar of sauce for just one person and then leaving it out on the stove so the leftovers spoiled by morning. I told her I used some of that money but that most of it was still there and I would just replace what I used on Friday when I got paid. She just angrily stomped out of my room.
So now I feel totally stressed and guilty. You know, I have enough money. When I was calculating the money I would need to get a small apartment and live on my own, I added in the amount I pay on my credit lines. And I had enough to get by - not enough to be splurging left and right, but enough to buy food if I budgeted and maybe a book or something nice here and there. I could have given her $40 out of the bank. She didn't even give me a chance to explain that. And so now I have to feel guilty about the packages that will either come tomorrow or the next day, because I'm worried that she will think I spent her money.
I SHOULDN'T BE WORRIED ABOUT THIS. I didn't do anything wrong. She revealed to us the other day that she bought my nephew a Playstation 3 and $300 worth of games for it. She is also sporting a whole new wardrobe. She gave my other nephew $1500 and who knows what he did with that? She's renting a tux for my nephew to go to prom in and she's planning to buy him these fancy tennis shoes that look like "dressy" tennis shoes because he's refusing to wear real dress shoes. One day she spent $75 between three fast food places. My father drove her to Wal-Mart (she has no license) and said that by the amount of bags she brought out with her he wages she spent about $500. The other day I came home and there were eight twelve-packs of name-brand pop sitting in the hallway and they took them all downstairs into the basement. My father said he took her to buy cigarettes one day and she came out with hundreds of dollars worth of cartons.
But that $400, it's not fair that we didn't use it for what she gave it to us for. Why isn't the $400 a month she pays enough to buy food? There are five people in the basement. That's less than $100 each for an entire month. Last month, on top of paying the phone/cable/internet bill, I also paid on the electric bill and paid the insurance for the car. That was $300 and I bought food, probably around $200 worth (I usually spend around $50 a week buying little things here and there when we run out, like milk, bread, eggs, ham, cheese, etc.). I also put the majority of the gas in the one car we have right now. And here I am, agonizing because I did something nice for myself, something that I'm not even spending extra money on right now (I understand the principle that in the end, I will be spending that money), that I didn't use any of her precious $400 for. Why do I feel guilty?
Because I'm the only one who will.
April 3, 2012
Hate
I spend a lot of time wondering what I represent to my nephew that has caused him to hate me so much.
I wonder if he sees me as someone successful, even if I myself don't feel the same, because the adults in his life are uneducated, lazy, and wasteful. Some of the adults in his life never received a high school diploma or GED. Most of them live in filth, often with tiers of empty pop cans, stained floors, and uninvited guests. None of them have anything of value because all of their money is spent in cigarettes, beer, and drugs. They jump around from job to job. His father is never home. His mother is never happy.
And here's me. I went off to school, which he (like his mother) mistakenly believes my parents paid for. I earned a higher education than he even knows exists. I'm messy, but I rearrange and clean my room regularly, mainly because it's tiny and I desperately seek the perfect combination for some kind of feng shui. I have a fantastic computer (hexacore), beautiful clothing, a car I paid for despite the fact it's in my father's name, and a small refrigerator bursting with healthy food. I've been at my albeit crappy job for more than six years. My father is retired and likes it that way. My mother can be made happy with a strawberry sundae.
I think it's because I was a kid when he was born, and he finds it hard to think of me as an adult. I think his mother whispers in his ear that I am not a grown-up because I live with my parents and so I supposedly don't have any bills. I think whispering must be the only way to communicate, because no one hears it when I shout that she isn't a grown-up either if that's the definition as she lives here, too, with her parents. He doesn't understand that the phone he uses, the cable he watches, the net he surfs wouldn't be there if we hadn't had my name to put them in or me to make the payments on time every month. He wouldn't have a car to get around town, or to take his girlfriend to school, or to pick up his friends for a sleepover only to return them hours later after a childish fight. He wouldn't have had the freakin' awesome tacos we made tonight, because while his mother paid for the hamburger, I bought the shells, the cheese, the seasoning, the taco sauce, and some refried beans - which were yummy.
He hates me because I refuse to do the dishes on most nights, and so his mother is forced to do them, which isn't fair either because he, his girlfriend, his brother, and his brother's girlfriend, all of whom live here, won't do the dishes because that's not their job, and they've never had to do chores and they're not about to start, and I'm a bitch because when I won't help, his mother gets angry and yells at him and his girlfriend and that's my fault because if I would just do the dishes all the anger would go away.
He hates me because after an eight hour day I just want to relax, read a book, watch a TV show, listen to music. But he wants to pretend to be a drummer in the shower, and I'm a bitch because he can beat on the wall of the shower (the wall of my bedroom) all he wants. Besides, that's just how he gets his pubic hair off the razor.
He hates me because I'm one of two people who have ever taken him down when he has physically threatened someone. I'm sorry that it resorted to violence, but he's not going to tell me how he's going to kick my head in and just walk away. I won't be afraid of him. I stand up to him, and while I know it just makes his antics escalate I can't imagine living with myself if I did nothing, ever, when he intimidates, threatens, or insults me.
He hates me because when he asks me for help with his homework, I teach him how to do it and expect him to learn. When I walk past the basement as his mother helps him, I can hear her read him a passage, read it again, reword it to give him the answer to the question, ask him if he's listening, tell him to put down the game controller, tell him to listen, repeat the reworded passage, give the answer, tell him good job, force him to write the answer down so it's in his handwriting. Then I try to pretend to be excited when his report card has A's on it.
He hates me because I've told him "no" since he was a baby, and I'm the only one. I told him, "No, you can't go outside and play until three o'clock," and though he screamed for four hours I didn't cave. I told him, "No, you can't leave the living room until you clean up the mess you made," then blocked the entrances until he cleaned up the mess. I told him, "No, you can't steal from my underwear drawer and give it to your girlfriend," then put a padlock on my bedroom door that I lock every single day whenever I leave the house and occasionally when I take a shower.
He hates me because last year I began planning to leave. He hates me because when I said I was going to get my own apartment, I actually went to viewings, filled out applications, tried to get co-signers. Tried to get out. He hates me because I had an interview last year that could have taken me to a beautiful city with a wonderful salary. He hates that he sees the opportunities I have. He hates that his mother wasted the money that could have gotten them out of the basement. He hates that I pay all of my bills on time. He hates that his father never pays child support.
A lot of the hatred stopped until that time last year, now that I think about it. When I began talking about my own apartment, a better job, a new city, he began writing messages to me on the mirror. About how much of a bitch I am.
I think he hates me because, unlike his mother, I haven't had to give up yet.
I wonder if he sees me as someone successful, even if I myself don't feel the same, because the adults in his life are uneducated, lazy, and wasteful. Some of the adults in his life never received a high school diploma or GED. Most of them live in filth, often with tiers of empty pop cans, stained floors, and uninvited guests. None of them have anything of value because all of their money is spent in cigarettes, beer, and drugs. They jump around from job to job. His father is never home. His mother is never happy.
And here's me. I went off to school, which he (like his mother) mistakenly believes my parents paid for. I earned a higher education than he even knows exists. I'm messy, but I rearrange and clean my room regularly, mainly because it's tiny and I desperately seek the perfect combination for some kind of feng shui. I have a fantastic computer (hexacore), beautiful clothing, a car I paid for despite the fact it's in my father's name, and a small refrigerator bursting with healthy food. I've been at my albeit crappy job for more than six years. My father is retired and likes it that way. My mother can be made happy with a strawberry sundae.
I think it's because I was a kid when he was born, and he finds it hard to think of me as an adult. I think his mother whispers in his ear that I am not a grown-up because I live with my parents and so I supposedly don't have any bills. I think whispering must be the only way to communicate, because no one hears it when I shout that she isn't a grown-up either if that's the definition as she lives here, too, with her parents. He doesn't understand that the phone he uses, the cable he watches, the net he surfs wouldn't be there if we hadn't had my name to put them in or me to make the payments on time every month. He wouldn't have a car to get around town, or to take his girlfriend to school, or to pick up his friends for a sleepover only to return them hours later after a childish fight. He wouldn't have had the freakin' awesome tacos we made tonight, because while his mother paid for the hamburger, I bought the shells, the cheese, the seasoning, the taco sauce, and some refried beans - which were yummy.
He hates me because I refuse to do the dishes on most nights, and so his mother is forced to do them, which isn't fair either because he, his girlfriend, his brother, and his brother's girlfriend, all of whom live here, won't do the dishes because that's not their job, and they've never had to do chores and they're not about to start, and I'm a bitch because when I won't help, his mother gets angry and yells at him and his girlfriend and that's my fault because if I would just do the dishes all the anger would go away.
He hates me because after an eight hour day I just want to relax, read a book, watch a TV show, listen to music. But he wants to pretend to be a drummer in the shower, and I'm a bitch because he can beat on the wall of the shower (the wall of my bedroom) all he wants. Besides, that's just how he gets his pubic hair off the razor.
He hates me because I'm one of two people who have ever taken him down when he has physically threatened someone. I'm sorry that it resorted to violence, but he's not going to tell me how he's going to kick my head in and just walk away. I won't be afraid of him. I stand up to him, and while I know it just makes his antics escalate I can't imagine living with myself if I did nothing, ever, when he intimidates, threatens, or insults me.
He hates me because when he asks me for help with his homework, I teach him how to do it and expect him to learn. When I walk past the basement as his mother helps him, I can hear her read him a passage, read it again, reword it to give him the answer to the question, ask him if he's listening, tell him to put down the game controller, tell him to listen, repeat the reworded passage, give the answer, tell him good job, force him to write the answer down so it's in his handwriting. Then I try to pretend to be excited when his report card has A's on it.
He hates me because I've told him "no" since he was a baby, and I'm the only one. I told him, "No, you can't go outside and play until three o'clock," and though he screamed for four hours I didn't cave. I told him, "No, you can't leave the living room until you clean up the mess you made," then blocked the entrances until he cleaned up the mess. I told him, "No, you can't steal from my underwear drawer and give it to your girlfriend," then put a padlock on my bedroom door that I lock every single day whenever I leave the house and occasionally when I take a shower.
He hates me because last year I began planning to leave. He hates me because when I said I was going to get my own apartment, I actually went to viewings, filled out applications, tried to get co-signers. Tried to get out. He hates me because I had an interview last year that could have taken me to a beautiful city with a wonderful salary. He hates that he sees the opportunities I have. He hates that his mother wasted the money that could have gotten them out of the basement. He hates that I pay all of my bills on time. He hates that his father never pays child support.
A lot of the hatred stopped until that time last year, now that I think about it. When I began talking about my own apartment, a better job, a new city, he began writing messages to me on the mirror. About how much of a bitch I am.
I think he hates me because, unlike his mother, I haven't had to give up yet.
New Info
Well, at least I'm learning now about credit.
I just did some research and my credit score from the three major agencies isn't even important, really. They aren't my FICO score, so they don't matter. And so most likely, my FICO score really is that low, one hundred points lower and so I'm going to die here.
I guess I really will have to find a crappy apartment in an unsafe place (the only one I can afford I've seen anywhere, including craigslist, is on the street most people in this town would say you never, ever, ever want to live on). I guess I'll have to take my chances of being mugged and/or worse every night, just to get some kind of rental/credit history.
But that won't even help my credit. So my best bet is to continue paying the bills I have, continue shaving off the debt I've accrued, and try again soon. I just wonder why the dealership man said my credit was fine when, actually, after researching the score my bank sent me, it's actually really, really bad.
And now my tacos are ruined. I am so pissed.
I just did some research and my credit score from the three major agencies isn't even important, really. They aren't my FICO score, so they don't matter. And so most likely, my FICO score really is that low, one hundred points lower and so I'm going to die here.
I guess I really will have to find a crappy apartment in an unsafe place (the only one I can afford I've seen anywhere, including craigslist, is on the street most people in this town would say you never, ever, ever want to live on). I guess I'll have to take my chances of being mugged and/or worse every night, just to get some kind of rental/credit history.
But that won't even help my credit. So my best bet is to continue paying the bills I have, continue shaving off the debt I've accrued, and try again soon. I just wonder why the dealership man said my credit was fine when, actually, after researching the score my bank sent me, it's actually really, really bad.
And now my tacos are ruined. I am so pissed.
Credit Scores
Yesterday, I paid to get my credit score from TransUnion. The other two are Equifax and Experian. Not too long ago, Equifax sent me a credit report and score and so I know what they say my score is. When I tell my friends, family, and coworkers those scores, they say they're not too bad (either not much lower or even higher than most of their scores).
Last week, I applied for a loan through my bank. They denied me, saying the three factors are credit score, work history, and credit history. I assumed they denied me because of my credit history, because while I've worked hard to make it better than it once was it's still not stellar. A few credit cards I paid off are still on there (and will be for a few more years) and my school loans still reflect that until about two-and-a-half years ago I was deferring them. Okay, I can live with that. I will continue to work on my credit until I reflect two years of payments and trust - a requirement the loan officer said I would need.
But then. Today I received a letter from my bank saying they wanted me to know my credit score. And it was a hundred points lower than the one I paid for yesterday. That's not ten points. That's not twenty points. A hundred points. It says on the back of the letter that if I want to dispute any claims on this report, I need to call the agency that reported it. According to the letter, it was TransUnion, the agency I bought my score from yesterday. I am pissed.
I will call them. I'm off on Friday so I can wake up, have my coffee and eggs, get my blood going, get a shower, sit down, and call them. I will ask them why my bank received a credit score one hundred points lower than the one I paid for. If they tell me the one the bank received is the accurate one, I will ask them for my money back. And then I will cry, because the one I received, the one I paid for, reflects everything I've been trying to accomplish in the past few years. The other one, the one one hundred points lower, is actually worse than the score I got a few years ago, before I even started paying off all these debts.
It's obvious that the car company and the rental office must have received the lower score. It's the only reasoning behind my inability to get anything, anywhere. If that lower score is my real score, I might as well consign myself to being stuck here, again, for eternity.
Last week, I applied for a loan through my bank. They denied me, saying the three factors are credit score, work history, and credit history. I assumed they denied me because of my credit history, because while I've worked hard to make it better than it once was it's still not stellar. A few credit cards I paid off are still on there (and will be for a few more years) and my school loans still reflect that until about two-and-a-half years ago I was deferring them. Okay, I can live with that. I will continue to work on my credit until I reflect two years of payments and trust - a requirement the loan officer said I would need.
But then. Today I received a letter from my bank saying they wanted me to know my credit score. And it was a hundred points lower than the one I paid for yesterday. That's not ten points. That's not twenty points. A hundred points. It says on the back of the letter that if I want to dispute any claims on this report, I need to call the agency that reported it. According to the letter, it was TransUnion, the agency I bought my score from yesterday. I am pissed.
I will call them. I'm off on Friday so I can wake up, have my coffee and eggs, get my blood going, get a shower, sit down, and call them. I will ask them why my bank received a credit score one hundred points lower than the one I paid for. If they tell me the one the bank received is the accurate one, I will ask them for my money back. And then I will cry, because the one I received, the one I paid for, reflects everything I've been trying to accomplish in the past few years. The other one, the one one hundred points lower, is actually worse than the score I got a few years ago, before I even started paying off all these debts.
It's obvious that the car company and the rental office must have received the lower score. It's the only reasoning behind my inability to get anything, anywhere. If that lower score is my real score, I might as well consign myself to being stuck here, again, for eternity.
March 29, 2012
Eternity
I'm going to be stuck here for eternity.
Today I went to apply for my first car loan. I expected them to say I had bad credit or that I needed more money down. Had they said either one of those things I would have sucked it up and continued to work on my credit and continued to save money.
But that's not what they said. They said the same thing all the apartment rental places said. They are words I've come to dread as much as, "You're over-qualified," or "You need more experience." They said, "You need a co-signer."
I don't know what to do. No one in my family has good enough credit. I know they don't, I've tried to use them as co-signers before. The car dealership told me I actually have fairly decent credit and that they could get me a nice loan, but because I have no history of any major financial loans (student loans don't count) they can't finance me alone.
The people in my family with good credit won't take a chance on the "losers" of the family. My parents are the only ones out of all 22 of their siblings who don't own a home. My parents can never make it to family reunions becaue they can't afford the trip. My brother and sisters and I don't have careers, we have jobs. We're black sheep.
I had one window of opportunity. My parents have filed for bankruptcy after bankruptcy ever since I was a child. My only chance was when I left for graduate school, when my parents each qualified for a car loan and paid off each car. If I had only known then that was the one moment I had a chance, I would have done something. Have I ever talked about the three most useless words in the English language? Could, woulda, shoulda.
My parents keep saying that they'll go to one of those "buy here, pay here" places and get a car. I keep telling them that won't help me, because that won't be a major loan for them and so five years down the road they still won't be able to co-sign for me. It won't get me into position to get out of here.
In January, my sister got $5000 from her income taxes (just in federal), $800 in child support, $2000 from her online school to buy a computer, and $900 in paychecks. That's $8700. She bought dinner three times. She put gas in the car every few days. She gave the standard $400 a month she has agreed to for living with my parents. And that's it. No way in Hell that equals $8700. And yet she was angry when my mother asked her to give me some money to put down on a car, seeing as what ran my good car into the ground was her brood needing to go everywhere under the ever-loving sun. She reluctantly handed over the money ($400), claiming it to be the last she had. For four years, my parents have waited for tax season every year because my sister says she's going to move out this time, she's not going to waste her money, she's going to get her driver's license and a car and an apartment and $8700 was by God enough for that and she still didn't. Just like last year. Just like next year.
I don't know how to get out of this. My only option, really, is to get either a second job or a better job and start saving money. I'm afraid of even that, because when someone gets $8700 and doesn't even pay one bill, doesn't offer extra help in any way, and so still my parents are struggling to pay the electric bill and turn to me to come up with it on the day of the disconnect notice, I don't know how to say no. Everyone tells me to just say no, but how can I? I live here and it would be my electric being turned off, too. If the water is turned off, how will I shower for work? If there's no insurance on the car what would happen if I got pulled over for my headlight being out, like last year? It isn't as easy as it sounds to just pretend I shouldn't have responsibility.
Last year, when I had the money and the means to get out of here, I applied for a few apartments. Everyone needed a co-signer and no one was good enough. I don't know how to climb out of this hole. It seems like the dirt just gives way and I fall back in, covered with that dirt.
Today I went to apply for my first car loan. I expected them to say I had bad credit or that I needed more money down. Had they said either one of those things I would have sucked it up and continued to work on my credit and continued to save money.
But that's not what they said. They said the same thing all the apartment rental places said. They are words I've come to dread as much as, "You're over-qualified," or "You need more experience." They said, "You need a co-signer."
I don't know what to do. No one in my family has good enough credit. I know they don't, I've tried to use them as co-signers before. The car dealership told me I actually have fairly decent credit and that they could get me a nice loan, but because I have no history of any major financial loans (student loans don't count) they can't finance me alone.
The people in my family with good credit won't take a chance on the "losers" of the family. My parents are the only ones out of all 22 of their siblings who don't own a home. My parents can never make it to family reunions becaue they can't afford the trip. My brother and sisters and I don't have careers, we have jobs. We're black sheep.
I had one window of opportunity. My parents have filed for bankruptcy after bankruptcy ever since I was a child. My only chance was when I left for graduate school, when my parents each qualified for a car loan and paid off each car. If I had only known then that was the one moment I had a chance, I would have done something. Have I ever talked about the three most useless words in the English language? Could, woulda, shoulda.
My parents keep saying that they'll go to one of those "buy here, pay here" places and get a car. I keep telling them that won't help me, because that won't be a major loan for them and so five years down the road they still won't be able to co-sign for me. It won't get me into position to get out of here.
In January, my sister got $5000 from her income taxes (just in federal), $800 in child support, $2000 from her online school to buy a computer, and $900 in paychecks. That's $8700. She bought dinner three times. She put gas in the car every few days. She gave the standard $400 a month she has agreed to for living with my parents. And that's it. No way in Hell that equals $8700. And yet she was angry when my mother asked her to give me some money to put down on a car, seeing as what ran my good car into the ground was her brood needing to go everywhere under the ever-loving sun. She reluctantly handed over the money ($400), claiming it to be the last she had. For four years, my parents have waited for tax season every year because my sister says she's going to move out this time, she's not going to waste her money, she's going to get her driver's license and a car and an apartment and $8700 was by God enough for that and she still didn't. Just like last year. Just like next year.
I don't know how to get out of this. My only option, really, is to get either a second job or a better job and start saving money. I'm afraid of even that, because when someone gets $8700 and doesn't even pay one bill, doesn't offer extra help in any way, and so still my parents are struggling to pay the electric bill and turn to me to come up with it on the day of the disconnect notice, I don't know how to say no. Everyone tells me to just say no, but how can I? I live here and it would be my electric being turned off, too. If the water is turned off, how will I shower for work? If there's no insurance on the car what would happen if I got pulled over for my headlight being out, like last year? It isn't as easy as it sounds to just pretend I shouldn't have responsibility.
Last year, when I had the money and the means to get out of here, I applied for a few apartments. Everyone needed a co-signer and no one was good enough. I don't know how to climb out of this hole. It seems like the dirt just gives way and I fall back in, covered with that dirt.
October 12, 2011
Seeing Everything
First, I didn't get the little apartment. But I am on a waiting list for another apartment complex and I'm going to see another one today.
Second, I've come to the understanding that I can't know everything. I used to worry all the time that I needed to know the current events of every news story or I'd sound like an idiot when people were talking about what's happening in, say, Argentina.
For a time, I would get the New York Times on my Kindle and would try to read the whole thing, every day. That proved a feat, mainly because I need to realize I'm not a fast reader. Then I decided I would just get the New Yorker, which comes out weekly, and read it on Sunday mornings. But I must freely admit - I get bored really easily with most news stories. I can read an entire book about constructing word puns but I can't read half-a-page about Russia's legal system.
I have several articles clipped from both the Times and the New Yorker, but I haven't read them. One is about Franz Kafka - and you would think I would have been ALL OVER that article. Nope. I don't know if it's because it's an article and not a book or whether it's because I feel like I'm forcing myself to read and that feels like school and I never read any of my assignments for school so why should I do it now?
I think I've said this before, but I hate reading short stories. There's something about them, something limited, that I find frustrating. I think it stems back to something a former professor said about my short stories - she always felt like there was more to be told. She said my stories didn't feel contained, like they were all part of a longer story and like they were all interconnected. I've taken that with me, because I feel that way, too.
But back to feeling like I should know everything. I'm just not interested in current events. I mean, sometimes I am, don't get me wrong. I know there are certain stories I'd be a fool not to follow. But there are times when I'll be in a conversation about, for example, the Indiana governer's race and I get a vibe the other person thinks I should totally know all about each candidate. Because, you know, they know all about each candidate because they follow that story closely. So shouldn't I be following it closely? Wow, how can anyone now know who's running and what they stand for or don't or what kind of mud they wallowed in once upon a time?
The truth is I shouldn't care what I know vs. what they know. Do they know how to construct a perfectly rhythmed sentence? Do they know how to take two seemingly unrelated objects or ideas, construct a hierarchy, and compare them to create a unique and intriguing metaphor? Do they know people used to think male possums impregnated the females through their noses because the male has a forked penis?
A lot of people have told me throughout the course of my life that I think outside of the box. Maybe that's because I seek information in places that don't come packaged, air-mailed, and stamped with a message to open immediately. The other day I drove to the library (the first time I had driven in FOUR MONTHS) and picked up three random books - two fiction and one non-fiction. They are books few other people have probably read, that have probably only been checked out once before, if ever. I'm excited to read them. I will probably find nuggets of wisdom, because in obscurity is where I always find wisdom, and I will be happy with my little discovery of the knowledge gained in a moment of spontaneity.
Second, I've come to the understanding that I can't know everything. I used to worry all the time that I needed to know the current events of every news story or I'd sound like an idiot when people were talking about what's happening in, say, Argentina.
For a time, I would get the New York Times on my Kindle and would try to read the whole thing, every day. That proved a feat, mainly because I need to realize I'm not a fast reader. Then I decided I would just get the New Yorker, which comes out weekly, and read it on Sunday mornings. But I must freely admit - I get bored really easily with most news stories. I can read an entire book about constructing word puns but I can't read half-a-page about Russia's legal system.
I have several articles clipped from both the Times and the New Yorker, but I haven't read them. One is about Franz Kafka - and you would think I would have been ALL OVER that article. Nope. I don't know if it's because it's an article and not a book or whether it's because I feel like I'm forcing myself to read and that feels like school and I never read any of my assignments for school so why should I do it now?
I think I've said this before, but I hate reading short stories. There's something about them, something limited, that I find frustrating. I think it stems back to something a former professor said about my short stories - she always felt like there was more to be told. She said my stories didn't feel contained, like they were all part of a longer story and like they were all interconnected. I've taken that with me, because I feel that way, too.
But back to feeling like I should know everything. I'm just not interested in current events. I mean, sometimes I am, don't get me wrong. I know there are certain stories I'd be a fool not to follow. But there are times when I'll be in a conversation about, for example, the Indiana governer's race and I get a vibe the other person thinks I should totally know all about each candidate. Because, you know, they know all about each candidate because they follow that story closely. So shouldn't I be following it closely? Wow, how can anyone now know who's running and what they stand for or don't or what kind of mud they wallowed in once upon a time?
The truth is I shouldn't care what I know vs. what they know. Do they know how to construct a perfectly rhythmed sentence? Do they know how to take two seemingly unrelated objects or ideas, construct a hierarchy, and compare them to create a unique and intriguing metaphor? Do they know people used to think male possums impregnated the females through their noses because the male has a forked penis?
A lot of people have told me throughout the course of my life that I think outside of the box. Maybe that's because I seek information in places that don't come packaged, air-mailed, and stamped with a message to open immediately. The other day I drove to the library (the first time I had driven in FOUR MONTHS) and picked up three random books - two fiction and one non-fiction. They are books few other people have probably read, that have probably only been checked out once before, if ever. I'm excited to read them. I will probably find nuggets of wisdom, because in obscurity is where I always find wisdom, and I will be happy with my little discovery of the knowledge gained in a moment of spontaneity.
September 8, 2011
The Little Apartment
It is tiny. It's not much bigger than the bedroom I live in now, except it has a (miniscule) kitchen and bathroom attached. The bathroom isn't too bad, but the kitchen is so small I wouldn't be able to have the oven and the refrigerator open at the same time. Not that I would need to.
The good news:
a) It's private and mine, fuckers.
b) It's not going to cost much each month.
c) It won't cost much to heat.
d) There is a pantry and attic space.
e) It's in a little secluded neighborhood.
f) It is across the street from a grocery (sort of).
g) The landlord recognized me and seemed happy.
h) I will pretend I'm on a writer's retreat.
The bad news:
a) I just realized there is no closet.
b) The kitchen might be too small for a toaster and microwave. Or a microwave and coffee pot.
c) There will be nothing between me sleeping and and someone busting down my door.
d) There is no room for a couch.
e) There is no room for a table.
I don't care about all of those bad things. It will be an improvement over my life as it is. Today, when I came home from visiting the apartment complex, my nephew asked my mother to pay his girlfriend back the $25 we overused with her food stamps. Let me make this clear: she didn't pay us any money out of her paycheck because she doesn't think it's fair that if she doesn't eat much of our food that she should have to pay us any money. I explained to her that if she had her own apartment, she wouldn't be eating her landlord's food but she would still have to pay her landlord rent, and so in this scenario we are the effing landlords. She pretended to agree then refused to pay on her next paycheck. So we overused her food stamps. Sorry, bitch.
I shopped online for portable closets. If I get this studio apartment, I will just buy one of the sturdy little closets I saw and weave it into the narrative.
The good news:
a) It's private and mine, fuckers.
b) It's not going to cost much each month.
c) It won't cost much to heat.
d) There is a pantry and attic space.
e) It's in a little secluded neighborhood.
f) It is across the street from a grocery (sort of).
g) The landlord recognized me and seemed happy.
h) I will pretend I'm on a writer's retreat.
The bad news:
a) I just realized there is no closet.
b) The kitchen might be too small for a toaster and microwave. Or a microwave and coffee pot.
c) There will be nothing between me sleeping and and someone busting down my door.
d) There is no room for a couch.
e) There is no room for a table.
I don't care about all of those bad things. It will be an improvement over my life as it is. Today, when I came home from visiting the apartment complex, my nephew asked my mother to pay his girlfriend back the $25 we overused with her food stamps. Let me make this clear: she didn't pay us any money out of her paycheck because she doesn't think it's fair that if she doesn't eat much of our food that she should have to pay us any money. I explained to her that if she had her own apartment, she wouldn't be eating her landlord's food but she would still have to pay her landlord rent, and so in this scenario we are the effing landlords. She pretended to agree then refused to pay on her next paycheck. So we overused her food stamps. Sorry, bitch.
I shopped online for portable closets. If I get this studio apartment, I will just buy one of the sturdy little closets I saw and weave it into the narrative.
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