So today, I wake up, hungover, an hour and a half from home...I drink a wine cooler, pack my things, and make the trek back to Tulsa. I realize I'm supposed to get in touch with my recruiter.
Maybe I should have forgotten all together, but I was being optimistic. I know that I've been a hellion in the past, but hell, doesn't everyone deserve a second chance? I want to enlist...I really do...I've always wanted to enlist, but in the shuffle and hustle of my younger years, I neglected to see the importance of acting. I've talked to the Marine Corps, the Air Force, Navy, Army, and lastly, today's meeting, the National Guard.
I arrive in the office. The Sgt. takes one look at me and informs me that if I can't drop fifty pounds in three months, then I am wasting my time and his. As he pulls up my arrest record, I sit there, praying that just this once someone will look at my accomplishments instead of my failures. He shakes his head and let's me know that there is no way in hell that I will ever be able to serve my country.
I didn't freak out. I didn't cry. I walked, head down, to my car and searched for some support. I texted my best friends, I called Marcus, I even called my grandparents. The phones rang and the texts went unanswered.
So I drove...And drove...and decided to shop, but walking into the store, one thought crossed my mind: So it goes...
So I went. And I made sure that I would always remember that no matter what happens, life will continue. And that no matter what changes I make, it will always go. I can't change the past, but I can direct my future.
For some reason, this tattoo hurt less than the rest. Like I was meant to have it. As if maybe, the pain was dulled so I would know that I was doing the right thing.
I love it. It makes me happy. I am proud to have something that makes sense to me. Something that I don't mind explaining... I am proud.
www.dafont.com/font.php?file=traveling_typewrite&page=1&nb_ppp_old=10&text=So+it+goes...&nb_ppp=10&psize=m&classt=alpha
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
What's wrong with me?
I've been falling behind in my writing. This isn't on purpose, but often, I am struck be this overwhelming sense of inferiority to other writers. I read Bunniblog and realize that even when she's discussing the intricacies of making French cream puffs, she's still 134% more interesting than myself. I even read Steve Don't Eat That and think, "Wow, maybe I need to eat some Spam that's been in the cabinet for 7 years...Or some natto..." I visit my fave writing website and see that the Scriners can capture each other's attention with a quickly penned sentence. I feel like my work doesn't belong there either. I haven't written anything to be proud of since the Spring...maybe well before that.
I started a new series a few weeks ago, but can't muster the energy to start on chapter two. Shit, it's not like it should be difficult. It's my real life!
It's been like this lately for me. I'm becoming indifferent to my own life. I'm not sure that I really want to try anything these days. Work is a bore. Once I loved smiling and entertaining the guests during our brief encounters. Now I grow irritated if I am forced to open my mouth to them. Marcus has always been one that I have wanted to talk to. Someone that I would chase to the end of the Earth. But lately, I couldn't give a shit what he thinks. I still want to hear his voice, but it's as if his words mean nothing. I don't get happy when I speak to him, I get hostile because I wonder why he doesn't say the things he should say...Or worse, I wonder what the things he did say actually meant. I feel that he's the conductor of some mass conspiracy to string me along...To humiliate me. Somedays I think that this is his goal. To reel me in and cast me back out into the dark waters of the world. This neverending cycle is some plot to ensure my eternal loneliness.
I'm not unhappy. I'm okay with the idea that I am not as talented as my peers. I don't dwell on the idea that I will forever be trapped in the web of deceit and confusion that my own muse has spun for me.
I'll finish this late since I am incapable of finishing anything...ever.
I started a new series a few weeks ago, but can't muster the energy to start on chapter two. Shit, it's not like it should be difficult. It's my real life!
It's been like this lately for me. I'm becoming indifferent to my own life. I'm not sure that I really want to try anything these days. Work is a bore. Once I loved smiling and entertaining the guests during our brief encounters. Now I grow irritated if I am forced to open my mouth to them. Marcus has always been one that I have wanted to talk to. Someone that I would chase to the end of the Earth. But lately, I couldn't give a shit what he thinks. I still want to hear his voice, but it's as if his words mean nothing. I don't get happy when I speak to him, I get hostile because I wonder why he doesn't say the things he should say...Or worse, I wonder what the things he did say actually meant. I feel that he's the conductor of some mass conspiracy to string me along...To humiliate me. Somedays I think that this is his goal. To reel me in and cast me back out into the dark waters of the world. This neverending cycle is some plot to ensure my eternal loneliness.
I'm not unhappy. I'm okay with the idea that I am not as talented as my peers. I don't dwell on the idea that I will forever be trapped in the web of deceit and confusion that my own muse has spun for me.
I'll finish this late since I am incapable of finishing anything...ever.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
FML
What is wrong with me?
If you must know, I will tell you.
I hate my job. I hate being forced to tell people that they can't stay because I know they're only renting a room to do meth or pimp hoes. I hate the fact that my bosses are so freaking nice to me, but at the same time they run a flop house for local drug dealers and prostitutes. I hate giving nice guests refunds because they found a fucking roach in their room. I hate that I can't find a better job because I made huge stupid mistakes when I was 20.
I'm not happy that the only person I want to talk to every single day is busy. I'm not happy that I love him so much that I am unable to give attention to anyone else. I'm not happy that regardless of what he says, I don't believe him. I'm not happy with myself because I am so superficial.
I want a drink. I want Marcus. I want a better job.
It's so fucking ridiculous that no matter what good deeds I do, no matter how many classes I take, and no matter how many degrees I obtain, I will still be judged on something that happened years and years ago. It's not only work. It's life. I can't tell new friends what has happened in my life because 9 times out of ten, they will turn their backs on me.
I am not in the mood for this blog right now...I'm going to vent in other ways.
If you must know, I will tell you.
I hate my job. I hate being forced to tell people that they can't stay because I know they're only renting a room to do meth or pimp hoes. I hate the fact that my bosses are so freaking nice to me, but at the same time they run a flop house for local drug dealers and prostitutes. I hate giving nice guests refunds because they found a fucking roach in their room. I hate that I can't find a better job because I made huge stupid mistakes when I was 20.
I'm not happy that the only person I want to talk to every single day is busy. I'm not happy that I love him so much that I am unable to give attention to anyone else. I'm not happy that regardless of what he says, I don't believe him. I'm not happy with myself because I am so superficial.
I want a drink. I want Marcus. I want a better job.
It's so fucking ridiculous that no matter what good deeds I do, no matter how many classes I take, and no matter how many degrees I obtain, I will still be judged on something that happened years and years ago. It's not only work. It's life. I can't tell new friends what has happened in my life because 9 times out of ten, they will turn their backs on me.
I am not in the mood for this blog right now...I'm going to vent in other ways.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
I figured that I would start a new "series" for my blog. I can only think of two people that read this blog and I'm not sure how interesting this will be, but I'll give it a go and see what comes of it.
I started my college career like most other seventeen years olds from Podunk, Oklahoma. I knew that education was the only thing that going to get me out of the backwards ass town I was in, but I had no idea what I wanted to do. I started out with Psychology. I soon realized that I wasn't learning anything. I had only gained the ability to judge myself and others more harshly. Then decided I would follow my dream and go to law school. That went no where. Not for lack of motivation, but because I was informed that there were too many lawyers in Tulsa and I would finish my post-college days chasing ambulances or working for the district attorney's office. Neither of these were things that I was willing to do.
So I did what any other college student would do: Drank. In took the number of hours required for a degree, yet couldn't pass a single class. I drank so much, I failed Drama Theatre. I drank so much that the state of Oklahoma forced me to take a two year "leave of absence."
(That chapter is for another day...)
When I finally came home, I had lost everyone's trust. My own Grandparents refused to give me money for fear that I would spend it on earning DUI number two. They suggested I find a job at a call center or fast food joint and claw my way to lower middle class. They felt that someone with a record like mine couldn't aim much higher.
To add insult to injury, I was on Academic Suspension until I could bring my G.P.A up to at least a 2.0. (How sad is that?! I had managed to bring my average down to a 1.1.) I was banned from dong the only thing that I ever enjoyed. I had no money, no real job, and I had lost faith in myself. Everything that meant something to me had been stripped away. Ashamed and hopeless, I did the only thing I knew to do: I surrounded myself with low-lifes and poured a round of shots.
I refuse to lie to the world. I had a blast. I worked maybe twelve hours a week and partied about 42. I became an local superstar. People knew my name, at least. I couldn't walk into a bar, grocery store, or club without being recognized. At the time, I thought any attention was good attention. I thought that being the life of the party was something wonderful. Instead, I had become a joke to the other low-lifes.
I started my college career like most other seventeen years olds from Podunk, Oklahoma. I knew that education was the only thing that going to get me out of the backwards ass town I was in, but I had no idea what I wanted to do. I started out with Psychology. I soon realized that I wasn't learning anything. I had only gained the ability to judge myself and others more harshly. Then decided I would follow my dream and go to law school. That went no where. Not for lack of motivation, but because I was informed that there were too many lawyers in Tulsa and I would finish my post-college days chasing ambulances or working for the district attorney's office. Neither of these were things that I was willing to do.
So I did what any other college student would do: Drank. In took the number of hours required for a degree, yet couldn't pass a single class. I drank so much, I failed Drama Theatre. I drank so much that the state of Oklahoma forced me to take a two year "leave of absence."
(That chapter is for another day...)
When I finally came home, I had lost everyone's trust. My own Grandparents refused to give me money for fear that I would spend it on earning DUI number two. They suggested I find a job at a call center or fast food joint and claw my way to lower middle class. They felt that someone with a record like mine couldn't aim much higher.
To add insult to injury, I was on Academic Suspension until I could bring my G.P.A up to at least a 2.0. (How sad is that?! I had managed to bring my average down to a 1.1.) I was banned from dong the only thing that I ever enjoyed. I had no money, no real job, and I had lost faith in myself. Everything that meant something to me had been stripped away. Ashamed and hopeless, I did the only thing I knew to do: I surrounded myself with low-lifes and poured a round of shots.
I refuse to lie to the world. I had a blast. I worked maybe twelve hours a week and partied about 42. I became an local superstar. People knew my name, at least. I couldn't walk into a bar, grocery store, or club without being recognized. At the time, I thought any attention was good attention. I thought that being the life of the party was something wonderful. Instead, I had become a joke to the other low-lifes.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
I know that I probably shouldn't be doing this. I know that I should probably just move home with the grandparents and be miserable for a semester before I move off the the land of the younguns *AKA OSU*. I know I could save more money living there and be able to afford better things.
But you and I and everyone else know that the situation would last MAYBE two weeks. I couldn't handle not being able to cook, not being able to enjoy my nightcap, not being able to BREATHE without someone asking me where I was going or what I spent my money on...
Back to the topic at hand, you said we might not have time to do lunch...That's fine. A girl cannot survive on bread alone; there's got to be meat somewhere.
I know I shouldn't want you like this, but it just feels so damn good. When you called today, I could picture you in that uniform. If we weren't 900 miles and 8.5 hours apart, I would have jumped you like a starving dog would jump a pork chop. Just the thought of it sends shivers down my spine.
I shouldn't be thinking about what it's like to have you. I know that when it's all said and done, I will be the one searching for meaning in every thrust, sigh, and moan. But I don't care at this point. I need you to make me feel like myself again. I need to know that I can still make your toes curl. I need to know that I am still beautiful in the eyes of the one that sparks my inspiration and fuels my insanity.
I love you. Every jagged scar, the curve of your stomach, the mole perched on your full lips... All of you.
The living contradiction that I find in you keeps me together and tears me apart. So perfectly flawed. You're a work of art created by a schizophrenic. Nothing means everything and everything holds no meaning.
Eh...I'm still smirking. I can't seem to get this stupid look off my face...You know which look I am talking about. It seems that I never get enough of you. Through the confusdark clouds and lightening, there's a little ray of sunshine and a chorus singing a ridiculously upbeat tune.
I appreciate you . I adore you. You're my end all to be all. Hopefully this all goes as planned. Wouldn't want to waste a fresh haircut and a pretty dress now would we?
But you and I and everyone else know that the situation would last MAYBE two weeks. I couldn't handle not being able to cook, not being able to enjoy my nightcap, not being able to BREATHE without someone asking me where I was going or what I spent my money on...
Back to the topic at hand, you said we might not have time to do lunch...That's fine. A girl cannot survive on bread alone; there's got to be meat somewhere.
I know I shouldn't want you like this, but it just feels so damn good. When you called today, I could picture you in that uniform. If we weren't 900 miles and 8.5 hours apart, I would have jumped you like a starving dog would jump a pork chop. Just the thought of it sends shivers down my spine.
I shouldn't be thinking about what it's like to have you. I know that when it's all said and done, I will be the one searching for meaning in every thrust, sigh, and moan. But I don't care at this point. I need you to make me feel like myself again. I need to know that I can still make your toes curl. I need to know that I am still beautiful in the eyes of the one that sparks my inspiration and fuels my insanity.
I love you. Every jagged scar, the curve of your stomach, the mole perched on your full lips... All of you.
The living contradiction that I find in you keeps me together and tears me apart. So perfectly flawed. You're a work of art created by a schizophrenic. Nothing means everything and everything holds no meaning.
Eh...I'm still smirking. I can't seem to get this stupid look off my face...You know which look I am talking about. It seems that I never get enough of you. Through the confusdark clouds and lightening, there's a little ray of sunshine and a chorus singing a ridiculously upbeat tune.
I appreciate you . I adore you. You're my end all to be all. Hopefully this all goes as planned. Wouldn't want to waste a fresh haircut and a pretty dress now would we?
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