The Best Things in Life Are Free

Today I learned that one of my favorite parts of my work day is going to the (public, usually disgusting) bathroom right after the older Filipino women go gargle with mouthwash after having their overly spiced lunches.

This may seem minor, but walking into a dark bathroom with tiles from the 1980’s with a fan so loud you can’t even hear yourself think, and smelling cool mint fill the air is weirdly satisfying. It’s also a nice change of pace from smelling an entire office complex’s “morning shit.”

Weird way to start a blog post. I know.

Bare with me as I sit at an empty desk with one assignment ahead of me that should normal take an hour, which I am trying to stretch out over the course of an entire day for the sake of having something to do.

As I’ve been browsing Craigslist recently, I have strongly considered becoming a day laborer. Or maybe a welder. Or a lumberjack?

I am still so lost, and the time is fast approaching when “finding your path in life” isn’t going to be cute anymore. In fact, I think it has already expired.

I had a job interview yesterday and felt so discouraged to see his face after telling him I am not bilingual nor do I have a lot of experience in Photoshop. I have a little, but clearly not enough because he has not called me back.

Positives: – I still have a job.

I might be losing weight. Too uninterested to actually weigh myself.

I paid all my bills and was STILL able to buy food. Win!

Aaaaand, as far as I know I am in pretty good health.

Negatives: Too many to list without sounding self-deprecating.

Every time my co-worker walks by my office, I have to panic and pretend I’m working.

Every time a truck drives by outside the office I look like a scared squirrel and have to remind myself that it was not an earthquake.

 

Finishing thought: Could be worse.

 

It Hurts to Hold On, But It’s Missed When It’s Gone.

Happy Friday!

Let’s get emotional!

It’s a slow day at work today, so I’m lost in my thoughts as usual.

So slow that I have eaten half a box of crackers and have filled my Amazon shopping cart with $300 worth of stuff that I am never really going to buy.

 

Lately, I have put a lot of thought towards my mother, and why the world seems to hate her. That may sound harsh, but this story is about a woman who moved to the desert because nobody wanted anything to do with her anymore. Except me. Of course I was mad at here for a while, the longest we’ve gone without speaking to each other, but I could never abandon her. Sometimes I feel like half of me isn’t here anymore. Life doesn’t feel right without her. Her loud mouth, inappropriate jokes, and the strongest feeling of needing to be loved that I have ever seen in a person.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Long story short, her and My oldest sister had a falling out and I got stuck somewhere in the middle of it all. Shitty, ugly words were said. Words that still echo in my head, just like all the bad memories that seemed to have come from my mother.

She has put me through so much, yet I am still loyal to her. Maybe it is unhealthy, probably. But I have learned a lot about when you show someone your true self. And most run, or get weirded out. Few people have always encouraged my “everything sucks, except for a few things” mentality. That would be my boyfriend and my mom. Those two people don’t make me internally hyperventilate at the thought of having to talk to a person, or instantly put my head down because lately there has been a lot of that – coming from a 24 year old who is still in community college, earning minimum wage, and doesn’t have a drivers license.

Holy shit, see that? all of my insecurities in one little sentence.

I miss my mom immensely, but she’s doing so well. I would hate to take that away from her. Sure she went through a bout of drinking, and smoking, and god knows what else. But shes moving into her own place tomorrow and she’s back in AA meeting; and her voice, her voice sounds the way it used to, not just a couple years ago or whatever. The way it sounded when I was little, around four years old, before everything went to shit. A mothers voice, a calm “everything is going to be okay” voice.

This is just the tip of the iceberg with my mother and I, sorry but it’s not that cut and dry……Stay tuned.

 

Always Missed, Never Mourned.

Wednesday.

Today is one of those days where the numbing feeling of routine takes over my brain.

Wake up. Go pee. Make coffee. Brush teeth. Wash face. Do make up. Get Dressed. Go to work. Pretend to work. Secretly look for a new job every chance I get. Go Home. Eat. Cuddle. Sleep. Repeat.

Good news though. Wednesday mean the sluggish feeling of a Monday, and the desire to run away on Tuesdays is finally over.

I’m too tired to get too in depth here, but I’ll focus on the small wins I have in my life.

I got to see my sister and nephew for the first time in over a month yesterday. We should never go that long without seeing each other, yet here we are.

My boyfriend and I went to see my nephew after he had been released from the hospital from having a stomach virus, and we got to talking with my brother-in-laws 91 year old grandpa. What a great man, full of endless story’s about how cities used to be farmland, and how cheap gas used to be!

But I saw the sadness on my boyfriends face. And I couldn’t help but feel like crying.

My boyfriends great-grandpa just passed away in February at the age of 94. They were best friends. While he found solace in talking with my brother-in-laws grandpa, I could see him instantly long to hear his great-grandpa’s voice one more time.

Just thinking about it makes me wish I could here one of his story’s again, too.

As we walked to our car on the way home he told me, “I miss grandpa.” and that was it. I didn’t say, “do you want to talk about it?” “are you feeling okay?” “you can cry if you want to.” Because in my opinion those are all bullshit statements. Nothing you are capable of doing or saying will make that person say, “Oh! Wow! I feel perfect now!”

I know him better than that by now. After seven years, asking him, “are you feeling okay?” is pointless. He will come to me when he wants.

I know this because I am the exact same way with my emotions. I need to stew in them first before projecting them onto someone else.

He will always miss his great-grandpa, whom he saw every day of his life for the past 26 years.

However, after 94 years of life, nobody can argue that he did not live a full life.

Algebra, Schmalgebra

My spirits have been lifted these past couple days.

I am convinced I have a learning disability when it comes to Algebra. That could just be a cop-out though. I’m trying to make myself feel better, here.

Yesterday I dropped yet another Math class, and plan to re-enroll in the Spring.

*queue frustrated family members, who just want to brag so badly that Randyl finally has her College degree*

Sorry, Mom and Dad. At least I’m not a drug dealer, pregnant, or a serial killer. Or a pregnant drug dealing serial killer. That would warrant disappointment for sure.

These past couple semesters school has made me absolutely.fucking.miserable.

Being an English major, I feel super confident surrounded by poems and literature to analyze. I have been done with literature classes for some time now and have been stuck on getting caught up on my Math classes. Fucking soul crushing.

I am convinced that the Education system should become much more tailored to a persons major. A person like me is never going to need to know what a matrix is, how to solve a linear equation, or how to plot a polynomial that is in y-intercept form.

 

After dropping the Summer Algebra class from hell (choosing a summer class was my first mistake) I felt a weight lift off of me, and I felt a little less mousey and invisible. I lose all confidence in myself, my appearance, everything about myself when I walk into that classroom. So I went to a street fair with my boyfriend and a couple of friends, and had a good time.

Life is too short, I will get there some day soon. But for now I will watch old people dance to a Classic Rock cover band at a small town street fair, and solidify important pieces of my life before dedicating myself to some math class that is basically only a requirement to show that I can jump through hoops and be a good little puppy.

That might sound really stupid to people, like a math class is the biggest problem in my life right now. I fucking wish. I have way too much to share, I just wanted to test the waters to see how many want to listen.

Stop and Smell the Goddamned Roses.

My first job was as a telemarketer, or excuse me, a “market researcher.” It was dull, mind-numbing and occasionally I would want to rip my headset off, jump up on my desk and scream like a madwoman while throwing my feces at coworkers. Coworkers who chose the job because the Craigslist ad said “entry level” and the ever famous “no experience necessary.”

Shit. That’s why I applied. All you had to do was read a script to strangers over the phone. Type in their replies, and hope some old man didn’t ask, “Aren’t you a little too young to be a telemarketer, sweetie?” While I sat there thinking of a response I would always be hoping the middle aged man on the other end of the phone wasn’t touching his nipple or something even more private. I knew I had a curse of sounding like an eleven year old. So I would always say something like, “I am old enough sir, and I am a Market Researcher.” 😉

 

My advice on never growing up is to never EVER over look the small milliseconds of life that make you go “Wow, so that’s what we’re all here for.”

That feeling that you get when instead of making well thought out plans, you wonder to a park and decide to eat ice cream in the grass. Or instead of worrying about being late to an Algebra class, you tell yourself, “I still have two hours, that’s plenty of time for a quick swim, and a margarita.” Maybe that margarita part is just me, but it did make class more tolerable.

When I entered my twenties I was still with my high school sweetheart, still am to this day. I feel like that has something to do with my overwhelming lack of maturity that I have grown to LOVE. I mean, we get to do grown up things and see each other grow, but we also get to say, ” Hey lets pretend were teenagers, even if it’s for a couple hours.” And I don’t feel stupid about it because the feeling is the same feeling I had when I first started loving him. Two poetic teenagers. Minus the pot.

More advice on never growing up: take your own advice.

This past week I found myself in a tailspin, for more than a few reasons. As I was laying in bed last night, I was super quiet, completely lost in my own head. My boyfriend looked at me and said, “I know your depressed right now, I am too, everything is not OK right now. But this is my favorite time of the day when we just lay here together.”

And then I broke down crying.

But after my cry, which makes anyone feel better, I realized that it was my favorite time of day too. Our teenager time. Our fart contest, tickle, and make each other laugh time.

As I find myself in another mind-numbing office job, I find solace in my boyfriend saying none of this is forever. Anything and everything can be overcome. Everybody goes through slumps, and everybody has felt like emptying their account to buy a one-way train ticket (just me?)

Some day my income will be more than my bills, and some day I will not have to grit my teeth and hold back a good ol’ poop-throwing party as I get ready for work every morning.

Some day soon.

 

The Quiet Ones Are Usually the Serial Killers.

I never really considered myself to be an interesting enough person to start a blog. But apparently wanna-be writers write blogs. Wanting to write never made me feel like the world needs to hang on my every word. In a sense, I want to be a writer just so I can spill my guts on paper, and publish it anonymously. Like self-help therapy so maybe one day the “memories” of my younger life won’t take up so much space in my head.

I’m not even 100% sure what I should be talking about on here. In fact, I just almost deleted this post accidentally. Technology isn’t really my thing.

A couple of my friends told me that I should write about when we all get together. Because something stupid or hilarious is bound to happen. But I can’t base a blog off of that. Maybe I’ll format it like chapters in a book, or maybe a diary.

Or maybe I’ll try my hardest to remember to get on here once a week and write something down, ya know, for the sake of my career.

My next post will be more interesting, I promise. I hope.