my rhyme ain't good just yet

Life is funny. Sometimes it’s funny in that it makes you want to kill yourself. Then sometimes it’s funny in that you can’t stop laughing. This whole day has been weird. Partly because I was up until midnight watching Lifetime and then had to get up at five a.m. to drive my folks to the airport, but it was mostly because it’s just one of those days. All day it’s been threatening to rain and it’s been unusually cool. And weird, amazing songs keep coming on the radio--that almost never happens. And work wasn’t as hellish as I thought it was going to be. Usually when I get no sleep work is torture, but today was… nice. Customers were being strange--saying “thank you” and “you have a good day too” and laughing at my insane jokes. One lady actually filled out a “Cut Above” card, writing that I was “pleasant and patient”. I’m never pleasant or patient, especially when I haven’t slept. And I worked with Heather, who isn’t half bad. I like working with people who make me laugh. I mean a genuine laugh, not a forced smile or a “heh” kind of reaction. It was a--dare I say it?--blessing.

 

It’s days like this that make you want to give God a kiss. Like, just grab It and kiss It on the cheek and hang out. Walking out of work right after a torrential shower, when the world smells sweet and rain is rapidly drying and it’s humid but not too humid and there’ s a warm breeze and the sun’s coming out and there’s a great song on the radio--that’s the best. Thank you, God.

 

...career-wise, that is. Dude, she is totally fired. And gone. She came in today and got her shit and she won’t be back. HA! I shouldn’t be so happy about it. I know it’s wrong to be so happy, but she totally deserved it. I just wished she could have been fired harder. Like…should have been forced to stand on the counter wearing a sign that read “Thief” or…we all have gotten to spit on her or something. Or hit her extension cords or something. I wanted to laugh and point at least. And yes I do realize how mean and immature that is. But life goes on… just not for Ashly at Jo-ann’s. Good riddance.

 

I always knew I’d last longer than her... and somehow that’s not as comforting as it used to be. It’s like… I need to get over this little slump or whatever it is that I’m doing right now. This is so not where I want to be. And I know I say that quite a bit, but I mean, this is the worse it’s ever been. I’m not, in any way, where I feel I should be. And I’m so so tired of Jo-ann. I’m so very tired of dealing with the fucking whinging. And the things I want require me to make a leetle more cash. My check wasn’t too bad today, but it could be better. Whatever. I’m so tired. I’m working all weekend. I hate this place.

 

begin to breathe.

Tonight at work a little girl kept singing, “Oh how I love Jesus, oh how I love Jesus, oh how I love Jesus” in that tuneless way that little kids do. It was cute at first, but then got really, really annoying.

 

I hate the cutting counter. I hate that I can’t cut straight to save m’ life. Fuck.

 

I hate harpsichord music. It sucks balls.

I wanna make cupcakes and put icing dragonflies on them and use them to bribe Dan into reading my work.

 

I detest Ashly. I was feeling pretty bad about giving her hard time before, but now I’m back to disliking her. She called Jade’s son a “nig baby”. Not fucking cool. Not at all. If you wanna be ignorant and racist with your friends or at home, fine. But don’t bring that shit to work. I really just wanna stab her in the face with some scissors.

 

I need a new job. I’m sick of cutting counter and ringing people up. Plus, all the good people are dropping like flies. Jennifer A., Lauren P., Dave, Traci etc. Sigh

 

I really want some margaritas and a foot massage.

 

I’m thinking of buying Bleak House with my next check, even though I vowed to myself I would never ever read anything by Charles Dickens ever again.

 

I lurf JJ Feilds and Clive Owen. Hmm.

 

Every time I hear this song I just laugh and laugh and laugh.

I had a dream last night that I was an interior decorator and the couple I was shopping for wanted me to join them for a threesome. I became like… a sex expert or something. That was the hilarious part of the dream. The weird part was that Denise and I ended up in a Japanese restaurant where we were the only non-Japanese people there. Everyone was speaking Japanese and smoking and drinking sake and reading the menus (which were in Japanese) and the chef was serving everyone else, but when he got to me, he started yelling at me, his face an inch from mine. Even Denise seemed to understand and sympathize with this crazy dude yelling in my face. It was so weird. Everyone got to pick one song to play on the jukebox by pointing to the menu and I clapped my hands because I recognized Zazen Boys and I wanted them to play. But then the mean chef in the soiled uniform yelled at me and everyone just rolled their eyes at me because apparently I lose at life. The chef really had it out for me. He went around the table with this really potent sake. He made a show of serving to everyone else: he lit some on fire, added peaches, added splashes of some other liquor, or dropped a shot glass full of sake into a tumbler of another drink. When he got to me, he dipped some of the Potent Sake out of a rusty bucket and poured it down my throat. I felt like my face was going to explode. There was more to the dream, I think. More about that couple, and I remember walking around the new Barnes and Noble and punching that chick from work, Katie, right in her putrid face.







But anyway, yesterday we finally took my mom to the emergency room. She’d been having severe back pain since Friday but we all thought it was gas (gas is very serious in the Jones family). And we held off partly because it was just too… much. Two years ago, we took my mom to the hospital on Good Friday and she was admitted on Easter Sunday, diagnosed with Leukemia. Nobody wanted to take her back to the hospital. My dad took my mom and I kept saying, “Oh, I’m leaving in a little while.” I took my sweet time going. I just didn’t want to be there again. It smelled the same. I hate the smell of Hinsdale hospital. She looked so tiny on the hospital bed. To keep from sobbing, Tiffany and I played the “This or That” game.

Tiffany: Would you rather see… umm that band where the guy was the drummer of that other band… that band with that guy… Kurt—

ME: I’m sorry--are you talking about Nirvana? Did you just call Nirvana “that band with that guy Kurt”?

Tiffany: Yeah, but not that band, the one the drummer started.

ME: Yeah that’s the Foo Fighters, Tiff. But um… sweetie, please don’t ever call Nirvana “that band with Kurt”, okay? Or I might kill you.

Tiffany: Whatever. Would you rather see them live or The Smashing Pumpkins?

So yeah, we did that for almost three hours. I couldn’t keep my eyes from watering the entire time I sat there though. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t help but think that God wouldn’t dare punish our family any more. My mom is a nag and a compulsive worrier, but she’s a good person. What else, God? What else are you going to do to her? One of her CCDXHE levels were high which lead to more tests to determine if she had a blood clot on her lungs, which made me think about what Dan said on Saturday about how his grandmother had back pain and it turned out to be lung cancer. But the test said she didn’t have a blood clot on her lungs, and besides her potassium levels being a little low, her lungs were fine and her heart was fine and everything was fine. It was muscular.

ME: Melissa said it was probably muscular. She said you probably pulled a muscle. Melissa was totally right.

Everyone else: *eyeroll*

what is this life?

I really do wish Mother Nature would make up her mind. Tuesday it’s almost 70 degrees and today it’s 30 (although it was nice being snuggled under my covers sleeping my life away and wearing my Homer slippers). I’m ready for the warmth, damnit. Especially since the heat is not working. At all.

 

My mother threw out my Chinese food and forced me to go out into the world to forage for food, but it was fine in the end because some sweet soul posted three of the newest Jane Austen movies on Youtube. Sigh. I love Persuasion. I didn’t think that any version could be better than the one with Ciarán Hinds and Amanda Root, but this was pretty good too (and it had Tobias Menzies! Woot!). Read it. Watch it. Love it. Mansfield Park vexed me greatly. The acting, the costuming, the writing. It was just the blargh-iest blargh ever. But Northanger Abby was pretty sweet. I need to get a life.

 

But speaking of Jane Austen, the company that published the controversial, horribly written turd of a sequel to Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife, is hiring. And it’s pretty close to me and it’s a relatively new company. Should I? Yes, of course I should. I could turn them around and get my all friends published and go flying off to open the London Office and meet Tobias Menzies and have a torrid affair with him. And besides, a steady job will fund my upcoming projects. This will be my year. And I know I’ve said that before, but this year I am determined. This will work out. Besides, I can’t handle another year of disappointments and bitterness (especially when it could have been avoided). I don’t like to be idle and fretful. I don’t like putting every hope of happiness into the hands of others. I’ll try to make myself happy and follow my own mind. I’m usually not wrong. Damnit, I wish I were awake during another time. Being up at 5 in the morning and energized doesn’t help me a jot (oy vey—“jot”, “vexed”—too much Austen). I would love to be awake during daylight hours, during business hours so I could fax this over to Sourcebooks Inc and harass them into giving me a job. Because this year? I’m moving out. I cannot live here anymore. And I’m going to San Francisco. Alone if I have to. I had the most delightful almost-dream. I bought the ticket with my credit card and was perfectly calm and cool while my father raged at me for doing this without his consent. “I am quite determined, Father,” I said in my most Austen-ian accent. And I saw everything and was content and refreshed and in control of my own life and my own mind. Grr…

photo by Chris Waltrip

I went out to get midnight fries for my mom and sister and a milkshake for myself. While waiting for them to finish the fries, this song came on that I didn’t know but somehow knew from a past life or something and started rocking out. It was Pavement’s “Cut Your Hair”. I dunno, the music, the cool damp night and the smell of wet, fresh air and the Flirting Guy (is it flirting when someone treats you like a human being? I have such low expectations for human interaction) all made me feel… awake and alive and I thought of how I spent the entire day in bed close to tears but not being able to cry. That’s not me. That’s not the authentic me. My thoughts jumped instantly to a not quite dream I had. I was in Chicago on a balmy, overcast Tuesday. I was sitting outside on the steps of The Art Institute of Chicago, near a gigantic lion waiting for him, watching the groups of school children running around, the business people, the art students sketching and smoking and looking oh-so-cool and I was… wonderful. I was wearing this pretty purple skirt and lavender top and dangling earrings (things I wouldn’t be caught dead in now) and I looked as happy and beautiful as I felt. I envied no one, wasn’t scared or nervous or anxious. Content. And then he came, grinning up at me, his damp, blue-black curls falling into his eyes, proudly wearing his “I Hate Bottles” t-shirt. That’s me. It’s all possible. It’s all within my grasp. I can do it. Whatever it is I want, I can do it by simply doing. I don’t know what I mean. It’s not hopeless. I need to get out of this house more often. I need to walk, write, exist (do more than exist).

( And: )

( And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. --Anaïs Nin )

I am… I have no idea how to finish that sentence. My mind keeps going back and forth, and just as I’ve decided, “This is it! My mind’s made up!” it changes again. There are so many things and people to consider. I want to please my parents and please myself, but our wants are diametrically opposed. They want me to settle down and grow up, and I want a few years more of fun. They want me to take a job, any job right now, no matter if it’s something I’m not even a little bit interested in. I want to take something that I at least feel a little comfortable with.

I had an interview today with Timken Inc. They make bearings for machines. The job is six months to a year, and the job would include office work: filing, answering phones, data entry. Fine, whatever. But the interview sucked. Totally. First of all, I had been up the night before driving around with Heniff until 3 AM and then we sat at her house talking until 4. I got up at 8 this morning and couldn’t go back to sleep. The temp agency called me at 10Am and set up this interview for 1:30 PM. Are you keeping up? I had only three and half hours of sleep, and I had to be prepared for a job interview with a company I had no interest in, and didn’t want to work for. And I have this… I dunno what you’d call it, but when I’m really sleepy, I sound completely drunk. Like… fucking stupid-drunk. Like… Dan-dancing-around-a- campfire-drunk. It’s not pretty. I had to slap myself awake. I got there earlier and they acted like it was the biggest crisis. “She’s here earlier omg what do we do? Let’s just get started. Get started, seriously? Sure.” Jeez. But I should have known it would turn out rotten when I shook hands with the boss. I’m a big girl, but I’m not The Incredible Hulk, please don’t try to destroy my hands. I get it—you’re a strong, virile male and I’m weak female. I really don’t understand why men don’t adjust their grip when shaking hands with women. But on the other hand, I really, really loathe weak handshakes.

Anyway, while I was sitting there, I was totally having Pearson flash backs. They were so not interested. I didn’t have any experience with distribution and I didn’t have any interest or experience with ball bearings. I mean, I know balls—oh I’m not even going to go there.

It wasn’t exactly a love fest on my side either. I wasn’t impressed with them and I think I might have given the impression that I really didn’t care about the job, but on 3 odd hours of sleep, I can’t be expected to be excited about a year of doing bullshit work in a bullshit office with cretins.

After looking over my résumé, the boss guy said, “That Pearson job was right up your alley. They weren’t hiring or something? That sounds like what you should be doing.”

Oh. My. God. Even this Stone Cold Steve Austin wannabe son of a bitch understands. I almost screamed at him, “You get it, you creep, so why don’t my folks?” And yes, I did see the preview for The Condemned recently, and yes, it did make me wanna drop a barf.

And the bad part is, when he said that, I was all like, “Dude, I know this shit. Pass me a beer, why don’t you?” I don’t really remember all the details, but I get the feeling that I didn’t make the best impression. My answers were so contradictory and grrr… I didn’t get a good feeling about it, and I don’t wanna do it. And when I got in the car, I started laughing hysterically. “I really, really hope the other people who applied knock their socks off. I hope those other candidates know all about bearings and distributors and have great filing skills!”

I made the mistake of telling my mom about the interview and how I felt about the company. Of telling her how uncomfortable it was sitting there in my itchy intern suit sweating like a pig trying to sift ideas through my tired brain and answer questions without sounding like a cokehead. She told me, “Just take it! Just take the job. You need the money.” Then she brought Dan into it. “I was thinking… Dan has a job he doesn’t like. He wants to leave, doesn’t he? But he stays because he wants his own apartment and car and—“
“Let me stop you right there. Not the same.”
“But that’s not his field.”
“THAT. DOESN’T. MATTER. GODDAMNIT.”

What she doesn’t get is that Dan had a few years of good times there. He worked with people he liked and had fun and it wasn’t hell from the beginning. Nice try, Pattie. I doubt that if someone had offered him lines of coke at his interview, he would have taken the job. And she doesn’t get that I’m not turning down these other jobs because I’m looking for “the” job, I just want to work someplace where I get a decent vibe. I mean, if they offer me the job, I’m pretty much against the wall, and I’ve said repeatedly that I would take the goddamned job, but I don’t think they’ll want me. He was looking at me in utter confusion at some points, which made me think that my answers didn’t make sense.

My mom said I sabotaged myself, and that’s a possibility, but I think you should sometimes follow your instincts. If you get a bad vibe from the place, don’t go there. They probably eat babies. Yeah, that makes sense. I’m done now. I just feel so entirely screwed and trapped and confused. Last night, Melissa and I talked about everything under the sun and I came to a realization: I have chosen the kind of life I want. I just have to go for it. Simple, yes, and I feel like a tool for not figuring that out earlier, but so elated to have finally vocalized it. I’m comfortable with the idea of having a couple of jobs to pay the bills, or not making tons of money as long as I’m doing something I love, as long as I can be closer to Chicago, as long as I can be closer to Dan and Melissa, as long as I can be around museums and bookshops and diners and trains and noise and people. I don’t mind working hard—I actually like it sometimes, and I would work like a slave if it were for something that had some meaning for me.

And here’s the conundrum: How do I go about doing that? What’s the first step? Do I just say, “Fuck it” to my parents? Do I just say, “I need your moral and, for the time being, financial, support? Please support me in this so I can be Future!Kristen that I want to be.” Do I have the ovaries for that?

I really hate that my dad knows the woman from the temp agency. I’m glad he got me in with her, but I hate that he works right next door to her and talks to her everyday. She offered me a job—a week long assignment fixing voting machines or some shit and my dad told her that I would accept it. And I told her that I wasn’t really feeling it. “It’s eleven dollars,” was his response when I told him I didn’t want to fix voting machines. “That’s four hundred and forty dollars—you’re just throwing it away?”

 

I understand that he’s pissed because I spent—let’s see—all of January and February not doing much, but he’s getting out of control. He wants me to just fill in applications with every temp agency in town (which is not really kosher with the temp folks) and take any job that comes my way. “A job t-bagging hobos? She’ll do it! Kristen will do anything…anything!”  I’m not quite that desperate yet. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. I understand that two and half months of not really doing anything equals tragedy. I understand that sleeping all day and playing The Sims 2 automatically leads to a life of prostitution and coat-hanger abortions in alleyways or giving blowjobs to buy smack, but he needs to back off just a leetle.

 

I have just the job for you. That’s what she said. How in the fuck is that just the job for me? It’s just the job for me in that it’s a job and you’re offering it to me, but um…yeah how does that fit? I have background in Literature and writing. I have typing skills and general office skills. I don’t build fucking computers or voting machines or rockets. Please be on the job a little bit, Vivian. Try to match my skills for the right job. I liked being at Corporate Express. That was the kind of office I like. There was an energy there. The people were laid back but energetic. They were friendly but not all “Let’s be best friends! We’ll show you the good lunch table!” It was pretty much casual. Sorta business casual, but then absolutely casual on Fridays. If only I could find an office like that in the publishing world…or in media or…something that interests me. I don’t want to keep defending my snobbery and cowardice to my father. I loathe the idea of going to Joanns tomorrow. That fucking cunt Nancy finally scheduled me and I don’t want to go. If they send me home after a few hours, I swear to mighty Thor that I will make her dance, that I will make her die dancing…on the end of a rope! Yes! I love Billy West.

Well, today was my first day as a Temp. It was sorta fun. I was early (always good), but the receptionist wasn’t there and the door was locked. And then my stupid, fuck-face car started blaring its alarm for no reason. I took this as a sign that my day was gonna be hellish. Going into this whole one day assignment thing, I was already convinced that it wasn’t going to work out.

 

But I was wrong. Most of the people were friendly and so busy with their own shit that I don’t think they had time to really watch me. Not that I was stealing pens or checking my journal or dozing or anything. I think this is the first office job I ever had where I was able to stay totally awake. My mind was wondering, but that’s not surprising when you’re typing the same shit over and over again, only changing little details. Anyone’s mind would wander. But there was decent coffee and I was okay. And! Something that never occurred to me before is that being a temp allows me to do different things and be different people. I could adopt a cool accent for each job and make up a life. I could be Kristen the daughter of diplomats or Kristen the former prostitute trying to make a fresh start and get her kids back. Dude, I could be anything! It’s fun. And besides that, I don’t have to deal with all the work bullshit, getting involved in people’s feuds and grudges. I can go in, do my work, and go home. Not gonna be my new career or anything but… good source of cash. In one day at this company, I earned as much as I would make at Jo-ann in two weeks. I’m so over that job. So over it. I just want to quit, but I can’t until I have a steady line of work. Not that Joann’s is steady work. In the last six weeks, I’ve worked maybe…six days. They fucking suck. I should get Dan to cum in their putrid faces quit already.

 

 

 

But on the upside, the company asked me to come back tomorrow, which means I’ll have the money for gas and food and booze for Florida. Woot.

I have a job tomorrow. Well, an “assignment”. It’s one day. It’s clerical work. It’s business professional (hellish). I feel lower than a limbo stick at Carnival time… and that’s as low as limbo sticks get.

 

But! Secret Garden was on earlier and it made me a little happier. And last night I watched a very watered down Tipping the Velvet. If there is a channel devoted to gay and lesbian programming, shouldn’t they be able to show two hot chicks getting down and dirty? Who are you worried about offending? Damnit! They cut the scenes with even a little bit of nudity! But I still had to watch it.

 

 

But I think I might have a way to start the “Sudsie Stabs Her Grandmother” Chapter. Maybe. But…this sounds so stupid… I’m scared to write it. I’m scared to get started. Why? I don’t know. I’m such a coward. I hate it. I hate that everything feels so out of control and that I feel so voiceless and powerless. It’s frustrating. Maybe I should take up kick boxing or maybe… I don’t know. Maybe I should just shove my sister really, really hard.

Melissa was being nuts and Dan was giggling and they were themselves, at their best. And Kristen knew that she was at home with them. Everything made sense. Everything stupid and fake about their lives and their world made utter sense and anyone who didn’t believe the billboards and commercials and movies were cynics, but in the stupidest, most pathetic sense of the word. They were cynical about the real things, about the things that mattered: beautiful, perfect naked girls and mortgages at reasonable rates and companies that cared about the individual. They didn’t hear that song, let alone feel it. But Kristen, at this weird, exhausting moment did. It was like a bird in her chest, flapping wildly, filling her with this sense of completion, contentment, peace. It was battling against that sense of doom. It was raging against that horribly cynical voice that was trying to scream over the din of music and hope, “It will only go downhill from here.”

The sun was out today. It was warmer and I felt more alive than I have in weeks. I was so fucking angry with my dad I thought I might burst a blood vessel. He called me today and told me to come down to the unemployment office to talk to a lady. About what? A job. Some job. No specifics or anything. I hate that. But anyway, he called me and I pouted and ranted and when I finally got there, the lady’d gone back to her mystery company. I figured out what’s making me mad about my dad’s approach: he doesn’t care what the job is. I don’t think I’m that desperate yet. I don’t want to do just anything. That miscellaneous company that I wrote about? Just a hiring service. They suck. I called twice yesterday and the lady didn’t even take the time to explain everything. I got all dolled up and went over there to apply and they just kept walking past me and not telling me anything. I got so angry standing there. Now that I’m calmer and have cooled down, I realize that they don’t need me, I need them and I shouldn’t have gotten so pissed, but I was. I was sitting there wearing a nice, business casual outfit and nobody else was, and nobody seemed to be very much awake or alive and I couldn’t help but think: This is not what I want. I am above this. I guess that makes me a bit of a snob, but I don’t care. Dude, I graduated from one of the best art schools in the county! Shouldn’t I be out there trying to get something a little better? Shouldn’t I be applying for the jobs I want?

 

So I left. I took my application and drove over to Macy’s, determined to get an application and get a job and rule them—what? I don’t know. I was so angry and full of vim I was barely thinking straight and filled out an application. I have an interview tomorrow. Ha! I mean, it’s probably just to see if I’m a lunatic and they probably do this for everyone who could make it through the application process, but shit, I’m excited.

 

Except… my dad called me and left me a voicemail telling me to come over to the office so I could meet somebody, which, of course, caused me to shout “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” at my phone. I didn’t go over there, but he did get me a job at this place that makes trophies and awards. 8.25 an hour doing data entry. It could be a possibility. But if I took the job at Macy’s, I’d have time for the stuff I want like Florida and Boston and doing an internship at a radio station. I dunno what to think.

My mom asked me Sunday, “Do you think you are bi-polar?” I took great offense, and then she started backpedaling like, “Kristen, you know I’m just kidding. I don’t think that, but you have to admit… I mean, you were so excited about getting a car and were writing down how much each one cost and everything and now you’re just… ‘I don’t care’ or something. You do seem a little bi-polar.”

 

I might have believed it was a joke if she weren’t always trying to get me in to see a therapist or something. That is so lame. The fact that I’m not excited about my life and I have no idea what I want to do the minute I’m done with classes doesn’t mean that I’m depressed or something and want to kill myself. But I am frustrated and I am feeling a little hopeless. Like, what’s gonna happen? And the reason I started writing this was because I was pondering my mother’s not-funny little joke about me being bi-polar. Because yesterday I was happy and excited about possibly getting a job with some miscellaneous company, and this afternoon I was inexplicably pissed off and now I’m feeling like there’s nothing to look forward to and nothing good or right in my life. And I’m listening Nick Drake which I know is a mistake, but I can’t help it and it’s making me feel like shit, which is making me think that I like being depressed which is annoying. I so don’t like being depressed. What kind of pathetic, immature little fuck-tard likes being depressed? Shit, I like being happy and laughing and getting excited about shit. I don’t like crying (especially since it’s not even that good kind of crying where you sob and snot runs down your nose—it’s that kind where tears just sort of ooze out of you). I don’t like sitting in a darkened room listening to James Iha sing about whatever the fuck this song’s about. I don’t like knowing that what I do today has no meaning or purpose. I don’t like that I can’t remember what day it is and that I can’t find anything in this house and that my parents are forcing me out (they aren’t, I know this, but it feels like they are, and I hate that I resent them for forcing me because, shit, they’re ready to retire and move to Florida—they don’t need me hanging around their necks. I know this).

I keep making these plans. Every couple of days I start thinking about what I need to do: I need to get a job. I need to get out of the house. I need to file my taxes. I need to exercise. I need to eat more vegetables. It needs to happen sooner rather than later. I need to fucking write. I keep making these plans but then feel scared, inexplicably scared, fucking terrified, and then I don’t do anything. I play The Sims or Zuma or just stare into the space and ooze salt water. I actually kinda wrote while I was at the unemployment office. The beginning of a story. These two bureaucrats are writing a speech to get the country into a war. It was weird to just be writing again. It made me mad to think that I’m not really utilizing any of the skills I got from school. And it makes me mad that I’m not taking the big plunge. I want to be a writer, I want to work on radio or television, so why don’t I just do it, even if it doesn’t pay at first? I need money, but I don’t need 65,000 a year—yet. Just a little something. I don’t know. What if it fails? What if I have to hear about it for the next fifteen years? That’s what really bothers me: failing and then having to hear about it forever from my family. That really pisses me off. But this is my life, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I be taking the steps? Yes, of course I should. But everything feels so goddamned doomed.

my dad just called and told me to come down to the unemployment office to talk to a woman from a staffing group. i'm pissed off, but the reason for it has me perplexed. why am i so angry right now? how dare he? is that it? this is a good thing, right? him helping me even if it's not something I want? him putting me on the spot right now, getting me out of the house? that's good right? but it's pissing me off. i'd better not put him off too much longer.

I wish I were this determined, this motivated, this creative, this analytical when it came to my own life. Finding a job, losing weight, doing something with myself would be easier. I have the will and the intelligence and the ingenuity but I use it on bullshit like installing The Sims 2. I’ve been up since 5 AM yesterday. I took a small four-hour nap, but after staying up all night playing cards and drinking coffee and driving home in a blizzard, I’m still going, driven by my desire to install this stupid game. I almost just want to leave it. I hate myself. I almost want to just give Seasons to Melissa and sell these wretched games so I can be free of them and have a life. Almost.

While cleaning out my old files to make room for the newest Sims 2 expansion pack, I found an ass load of sacredpumpkin33's old phone posts! This make this horrible, rainy day so much better. And it reminds me of why i love that old bastard.

I cleaned, organized, laughed at Jackson worrying about the baby, cried at Rory’s graduation speech, and I am about to pass out. I tried to sleep earlier. I tried all the usual sleep-inducing methods: burying my head in the covers, taking deep breaths and clearing my head, and then… ahem “playing with my keyboard”. Heh. Jeez. I suck. Anyway, I still couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about my stupid job search and how I was gonna miss the prime hours for going to the bookstore and looking up shit about the trip and miss the lunch specials at Golden Chopsticks and I realized that my mind couldn’t shut down. So I’m listening to Muse to keep my mind focused on Florida, sending out my applications so I can find the job, and then I’m gonna get some Chinese food and crash until Doomsday. Good plan.

I can’t remember how that goes. Faux Poes Foes or Faux Poe Foes? I slept for 18 hours today. Dreamt that Dan and some kids from Jo-ann Fabrics drugged me and took pictures of me doing things of a sexually explicit nature. And I’m laughing right now, but I woke feeling violated and sad. So, of course, I went back to sleep. And dreamt that my little niece, my sweet Kaylalita, cursed me out and called me a cunt-ass bitch face, or something equally rude. I woke up and stayed snuggled under my covers, both angry with my family for not even knocking to see I was alive, and also sad because this was my life. No work, no contact with human beings, craving junk food, getting fatter, sleeping all day, and being terrified and hopeless.

 

I ambled out of bed at 10 PM, went out, got some raspberry cheese lattice and a triple burger combo (they should just call it the Heart Attack Sandwich) and went home and ate it while contemplating the past and the future. The past, I didn’t really want to think about because of the whole failure after failure thing. I almost don’t want to think about it now, though I’m in a much better mood. I’m in more of a fuck it mood. Time for a fuck-it bucket (only full of fruit instead of candy)! I made some coffee and watched Gilmore Girls Season 3 and ate a couple pieces of raspberry lattice while cleaning and organizing and planning.

 

Earlier, while I was driving around Bolingbrook feeling sorry for myself, rejecting the idea of getting fast food, I thought about just bailing on life. I thought about how much my life resembles the life of a calf being raised for veal. We eat, sleep, and crap while being held in a tiny pen, waiting for the inevitable. But the difference is that I am not veal. I am human. I am a thinking person. I can change this if I want to. And of course I want to. See, at the end of high school, all I wanted was to fade away. I didn’t take graduation photos or go to the graduation ceremony. I tried to just not exist, kinda to hurt my family and partly to prove how above it all I was.  I don’t want to do that now. I want to exist. I want to go to readings. On the way home, I imagined stopping in Boston with Heniff and Fossie and going to a bar for a reading. Heniff would offer me ten bucks to go up there and read, and after a couple of drinks, I would get up there and say, “Hey, I’m Kristen from Chicago. Here is a little slice of life of a Jo-ann Fabrics employee.” And then I would read that violent rant I wrote and people would laugh and cower and clap and I would laugh and have another icy cold vodka. That’s what I want. I want to fucking see Buenos Aires. I don’t want to just read about it in the paper and dream about it. I’m so tired of that. I cannot, cannot, cannot wait for approval. I have to just start doing shit. Making moves. As Rory tells Paris, “Bed is not a life plan.” Even if it all fails and blows up in my face, even if I get lost in Buenos Aires and end up in a Turkish prison (shhh) I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’m a writer! I graduated from Columbia College in Chicago! I am going to the east coast and Florida. No maybes about it! I want to exist!  I will take on temp work if I have to. I’ll do whatever I have to. I’m not going to change myself simply by wishing for it. And I don’t want to be this out of control, super self-conscious person. I’m a sub-par friend and daughter and sister and I want that to end right now. I’m considering going to Columbia to ask to speak with Alexis Pride. She’s kinda my hero. She teaches and writes and goes to Prague every summer, and last year she took a sabbatical and spent time in Spain. I so want that! I could talk to her, pick her brain and see how to make something like that happen. I need to start by applying and planning and I need to start thinking positively. Florida is going to happen. East Coast and West Coast are going to happen. Buenos Aires. Writing. Graduate School. I just can’t ever take drugs when Dan’s around. That’s all. I don’t want to end up on his website. I can’t believe he would betray me like that after all we’ve been through.