When I was younger -- not too much younger, but within the past seven years at least, probably -- I had conceded to the idea that that I could survive happily with a dead-end job as long as I could write on the side. I just wanted to be a good writer so what people did read, they appreciated. NOT TRUE! Because once you become a decent writer, even though you still are filled with self-doubt and apprehension about moving towards the real writing and publishing market, you at least realize your potential, and have continuous positive feedback from peers and people who are already "making it" and then you go back to your regular job that doesn't pay you anything, and you start to think, "I bet my time is worth more than this." That said, I applied for a big person job today, as a Communications Specialist at a fancy private school in a fancy suburb outside Pittsburgh. We'll see what happens. I have a stupid haircut, but a winning smile. I am mailing the application in proper, because I feel that people take more fondly to traditional mail than to email, as it takes more time and effort.
In other news, I went to Boston a couple weekends ago. It was a business trip, though once I got there I couldn't remember much of the business except for getting a new computer and getting my beloved sandles. I didn't even get my favorite tank top or any of the other things I had intended on picking up. I got my bike, and then wasn't even sure if I wanted to take it, but took it out of principle since we had driven so far. It will undoubtedly be nice to have a real winter bike instead of turning my older nice bike into a winter bike. Soupie and I stayed at my parents all three nights, because it was easier and because I was sick.
When we arrived at my parents' house it was about 5:30 and my mom was awake on the couch watching television. We said hello and checked in and drove to Hull, the town that harbors my heart in its waters as if I myself were a docked ship buoying in the bay. We watched the grim sunrise over the wide sea at Nantasket, hopped along the old forts, stopped for a moment by the docks to see the views of the cities I don't love nearly as much as that spot where I can view them. I fell in love again with the salt on my skin and we hugged sleepily and passed out on the pull-out bed for not enough hours. Mom made us pancakes and I felt so at home I could have cried but there was no reason to, plus my eye was swollen to tears already.
Soupie went and saw one of his friends in Dot while Mom and I took care of computer stuff. She gave me a ride to meet him with my bike and by the time I got there I was almost dead, almost cried earnestly in the car. But here's the thing about me, when I am really sick I don't like to show just how sick I am and that's how I know myself that I am really in a bad way. If I am sad I say I'm fine but if things aren't so rough I will complain and vent. If I am near death I will say, "nah I'm ok, don't worry, I don't feel so bad." It's when the baby stops crying that the parents start to worry. And I sat still and teary-eyed and quiet and apologetic in Evan's car and he gave me a sorrowful look that must have nursed me back to health. By the time we met up with Kristen I felt alive again, and by the time we had bumped into a few friends of mine from different places in my life, and were sitting with Joe and Conor and Kris I laughed enough to start complaining again and I knew I would be ok.
We took Kris home and stayed for a while with Theresa there, then I took him to my favorite spot in the city, the BU bridge, and we dangled our feet off the edge and on the way back I was almost entirely blind and Soupie needed to backtrack and grab my hand and walk me across the bridge I know by heart.
The next morning we had more pancakes, hung around the house, went to see Rob Noyes at the Posi Fort. I took Evan to Spikes and we ceremoniously ate french fries from the trash. Got some pharmeceudicals and some coffee and went to Somerville to see the punks. Baby Safe Haven seemed a lot like the Cuntree Club, full of color and ladies and a strange sad awkwardness that comes I think with feeling a bit too close to something of which I'm no longer a part. The Vomitorium was oddly more comfortable, amidst the poor lighting and graffitti and bad ideas and remnants of parties that were never cleaned up -- I felt like I was inside the brains of Elie, Pat, and JonCon. Evan and I walked to Charlestown to see Dot and Nana Ollie and by the time we got there I was miserable again, but fueled on the excitement of seeing my grandmother and my friends and the impending potluck at the Vomitorium. After a half hour or so of small talk and watching television with no sound on, we gladly accepted a ride home with Dot's granddaughter, even though we got lost and ended up getting dropped off half-way home and walking the rest to save more driving in circles.
By the time we got back to the potluck, most of the food was gone and a game of kicking ball was in full affect. Everyone was standing in a circle, backs to the walls, kicking a kickball as hard as they could at each other, bouncing it off the walls and ducking to not get hit too hard in the face. A firework was lit in the kitchen, causing the smoke alarm to go off, which was then put in the microwave. The bathroom caught fire at some point, and we all sat around the livingroom after the house was aired out and we were kicked out of the yard by the neighbors. Fun turned to raucus turned to chaos, and the one miserable light was turned pff and we all threw bottles and furniture at each other and laughed fully and honestly. I lost my ring and it was time to go home.
The night was hard and sore and full of nuclear air caught in my throat and eyes, and the morning came too soon but we welcomed it anyway. We were on the road before 7am and Evan was kind enough to drive while I yawned and wrote a paper for the class I had that evening. We hit a turrential storm right outside Pittsburgh and I made it to the library just in time to print out my paper and make it to class on time.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
consolidation and egotism
I have too many passwords. To the point where I go to check my email (all 5 of my emails), sign in to my school's Blackboard system, update one of my journals, or check my Myspace and it takes scrolling the complete Rolodex of personal history to think of what I was focused on during the period in my life when I last changed the password on said site. I need to consolidate.
I feel this is an adequate phrase that could be used for a lot of my "problems" in life. I need to consolidate my papers. My objectives. I need to consolidate my goals and the steps needed to get there. I'm too wishy-washy. I am constantly wanting to be "on the go" but find myself spending time laying in bed dreamy-eyed during my spare time, then rushing around trying to re-budget. Isn't this why I quit my job? Oh yeah. I quit my job. I stopped working at the cafe to give me more time to write, edit, work on my career as a writer, and specifically as a travel writer. Being in school has really gotten the ball rolling for me as far as instilling a deepened passion for writing that had started to wane over the past few years of not being in a literary circle. Now, even if I am not really on the same page as many of my peers as far as my objectives as a writer, what I want to write about and why, I am still in a community of people who understand the importance of the written word, and am mentored by people with a vast knowledge of various fields of writing to study.
This has also brought me to the decision to move into a house with classmates of mine. Soupie reminded me, when I was tossing the idea over in my head, that many of the great movements of thought throughout history were birthed from great minds sharing a house together, constantly bouncing ideas off one another, even if just in conversation, passively. The house is beautiful, with a front and back yard, basement, huge rooms, tons of storage, all the amenities, a porch swing (complete with front porch!) and a grill in the back, and a 2-car garage. I am excited. It is one step in the direction of "getting my ducks in a row" but I still feel like I am disorganized as ever, need to further consolidate, need to take care of business I consistently neglect.
Parking tickets. Traffic violation ticket. Parking permit. Paying bills. Fixing car. (Lets take a moment also to notice how many of these are car related. A car I didn't want. This must be what taking an unwanted pregnancy to full term is like, except for the rest of your life.). Budgeting time affectively to give myself proper time for writing, reflection, editing, and submitting work. Also, finding the best places to submit work. I am hoping the new house of writers will be able to help each other in that regard.
In order to help take care of some of these issues, I have started building bikes part time at Trek of PGH in Robinson. It sucks because I am still not getting paid very much but it is far away. It is cool because I get to work with GW and Blockhead and Amanda and other people I will not mention because I just met them. It is cool because at least I get riding time because it is 15 miles each way. It is cool because I get to use my chatham ID for free bus rides, which I had not been having a reason to take advantage of, thus far. It sucks because I am back at working at a bike shop, doing mechanically remedial work. It is cool because I was feeling financially vulnerable and Soupie made a phone call that put me in control of my financial situation again, even if I am not making much money it at least gives me the peace of mind that I am going to be O.K. It is cool that I can basically make my own hours. It sucks that I am again spending my time at a job that has nothing to do with that I have been studying for so many years. It is cool that I have a trade upon which I know I can always fall back.
****************
I went to North Carolina and Georgia last week and I don't feel like getting into it, but it was very fun and necessary. Next week is Soupie and my honeymoon in Boston. I plan on mainly picnicing on the beach in Hull, hanging out with h.s. friends, and spending a little time with the punx. Enough to remind me why I will always be punk and therefore never be totally successful, but not enough to make me think why I do this to myself and what I am wasting my life aspiring towards.
Aahh, I just wrote a long rant about punks and not feeling the need to impress anyone anymore, but why waste my time? If I was 15 and coming to that revelation, it would be something worthy of public journalling. But I am 25. It is not a revellation, but a mere sigh, a recognition of self. It is a reflection of where I am now in my life and in the world. Not incredibly far -- I still have a lot of debt, even though it's "good debt" and a lot of reorganizing and restructuring to do -- but at least I am not an asshole, and don't hold much respect for people who aren't good to other people.
I'm gonna go swimming in my school's pool and finish my homework before class. It may not be the punk thing to do. But it makes me happy. And that's one thing I have successfully organized in my life. That regardless of how detrimentally cool something seems, I am on top of my own totem pole, and I don't need to fuck myself over all the time to survive. I can float, and even make a few hapless strokes in the water, and not sink for the sake of the story.
I feel this is an adequate phrase that could be used for a lot of my "problems" in life. I need to consolidate my papers. My objectives. I need to consolidate my goals and the steps needed to get there. I'm too wishy-washy. I am constantly wanting to be "on the go" but find myself spending time laying in bed dreamy-eyed during my spare time, then rushing around trying to re-budget. Isn't this why I quit my job? Oh yeah. I quit my job. I stopped working at the cafe to give me more time to write, edit, work on my career as a writer, and specifically as a travel writer. Being in school has really gotten the ball rolling for me as far as instilling a deepened passion for writing that had started to wane over the past few years of not being in a literary circle. Now, even if I am not really on the same page as many of my peers as far as my objectives as a writer, what I want to write about and why, I am still in a community of people who understand the importance of the written word, and am mentored by people with a vast knowledge of various fields of writing to study.
This has also brought me to the decision to move into a house with classmates of mine. Soupie reminded me, when I was tossing the idea over in my head, that many of the great movements of thought throughout history were birthed from great minds sharing a house together, constantly bouncing ideas off one another, even if just in conversation, passively. The house is beautiful, with a front and back yard, basement, huge rooms, tons of storage, all the amenities, a porch swing (complete with front porch!) and a grill in the back, and a 2-car garage. I am excited. It is one step in the direction of "getting my ducks in a row" but I still feel like I am disorganized as ever, need to further consolidate, need to take care of business I consistently neglect.
Parking tickets. Traffic violation ticket. Parking permit. Paying bills. Fixing car. (Lets take a moment also to notice how many of these are car related. A car I didn't want. This must be what taking an unwanted pregnancy to full term is like, except for the rest of your life.). Budgeting time affectively to give myself proper time for writing, reflection, editing, and submitting work. Also, finding the best places to submit work. I am hoping the new house of writers will be able to help each other in that regard.
In order to help take care of some of these issues, I have started building bikes part time at Trek of PGH in Robinson. It sucks because I am still not getting paid very much but it is far away. It is cool because I get to work with GW and Blockhead and Amanda and other people I will not mention because I just met them. It is cool because at least I get riding time because it is 15 miles each way. It is cool because I get to use my chatham ID for free bus rides, which I had not been having a reason to take advantage of, thus far. It sucks because I am back at working at a bike shop, doing mechanically remedial work. It is cool because I was feeling financially vulnerable and Soupie made a phone call that put me in control of my financial situation again, even if I am not making much money it at least gives me the peace of mind that I am going to be O.K. It is cool that I can basically make my own hours. It sucks that I am again spending my time at a job that has nothing to do with that I have been studying for so many years. It is cool that I have a trade upon which I know I can always fall back.
****************
I went to North Carolina and Georgia last week and I don't feel like getting into it, but it was very fun and necessary. Next week is Soupie and my honeymoon in Boston. I plan on mainly picnicing on the beach in Hull, hanging out with h.s. friends, and spending a little time with the punx. Enough to remind me why I will always be punk and therefore never be totally successful, but not enough to make me think why I do this to myself and what I am wasting my life aspiring towards.
Aahh, I just wrote a long rant about punks and not feeling the need to impress anyone anymore, but why waste my time? If I was 15 and coming to that revelation, it would be something worthy of public journalling. But I am 25. It is not a revellation, but a mere sigh, a recognition of self. It is a reflection of where I am now in my life and in the world. Not incredibly far -- I still have a lot of debt, even though it's "good debt" and a lot of reorganizing and restructuring to do -- but at least I am not an asshole, and don't hold much respect for people who aren't good to other people.
I'm gonna go swimming in my school's pool and finish my homework before class. It may not be the punk thing to do. But it makes me happy. And that's one thing I have successfully organized in my life. That regardless of how detrimentally cool something seems, I am on top of my own totem pole, and I don't need to fuck myself over all the time to survive. I can float, and even make a few hapless strokes in the water, and not sink for the sake of the story.
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