I did it. I finally told my boss that I was looking elsewhere (within the company) for jobs. It was one of those moments when he asked me, "Do you have anything you need to talk about?" And I said, "As a matter of fact...."

Back up.

I haven't written here (or anywhere else, incidentally) in years. A dry spell? No. I was too busy cleaning, taking out the garbage, getting custody of my sister--whichever excuses got me through that day when I half-heartedly thought to myself in the shower, "Maybe I'll write something today."

So, where am I now? I'm just outside of Boston, MA. I work at the headquarters for Staples, Inc., speaking Spanish all day. I'll leave the details for another day, because I hate my job. I just moved in with my boyfriend, Josh, a couple of months ago; we've been together a year and a half. Wait--boyfriend? That's what my most recent exes have said, anyway. I've got people accusing me (in their heads, anyway) of being a L.U.G. but really, I never said I was a lesbian. I never said I was straight, either. And never once was I ever confused about myself. He treats me well, and really, that's all that matters to me. Finally, something right going on in my life.

So where was I before? Read this thing from entry one, and you'll pin me in Chicago for 2001 & the early part of 2002.

Then I got a job with a childcare agency teaching migrant children & parents English.
And then, I got canned.

How could that happen? After all, I'm perfect.

Sorry, no such luck. After some time of working there, I got very depressed. Maybe it was because my work hit a little too close to home, dealing with poor people all of the time--the way I grew up. Perhaps it was a case of empty-nest syndrome after my sister left (I'd had custody of her for six months, long story, another one for another day). Perhaps not. After all, she was 17 at the time. No, I'm afraid it was something much simpler than that. That is to say--I just stopped caring. Apathy is a dangerous quality. When people outside of work asked me what had happened, I told them that I didn't really want to talk about it, but I would have fired me, too. I simply stopped doing my job. It was time for a change.

So, I did what pretty much everyone else does: I went back to where I came from.

And here I am.

Boredom

Wow, what an *interesting* title. Just took this online quiz:

You Would Make $500 a Night!

You won't have to resort to the streets to earn your cash...

But you will spend most of your time at a brothel on the wrong side of town!



How Much Could You Make as a Prostitute?

More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

It's been a crazy few months. My sister just sort of left without telling me. For good. She'd been living with me since May. I'm obsessed with the TV show, "Alias." I met this guy at a bar last night after the company X-mas party, and we talked till like 2 a.m. And there are fishies on my TV screen (a screen saver for my DVD player). I am officially exhausted by life.

What else...? Ooh, I have 10 more days of work left this month. That's exciting! I'm going to MA for 2 weeks. I have an obligatory two days to spend with my deranged family, but after that, I'm home free. I think I'm going to make my sister's bedroom into a gym, now that she's gone. Yeah. Cuz my gym membership expired. Not that I ever used it....

Yesterday was my father's birthday. He's 45. I haven't heard about him since March or so. I hope that his health is okay. I don't really have a way to contact him. I think I might be too afraid to, anyway.

I still feel pretty trashed from last night. I had to go back downtown and pick up my car this morning, and it was snowing like a mother. And I have no boots! I had so-called waterproof shoes from Land's End, but snow kept getting into the leg bottoms of my pants, and my ankles were pretty near frostbite. That was the excitement of my day, except for the part when I went to Wal-Mart to get boots, and everyone and their grandmother was there. Didn't find anything worth buying.

Maybe the boy will call in a couple of days, and maybe he won't. Maybe I care, and maybe I don't. I've been watching "Alias: Season 2" all damn day. You'd think I'd have something better to do, like clean the house. Or, I dunno, have a life.

Okay, I'm *really* tired now, so I'd best be going. Cheerio!

All Faith in Disillusionment

I don’t like this. I don’t understand it, either. Every two years or so, I need a tune-up. A huge change to placate me, to make me happy. No matter where I am, there comes a time when very little will lift my spirits, because I feel like I don’t belong. No matter where I am, there comes a sudden displacement. Except for when I lived in Massachusetts, but perhaps that’s because I grew up there.

I’ve done alright managing my anxiety since I started the medication in September, but the depression is another story. It grips me with such a terrific force that I can’t help but succumb to it. It does not last as long as it used to—so long as I do something to keep my mind off of it—but it’s still there. So I try to divert my attention. I watch “Being John Malkovich” for the 36th time, or I cook a big meal, or I go shopping. Just to be around people. At the end of the night, perhaps I am a bit more tired, and perhaps I fall asleep a little more easily than the night before. And maybe my dreams are stranger, and maybe I don’t remember my dreams. And maybe I don’t dream at all. But I wake up the next morning, and it comes back not in small ripples, but in tidal waves. So obvious, so aggressive.

I wish I had friends that did not lie. And, not to be egotistic, but I wish everyone could be like me in some ways. Honest. Selfless. Compassionate. Loyal. Maybe not as deliberate as I—I can be OCD—and maybe not as easily prone to depression, but if someone could at least skim off the admirable qualities, siphon out the friendly ones, and evenly distribute them to all living beings, I’d have more faith. Faith in what? Humanity, my friends, politicians, whomever. I would be so happy if people would be truthful with me. Some of my closest friends have damaged me with their lies. I wake up the next morning with something missing inside, and I wonder if they’ve taken it. It’s ridiculous. Why can’t people just tell it like it is? I’m being vague and, worse, repetitive, but I have no one to apologize to.

To feel loved. I think that’s what most of us are looking for, if we haven’t already found it. Not to feel used, not to feel like a time-filler for boredom, or second best. To look at someone and not take them for granted, but know that they’ll always be there. A security blanket. To feel like the first thing on someone’s to-do list, their number one priority, that’s all I want. Maybe it’s too much. Don’t make someone a priority if they only make you an option. I heard that somewhere.

I wish I had a sense of purpose. I wish I loved my job as much as I used to. I wish that I knew where I was going, or at least knew the endpoint, but I don’t. And that’s sad. What’s sadder, though, is the pressure put on people to even have an endpoint. Not to be hippie or bohemian, but why is success so important at all? And why do I care so much about it? To be published, recognized, understood. Sometimes I wonder, if I ever were successful, would I know it? Would it fill a small part of that emptiness inside? Or would I be the same?

Global Vigil

Tonight we went to the global peace vigil in Geneva, NY. One scene that is now etched into my memory forever:

A man, in his mid-20's, slows down as he drives by the mass of people keeping vigil.

"Hey, is this for the war in Afghanistan?" he shouts.

"Um...yes," someone says.

"For peace?" he asks.

"Yes," someone says.

"Oh, cuz my dad's over there," he says.

"Peace!" someone says.

"Thank you," he says. And he continues to drive, slowly.

I don't know what it was, exactly, but the whole exchange brought tears to my eyes. I hate this.

Bits and pieces

Wow. This site is pretty good. But the story was upsetting.

Going to pick Jenna up later. She's due in from North Carolina. It would suck to be driving all day today. It's so beautiful outside!!! And here I remain, on the computer.

Kissing Cousins

Dude what is it with everyone who meets me for the first time thinking that I look or act *just like* their cousin? My friend Jill says I have the same mannerisms as her cousin Aimee. This lady at work, Myra, says I look just like her (black???) cousin Eunice. A co-worker, Bethany, who knows Eunice, says I act just like her, too. What the crunk. And I've looked like lots of other people's cousins and friends, too. What's up with that? I kinda wanna be like, yeah right, show me a picture of her so I can disagree.

Dude

Funny how I just made a birthday-related post. So I was looking up stuff on how to post polls on my blog, and some gay guy's got my birthday.