Delilah* told me today that she loves working here and loves all of the people here. I couldn't believe my ears. I began wondering what kind of affliction a person would need to have in order to enjoy working here. Dimentia? Schizophrenia? Certainly not ADD; that would send them right out the door.
I began asking myself, Have I ever liked my job? Have I ever looked forward to coming in, or enjoyed what I was doing while I was here? How sad is it when I cannot even produce a single "yes" in response. When I first started working here, I remember feeling happy that I HAD a job after being unemployed for 8 months. After a few weeks, however, I began feeling bored, depressed, and incredibly anxious once I began receiving paychecks that were not able to cover all of my bills.
In my nearly five years with this company, I have experienced record amounts of anxiety, depression, frustration, anger, and resentment. Working in an office (at least here), I have learned that you are generally supposed to keep to yourself and limit those conversations that are unrelated to work. All personal problems need to be kept secret, and any show of emotion due to being upset, angry, or anything else producing tears is largely frowned upon. I've even felt guilty for laughing and telling funny stories at times. I have been lied to, talked about behind my back, yelled at, ignored, discriminated against for my gender, sexually harassed, and laughed at. I have sat at my desk holding back tears for an entire day at a time; I have walked laps around the parking lot in the evening because I was too angry to drive home safely; I have allowed my place of employment to make me feel less than human way more times than I can count.
How in the world have I stuck it out for so long? How long does it generally take before someone has simply had enough and decides to pack up their things?
One way to look at it is, if God had wanted me to leave at some point, He would have provided me with the resources to do so. Another employer would have hired me at one of the numerous jobs I've applied for over the years; I would have acquired a large sum of money sustaining me long enough to find employment elsewhere; I would be married to a kind man who would tell me to let the job go if it was tearing me up inside, and that we'd figure it out financially for the sake of my peace and health; I would be let go and eligible for unemployment benefits until I found work again. And any other scenario that would allow me to be free.
But alas, none of these have happened. It leaves me with the belief that I had to go through what I've gone through for one or more reasons that I am unaware of, but that God is aware of. Perhaps I needed to be strengthened or disciplined; maybe I needed to learn how to forgive or to be patient. Whatever it is, I'm not seeing it now, though I hope that down the road, I will.
With my 30th birthday just around the corner next month, I have been reflecting on where I am at in life and where I want to be. I don't even know where I want to be anymore. Some days I feel so sure of what I want, and others leave me feeling weary, indecisive, and sad. I ask why things have happened as they have, and why they didn't happen how I'd wanted them to.
And Delilah loves it here. I was wondering which part she enjoyed the most: the monotonous, robotic work assignments; the absence of adequate vacation time; the close monitoring of time spent away from our desks; the lack of communication from our supervisor; the obvious chauvinistic attitude shared by most in the company; the absence of advancement opportunities in our department; the SILENCE (oh my word, the silence...) we sit through for 8 hours a day, in our dimly lit office, with no windows, and rarely any visitors; the horrendous smells in the restroom; the horrendous Lysol that is sprayed to try and battle the horrendous smells only to nearly cause nosebleeds and asthma attacks on unsuspecting patrons; and the antiquated way the company is managed that is even too embarrassing for me to disclose in this blog.
But, she loves it here. So more power to her.
In the meantime, I am gearing up for a trip to Taiwan next month. I don't know exactly how long I'll be gone, but I don't imagine it will be long enough. I may find paradise, however, and decide not to return. I'll let you know what I decide.
*not her real name, of course. Who names their kid 'Delilah?'
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
How One Stroke Leads To Another: Excerpt from 12/11/96
Mr. D.* (*in case he ever Googles himself - Heaven forbid he should read about what I had probably already made obvious over the years) was my high school art teacher for 2 1/2 years. And I was MADLY in love with him. When I say madly, I mean my world revolved around him for a solid 5 years (2 1/2 during high school, and roughly 2 1/2 during college).
So any compliments that I received from him were written in gold to be cherished and called upon forever, as if his words carried more authority to me at the time than the Holy Bible. Unfortunately, that is probably a good depiction of how much I loved the man (or was infatuated with him, anyway).
The following outlines something I thought was significant regarding my journey to becoming a good painter, a blurb I have not come across since the evening I etched it into the guts of this perfectly-kept diary sitting in my tote box, buried under about 20 others.
Sure enough, the painting was hung up in the showcase near the foyer area just inside the main entrance of the school, where every student and other human being passing through the front doors would be able to admire it and absorb its "energy," though originally I'd made the painting for no other reason other than to release an unexplainable feeling inside that could only be expressed via paintbrush and quickly.
Some months later, he told me that he'd wanted to enter it into a local county art contest and would take care of getting it to its proper location (other students were entering artwork, as well). I attended the contest and saw it on display with a blue ribbon attached to it, and felt very proud.
I still have a tube of oil paint and some brushes that I used in his class. The paint was given as a gift in return for making him some personalized stationery for his birthday. It was a joint effort between myself and another student in my Vo-Tech class, who was also one of his better students, and he was so pleased with our thoughtfulness that he purchased a tube of paint for each of us which contained the color he felt was best-suited for our personalities. Hers was a deep purple; mine a bright yellow/green color.
"Powerful images." I love that. I have always loved creating powerful images. Emotionally provoking and inviting imagery. Combining experience with artwork. Unifying the user and the piece as one. Each piece is like a separate world you may visit for as long as you'd like; there are no rules, and you don't have to leave if you don't want to.
I wonder if he hung it in his closet near his belongings because he saw a world that he did not want to leave, either...
So any compliments that I received from him were written in gold to be cherished and called upon forever, as if his words carried more authority to me at the time than the Holy Bible. Unfortunately, that is probably a good depiction of how much I loved the man (or was infatuated with him, anyway).
The following outlines something I thought was significant regarding my journey to becoming a good painter, a blurb I have not come across since the evening I etched it into the guts of this perfectly-kept diary sitting in my tote box, buried under about 20 others.
"...I did this painting on the impulse last night. It's one of the most passionate paintings I've ever done, and it only took me an hour. It wasn't derived from another picture; I created it myself. It's of two people, a man and woman, embracing each other toward the bottom of the paper, and a passionate, fiery background of red, green, purple, black, and blue above and around them.
I took it to school today, and Mr. D. loved it! We were speculating and discussing it this morning. He told me I've really created some powerful images in there (his class). That was really cool to hear. He put it in the back room for me, and during 3rd hour, I asked him to get it for me.
He had stuck it on the inside of the closet door where his coat and everything is kept (the door that is always locked). Then he said, "You wanna put it in the showcase?" And before I could answer, he hands me the key for it..."
Sure enough, the painting was hung up in the showcase near the foyer area just inside the main entrance of the school, where every student and other human being passing through the front doors would be able to admire it and absorb its "energy," though originally I'd made the painting for no other reason other than to release an unexplainable feeling inside that could only be expressed via paintbrush and quickly.
Some months later, he told me that he'd wanted to enter it into a local county art contest and would take care of getting it to its proper location (other students were entering artwork, as well). I attended the contest and saw it on display with a blue ribbon attached to it, and felt very proud.
I still have a tube of oil paint and some brushes that I used in his class. The paint was given as a gift in return for making him some personalized stationery for his birthday. It was a joint effort between myself and another student in my Vo-Tech class, who was also one of his better students, and he was so pleased with our thoughtfulness that he purchased a tube of paint for each of us which contained the color he felt was best-suited for our personalities. Hers was a deep purple; mine a bright yellow/green color.
"Powerful images." I love that. I have always loved creating powerful images. Emotionally provoking and inviting imagery. Combining experience with artwork. Unifying the user and the piece as one. Each piece is like a separate world you may visit for as long as you'd like; there are no rules, and you don't have to leave if you don't want to.
I wonder if he hung it in his closet near his belongings because he saw a world that he did not want to leave, either...
Revenge of the Nerd: Excerpt from 1/1/97
What better way to entertain myself on a Saturday night than read an old diary entry from January of 1997? Can you think of a better way?
In order to fully appreciate the following blurb from my diary, there is some background information setting the scene that you MUST know about first.
My friend Jodi, from church, had invited me over to her house for a New Year's Eve party. Her extremely laidback mother had also allowed boys to attend, and even stay overnight (ooooooh). We also had alcohol - that was the kicker. I can't remember if the mom knew about that part or not. Probably.
Anyway, Jodi, my friend from church, decided it'd be a good idea to set me up with one of the attendees, Ryan. Ryan was what we called a "whigger," regularly skipped school, smoked pot, dealed pot, and treated women like crap. My kinda man in 1997.
Ryan's male cousin, Ashley (first time I'd ever heard the name "Ashley" for a boy), was also present at the party, and showed interest in Jodi. In retrospect, Ashley would have been a better mate for me, and I might have even married him someday. But alas, this was 1997 and the part of my brain that handles good judgement had not fully developed yet.
The evening following the New Year's Eve party, the four of us went out on a double date. Somewhere along the way, I found out that Ryan actually had a girlfriend, despite the fact he'd been messing around with me at the underage alcohol party at Jodi-my-friend-from-church's house.
(Some parts of this entry will not be entered as to avoid redundancy, embarrassment, and unnecessary expletives):
I never did hear anything about any missing tapes. However, Jodi did mention about a week later that he had been angry with me for mentioning his girlfriend, and also said she didn't think it was "very cool" of me to do so, either. Gee, sorry for being the only one thinking of the "other woman" the entire time. How terribly rude of me!
I still see Jodi from time to time when I visit my parents' church. She attends intermittently, bringing along her six-year-old son from a failed marriage, which I believe was a result of her husband selling date-rape drugs through the mail and eventually getting caught. As selfish as it sounds, I'm glad I changed my taste in men before it was too late.
I wonder what ever happened to Ashley?
In order to fully appreciate the following blurb from my diary, there is some background information setting the scene that you MUST know about first.
My friend Jodi, from church, had invited me over to her house for a New Year's Eve party. Her extremely laidback mother had also allowed boys to attend, and even stay overnight (ooooooh). We also had alcohol - that was the kicker. I can't remember if the mom knew about that part or not. Probably.
Anyway, Jodi, my friend from church, decided it'd be a good idea to set me up with one of the attendees, Ryan. Ryan was what we called a "whigger," regularly skipped school, smoked pot, dealed pot, and treated women like crap. My kinda man in 1997.
Ryan's male cousin, Ashley (first time I'd ever heard the name "Ashley" for a boy), was also present at the party, and showed interest in Jodi. In retrospect, Ashley would have been a better mate for me, and I might have even married him someday. But alas, this was 1997 and the part of my brain that handles good judgement had not fully developed yet.
The evening following the New Year's Eve party, the four of us went out on a double date. Somewhere along the way, I found out that Ryan actually had a girlfriend, despite the fact he'd been messing around with me at the underage alcohol party at Jodi-my-friend-from-church's house.
(Some parts of this entry will not be entered as to avoid redundancy, embarrassment, and unnecessary expletives):
"...I already knew I didn't want him in my life but we were there and I was feeling saucy, so I didn't resist. He was pretty talkative for a while, but in Tricky's (a local pool hall for teens), he started getting quiet. After Tricky's, we went to Meijer (a local department store similar to Walmart).
In Meijer, the grand piss-off began. Ashley was so nice to me - you'd never know he and Ryan were even related. Well, I think something I said to Ryan on the way to Meijer did something.
I said, 'So why aren't you out with your girlfriend tonight?'
His eyes popped open so wide and he goes, "Oh wow" and never answered me. I said, 'You must not like her very much because you didn't spend New Year's with her," and he says, "Well, why are you with me if you knew I had a girlfriend?'
And I said, 'Because I don't care if you're going out with someone. I really could care less.'
Well, in Meijer, after looking for quilted flannels (for me) for about 15 min., he began to drift. I thought that was awfully rude. Jodi and Ashley were doing great because Ashley's such a nice guy and Jodi's a great chick. So I just said, "Forget it" to myself and ignored him for the rest of the night. That wasn't hard because he basically did the same to me.
He walked about three car lengths away from me in the parking lot, he didn't touch me or say one word the whole way home, and at Jodi's I sat on the floor instead of next to him on the couch. I wasn't actually angry; I was actually kind of relieved that this jerk-off didn't totally latch onto me or really like me.
So around 11:00, I decided to head on home. Ashley said it was nice meeting me and would see me next year. I said nothing to Silent Little Faggot on the couch.
When I walked outside, I had this urge. I was actually plotting this before I walked out the door, but seeing his car parked there really gave me the urge. I wanted to take something out of his car. No one could see me. There were no windows they could see out of from where they were sitting. Everyone else was sleeping.
So I opened the passenger door of his car, not believing I was going through with it. But having the perfect opportunity pushed me. I couldn't believe how clean his interior was. I was expecting to be able to grab something and leave. But there was nothing to grab!
So I opened the middle console and saw a whole bunch of tapes. Immediately, I started taking them out until I couldn't hold any more in my hands. Then I shut the console, shut the door quietly, and opened my door and shoved them in.
I was shaking. I was sure someone had been watching from somewhere. Well, I finally left. As I'm going down the road, I'm thinking, 'I can't keep these! I have to get rid of them!' So when I got to Moffitt's Corners (a local party store), I pulled over and checked out just which ones I'd taken. I think there was Def Leppard, Too Short, Dr. Dre, MTV Hits or something, a cassette player cleaner - he'll miss that one - a couple of unidentifyable ones, and a White Zombie one - that one I kept.
The rest, I held between my legs while going down Van Dyke. I rolled my window down and started tossing them out 2-3 at a time. After they all got tossed, I turned around and went home. I thought that I'd walk in the door and find out that they'd called to let me know they did see me take those tapes, or to ask me why I was in Ryan's car. But none of this happened, of course..."
I never did hear anything about any missing tapes. However, Jodi did mention about a week later that he had been angry with me for mentioning his girlfriend, and also said she didn't think it was "very cool" of me to do so, either. Gee, sorry for being the only one thinking of the "other woman" the entire time. How terribly rude of me!
I still see Jodi from time to time when I visit my parents' church. She attends intermittently, bringing along her six-year-old son from a failed marriage, which I believe was a result of her husband selling date-rape drugs through the mail and eventually getting caught. As selfish as it sounds, I'm glad I changed my taste in men before it was too late.
I wonder what ever happened to Ashley?
Friday, January 22, 2010
Re: Write me back.
As a child, I always wanted to do everything alone. My independence was something I couldn't wait to experience. Always wanting to walk alone, talk alone, play alone. I was annoyed when people would not leave me alone, especially at school where everyone wanted to be my friend (for the first few years, anyway).
So here I am, pushing 30 and living my childhood wish, to be alone. Except it was a child's wish, not a 30-year-old's wish. Sure, I enjoy being in my own place and having my own money and making my own choices, but I also like to stay connected with other human beings for the sake of stabilizing my own mental health.
What a joy to have the internet at our fingertips everywhere we go in 2010 (had the internet been available when I was a child, I probably would have never experienced the solo life for one minute as I did); it makes it so easy to write and respond to others in just minutes, or even seconds, if you are not a novelist by nature.
Which leads me to my current heartbreak: the absence of e-mail responses I receive from certain friends in my life, and other acquaintances. I take the time to write e-mails to people that mean something to me in some fashion, and I don't get a response.
It isn't just the absence of e-mail responses, either; it is the absence of response, period. One example: I was practically best friends with a guy that I'd met as a freshman at GVSU for about two years. We did everything together; ate together, did photo shoots together (he is a photographer and quite talented), talked about everything, laughed; went places together; things that friends do.
I transferred out of GVSU after my sophomore year to Concordia University Wisconsin, and he dropped me like a lead balloon. Or like a bag of dirt, as I'd felt at the time.
My numerous phonecalls and e-mails were never responded to, and I could not figure out for the life of me why he had put me out of his mind so fast, especially after all of our time and experiences together, and all the promises he'd made to come visit me and call regularly (after all, we were practically best friends so I had no reason to believe otherwise).
Since then, I did manage to find his phone number from a colleague of his that I found online (thank you again, Internet) and called him about 3-4 years ago. The conversation felt unnatural and strained, with him doing most of the talking - about himself - and I was genuinely angry with him by the time I hung up the phone.
I found him on Facebook and found his photography website last week, and tried to contact him again, wishing him a happy belated 30th birthday and mentioned that his photography had nearly brought me to tears, it was so stunning. It would have been nice to have received even a simple "thank-you" or "nice to hear from you, Jill," etc.
Nothing.
I can rattle off plenty of other examples of abandonment (including all of the men I've tried contacting via various singles sites or even my own siblings who don't care to get too involved except every so often with their younger sibling's life), but this sounds enough like a pity party as it is.
My point is: the internet has made it so easy and FAST to communicate with each other. Gone are the days of having to sit down and compose a letter on paper, which takes 15x longer. I can hardly accept that people are "too busy." Give me a break. Everyone is "busy." You can't carve out 45 seconds of your busy day to thank an old friend for wishing you a happy birthday and complimenting you on your work?
You know how many times I have racked my brain trying to think of the things I might have done to piss people off, only to finally realize later that it probably had nothing to do with me? Is it possible that my male friend felt rejected for those two years because we were just friends and nothing more, and maybe that's what he wanted all along? And now he is closing our short window of friendship by being a jackass and not talking to me at all? It really hurts me.
I ask God sometimes: How far are you going to take this? How long will I be alone? Is this seriously what you want for my life - for me to stay in isolation? For me to continue pouring out affection to others, only to be acknowledged by space and time? I even tried joining another singles site earlier this week and thought I'd give it yet another shot. I saw a man's profile that really made me jumpy; I mean, he sounded just awesome. I sent him a short note expressing some interest in his profile, and you know what I've gotten in return so far?
So here I am, pushing 30 and living my childhood wish, to be alone. Except it was a child's wish, not a 30-year-old's wish. Sure, I enjoy being in my own place and having my own money and making my own choices, but I also like to stay connected with other human beings for the sake of stabilizing my own mental health.
What a joy to have the internet at our fingertips everywhere we go in 2010 (had the internet been available when I was a child, I probably would have never experienced the solo life for one minute as I did); it makes it so easy to write and respond to others in just minutes, or even seconds, if you are not a novelist by nature.
Which leads me to my current heartbreak: the absence of e-mail responses I receive from certain friends in my life, and other acquaintances. I take the time to write e-mails to people that mean something to me in some fashion, and I don't get a response.
It isn't just the absence of e-mail responses, either; it is the absence of response, period. One example: I was practically best friends with a guy that I'd met as a freshman at GVSU for about two years. We did everything together; ate together, did photo shoots together (he is a photographer and quite talented), talked about everything, laughed; went places together; things that friends do.
I transferred out of GVSU after my sophomore year to Concordia University Wisconsin, and he dropped me like a lead balloon. Or like a bag of dirt, as I'd felt at the time.
My numerous phonecalls and e-mails were never responded to, and I could not figure out for the life of me why he had put me out of his mind so fast, especially after all of our time and experiences together, and all the promises he'd made to come visit me and call regularly (after all, we were practically best friends so I had no reason to believe otherwise).
Since then, I did manage to find his phone number from a colleague of his that I found online (thank you again, Internet) and called him about 3-4 years ago. The conversation felt unnatural and strained, with him doing most of the talking - about himself - and I was genuinely angry with him by the time I hung up the phone.
I found him on Facebook and found his photography website last week, and tried to contact him again, wishing him a happy belated 30th birthday and mentioned that his photography had nearly brought me to tears, it was so stunning. It would have been nice to have received even a simple "thank-you" or "nice to hear from you, Jill," etc.
Nothing.
I can rattle off plenty of other examples of abandonment (including all of the men I've tried contacting via various singles sites or even my own siblings who don't care to get too involved except every so often with their younger sibling's life), but this sounds enough like a pity party as it is.
My point is: the internet has made it so easy and FAST to communicate with each other. Gone are the days of having to sit down and compose a letter on paper, which takes 15x longer. I can hardly accept that people are "too busy." Give me a break. Everyone is "busy." You can't carve out 45 seconds of your busy day to thank an old friend for wishing you a happy birthday and complimenting you on your work?
You know how many times I have racked my brain trying to think of the things I might have done to piss people off, only to finally realize later that it probably had nothing to do with me? Is it possible that my male friend felt rejected for those two years because we were just friends and nothing more, and maybe that's what he wanted all along? And now he is closing our short window of friendship by being a jackass and not talking to me at all? It really hurts me.
I ask God sometimes: How far are you going to take this? How long will I be alone? Is this seriously what you want for my life - for me to stay in isolation? For me to continue pouring out affection to others, only to be acknowledged by space and time? I even tried joining another singles site earlier this week and thought I'd give it yet another shot. I saw a man's profile that really made me jumpy; I mean, he sounded just awesome. I sent him a short note expressing some interest in his profile, and you know what I've gotten in return so far?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Nunya.
At an undisclosed age (meaning I can't remember), my brother began answering my prying questions regarding his personal life with, "Nunya." The first time I heard it, I asked, "Nunya?" "Nunya," he responded. "Nunya business." (Oh. So we're black now?)
Years later, I find myself on Facebook wanting to respond the same way to certain "friends" of mine who make comments that I feel are inappropriate or too revealing of their deep-seeded envy of my current activities or purchases. I purchased a high-powered - and inevitably, high-priced - blender (more like a countertop lawn mower) before Christmas, and showed pictures of it on my Facebook page. The first comment I received on it, which I promptly deleted, was one of my friends stating that she had looked up the blender online and couldn't believe that I paid "that much" for a blender. Actually, I didn't even pay "that much" for it; I received an insider's discount that everyday web surfers wouldn't likely come across.
Anyway, that isn't the point. The point is, I don't like it when people ask me about my money and how much everything costs. It is nosy and rude. My parents told me early on to never ask about money or tell others about my own money. So this all must be some kind of twisted revenge for every interrogation I ever put anybody through regarding sensitive issues that I did not pick up on.
In fact, I'm hesitant to even post on Facebook that I'm planning on taking a trip to Asia in a few months. I can see the responses now: "How much is the ticket? Must be REAL EXPENSIVE to go to Asia..." "Wow, you're so lucky! I wish I could afford to go on a trip like that!" "First the awesome blender, then you want to sponsor a child, and now you want to go overseas on a vacation for your 30th birthday? I hate you!"
Here's what I would like to say to many who feel the need to inquire on my financial status (though I don't because I really don't need to explain anything to anybody): NUNYA. It doesn't mean that I am rich or have access to secret offshore funds or am prostituting myself to wealthy men who were kind enough to pass along a few extra Benjamins for my new Blendtec (now you can research the blender for yourself if you'd like). It means I am single, independent, have a full-time job, paid off my credit card debt, don't have a mortgage payment, don't have a spouse or children to think of, don't have pets, don't have a car payment, don't enjoy clothes/shoes shopping, don't travel often, and don't socialize enough to put it in the budget.
I do save every week, I do live within my means, I do have a boss who finally began paying me enough to live on after 4 years of overdrafting checks and falling deep into credit card debt, I do believe in the reward system, I do believe in taking advantage when the opportunity strikes, I do believe in fulfilling the right kinds of needs and deep desires in the right ways, and I absolutely believe in sustenance of good mental health.
I like learning about other cultures and wish I had more money and time to explore them. The only thing most of my acquaintances know about Taiwan is that their jeans and car batteries were made there. You wouldn't know that Taiwan has some of the nicest natural hot springs in the world, or that it has a coastline featuring buildings similar to those found in Santorini, Greece, if you didn't take the time to find out. But since I took the time to make friends from different countries, I discovered the beauty of this hidden gem in the ocean.
It would be like me saying to someone who has just posted a picture of their new house: "How much did you pay for that??? You're buying a boring, sterile-looking house in a sterile neighborhood with no yard and no privacy, that's going to drain your finances for the next 30 years, instead of taking an awesome trip overseas and having the time of your life?"
Funny how the same people who have just purchased brand-new vehicles, brand-new HDTVs, and other brand-new miscellaneous items have the guts to make a stink about how much I spent on a blender.
How much did I spend on it? Less than $400. Want more specifics than that?
Nunya.
Years later, I find myself on Facebook wanting to respond the same way to certain "friends" of mine who make comments that I feel are inappropriate or too revealing of their deep-seeded envy of my current activities or purchases. I purchased a high-powered - and inevitably, high-priced - blender (more like a countertop lawn mower) before Christmas, and showed pictures of it on my Facebook page. The first comment I received on it, which I promptly deleted, was one of my friends stating that she had looked up the blender online and couldn't believe that I paid "that much" for a blender. Actually, I didn't even pay "that much" for it; I received an insider's discount that everyday web surfers wouldn't likely come across.
Anyway, that isn't the point. The point is, I don't like it when people ask me about my money and how much everything costs. It is nosy and rude. My parents told me early on to never ask about money or tell others about my own money. So this all must be some kind of twisted revenge for every interrogation I ever put anybody through regarding sensitive issues that I did not pick up on.
In fact, I'm hesitant to even post on Facebook that I'm planning on taking a trip to Asia in a few months. I can see the responses now: "How much is the ticket? Must be REAL EXPENSIVE to go to Asia..." "Wow, you're so lucky! I wish I could afford to go on a trip like that!" "First the awesome blender, then you want to sponsor a child, and now you want to go overseas on a vacation for your 30th birthday? I hate you!"
Here's what I would like to say to many who feel the need to inquire on my financial status (though I don't because I really don't need to explain anything to anybody): NUNYA. It doesn't mean that I am rich or have access to secret offshore funds or am prostituting myself to wealthy men who were kind enough to pass along a few extra Benjamins for my new Blendtec (now you can research the blender for yourself if you'd like). It means I am single, independent, have a full-time job, paid off my credit card debt, don't have a mortgage payment, don't have a spouse or children to think of, don't have pets, don't have a car payment, don't enjoy clothes/shoes shopping, don't travel often, and don't socialize enough to put it in the budget.
I do save every week, I do live within my means, I do have a boss who finally began paying me enough to live on after 4 years of overdrafting checks and falling deep into credit card debt, I do believe in the reward system, I do believe in taking advantage when the opportunity strikes, I do believe in fulfilling the right kinds of needs and deep desires in the right ways, and I absolutely believe in sustenance of good mental health.
I like learning about other cultures and wish I had more money and time to explore them. The only thing most of my acquaintances know about Taiwan is that their jeans and car batteries were made there. You wouldn't know that Taiwan has some of the nicest natural hot springs in the world, or that it has a coastline featuring buildings similar to those found in Santorini, Greece, if you didn't take the time to find out. But since I took the time to make friends from different countries, I discovered the beauty of this hidden gem in the ocean.
It would be like me saying to someone who has just posted a picture of their new house: "How much did you pay for that??? You're buying a boring, sterile-looking house in a sterile neighborhood with no yard and no privacy, that's going to drain your finances for the next 30 years, instead of taking an awesome trip overseas and having the time of your life?"
Funny how the same people who have just purchased brand-new vehicles, brand-new HDTVs, and other brand-new miscellaneous items have the guts to make a stink about how much I spent on a blender.
How much did I spend on it? Less than $400. Want more specifics than that?
Nunya.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
My Private Fire
I recently went out to lunch by myself about a week ago, which is uncommon for me as I usually eat lunch with the same people every day. But that was the thing - I eat lunch every day with the same people in the same room inside of the same building - and I reached a point where I thought one more day might cause my head to pop off my torso and begin turning around a full 360 degrees at about 75 mph. I needed some time alone that day.
So, I drove up the street to a nearby Wendy's that has a terribly-designed drive-thru lane for itself and the conjoined Tim Horton's inside, and made my way to a distant parking space with burger and fries in hand (my favorite meal) once I figured out which of the 15 lanes to navigate my Beetle on to the food window. My guilt for abandoning ship and leaving my lunch buddies behind had stayed back with my dust as I sped out of the work parking lot just ten minutes earlier; at last, I had some peace.
My radio and engine were both turned off, allowing a full onset of quiet and harmony to settle in. As expected, my thoughts began to wander. And wander. And wander. And wander.
I pictured so many things at once: beauty, laughter, bright skies, rainbows, angels, hugs, kisses... I thought about things of the past and things to come, and the feeling of achievement that I sorely missed. My mind took me back in time to writing poetry and short stories; painting in the art studio at school; long conversations with my gorgeous art instructor; the freedom I felt as I pushed the nozzle down and spray-painted my entire Blazer; learning to dance the salsa and merengue; the intense pleasure as I badly damaged the drivers' side door of the truck owned by my childhood bully; the beloved dog I trained; the late night swims I took; the dear friends I made; the tears I cried; the life I had once lived.
Pretty soon, I remembered that I needed to return to work as I gazed out my windshield amidst a private fire of memories that had invisibly engulfed me inside of my vehicle. So my visions continued as I drove back to work, and lingered as I sat in my parking spot not wanting to go back inside "just yet."
I turned around and looked back at the building, and thought about what it'd be like on my last day. That day where I could walk out and never come back after saying all my "good-byes," given all my hugs, cleaned off my desk, walking out that front door one last time and letting the door quietly shut behind me. Would it be a sad day? Is it something to be scared of? Absolutely not. In fact, the imagined feeling of leaving sent a surge of energy through me, making me jump out of the car and walk quickly back inside as if doing so would make my imaginary departure more speedy.
I am living in the future. I have already told this place "good-bye" and experienced the joy that followed. The calendar date just hasn't arrived yet. But I am already there in spirit.
So, I drove up the street to a nearby Wendy's that has a terribly-designed drive-thru lane for itself and the conjoined Tim Horton's inside, and made my way to a distant parking space with burger and fries in hand (my favorite meal) once I figured out which of the 15 lanes to navigate my Beetle on to the food window. My guilt for abandoning ship and leaving my lunch buddies behind had stayed back with my dust as I sped out of the work parking lot just ten minutes earlier; at last, I had some peace.
My radio and engine were both turned off, allowing a full onset of quiet and harmony to settle in. As expected, my thoughts began to wander. And wander. And wander. And wander.
I pictured so many things at once: beauty, laughter, bright skies, rainbows, angels, hugs, kisses... I thought about things of the past and things to come, and the feeling of achievement that I sorely missed. My mind took me back in time to writing poetry and short stories; painting in the art studio at school; long conversations with my gorgeous art instructor; the freedom I felt as I pushed the nozzle down and spray-painted my entire Blazer; learning to dance the salsa and merengue; the intense pleasure as I badly damaged the drivers' side door of the truck owned by my childhood bully; the beloved dog I trained; the late night swims I took; the dear friends I made; the tears I cried; the life I had once lived.
Pretty soon, I remembered that I needed to return to work as I gazed out my windshield amidst a private fire of memories that had invisibly engulfed me inside of my vehicle. So my visions continued as I drove back to work, and lingered as I sat in my parking spot not wanting to go back inside "just yet."
I turned around and looked back at the building, and thought about what it'd be like on my last day. That day where I could walk out and never come back after saying all my "good-byes," given all my hugs, cleaned off my desk, walking out that front door one last time and letting the door quietly shut behind me. Would it be a sad day? Is it something to be scared of? Absolutely not. In fact, the imagined feeling of leaving sent a surge of energy through me, making me jump out of the car and walk quickly back inside as if doing so would make my imaginary departure more speedy.
I am living in the future. I have already told this place "good-bye" and experienced the joy that followed. The calendar date just hasn't arrived yet. But I am already there in spirit.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
More
More. I want more.
Not quite sure of what it is that I want more of; I just know that I want more.
It is hard for me to relax because I feel restless. Trying to be peaceful throughout my current journey is like trying to tell a caterpillar to sit still while it is in its cocoon, liquifying and transforming into a butterfly.
So here I am, stuck inside of my cocoon, beating on the walls, feeling claustrophobic, wanting to get out. I can't tell if my wings have fully developed or not, because I don't know what fully developed wings look or feel like. All I know is that there is more to live and love, and I want it.
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