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reflections on attitude

I am what you tell me I am.

So lately I have noticed that most of my co-workers are miserable. The newer employees don't fall into this catagory, but anyone with mors than a year under their belt seems to show up ready to have a bad day. I don't know if it speaks to my weakness, or simply to my nature, but I find that my mood is directly related to theirs. I have always considered myself to be empathetic, but as of late almost every day at work is a angry day, with the negativity setting in about a half hour after whoever I'm working with starts bitching about the regulars, or the fact that we had so much business that it might take us an extra half hour to clean up at the end of the day, or something equally part of the normal day in a restaurant.

Now, I can make no claims as to be immune to the same frustrations, and I am the first to admit that there are days wwhere I just plain don't want to deal with work, but I try to carry my weight on every shift, and put on my happy customer-service smile no matter how I feel. I especially try to avoid making my bad day into everyone else's. It is just exceptionally frustrating to feel that I am the only one that cares enough to maintain professional feinted happiness, not so much as to deny my own emotion, but enough to do my job right and not make the whole shift miserable with me. Just an observation that as of late has been a persistent peeve with the people around me.


I just have to say that the contentment from earlier is turning to giddiness. I'm getting used to this damned touchscreen keyboard remarkably quickly, learning about the features on this device that I never bothered using before, and remembering how much cheaper it is to make coffee in the comfort of one's own home. Also, i figured out how saving pictures works on this newfangled device. (In other words, my profile pic is new and shiny!) Okay. That's enough gloating. Can't wait to find out everything I can do now that i have limitless time to piddle about with the web on the Kindle's browser. :) :) :) Over and out!

The Little Victories

So, today was strangely productive. I started at quarter to five in the morning, and put in eight solid sleep deprived hours at the bagel shop. Usually I just go home and take a nap after opening, but I actually accomplished quite a lot of things that were piling up in my to-do list. I'm not in the mood to rant about everything, but the most exciting bit of the day forr me was when we got the wireless hub purchased and set up. That means right now I'm laying on the bed, journaling on my e-reader while tim and I listen to convention panels about running D&D campaigns, and he still gets to browse his news stories. Now, this probably sounds like a whole lot of no big whoop, but for a year and a half, we've been paying to have the home wireless, but did not own the hub. Finally, I can justify the monthly payment! It feels great to actually get one's money's worth from their luxury bills! (Enter world's most contented sigh ever.)

So now I feel even more justified in bumping a gaming box to the top of the want list, and intend to buy myself a desktop as soon as my glasses are paid off. Time to start figuring out what sort of toy I'll be buykng next, but in the mean time... No more buying coffee just to jack the wifi. I get to finally enjoy the full functionality of my Kindle, right from the comfort of my own bed.


Crawled Out

From beneath my rock. It's been a long time, but there's pen and paper in the real world, and after finding rants and half-formed poetry, reflections and anecdotes, and the occasional silly sketch lying about, it just reminded me that I will forever start journals, but the only way I will ever successfully organize one is with some sort of page like this. 

And after almost 26 years, I have finally decided I want some measure of order in my life.

Okay, amend that thought. After 26 years, $190 worth of bookshelves used mostly to keep my halloween decorations on display year-round, and the fact that the rent is due, and I have it, but can't find one of the hundred-plus envelopes in my house to place said rent into.

The 4 pairs of glasses we got in the spring are nearly paid off, and I've been telling myself for some time when that happens, the next investment is replacing the wireless router so that every device in the house can connect to the interwebs. Once that happens, I'll be getting my own sweet gaming box so that I won't have to share the laptop with the boyfriend anymore, and then...

Well, what I'm so awkwardly saying is that writing and typing are an awesome vent, and I intend to do a lot more of both, but in a much less chaotic fashion. I want to have everything in one place again, and I want to be able to look back and remember what an awesome person (I thought) I was at any given point of my literate life.

Here's to the text!

I don't know why I try/

I love to catalog my life. I enjoy having this record to go back over some time down the road. I love wasting time on the internet.

But why do I really bother? None of you friends of mine ever seem to use the LJ anymore. My disdain for social networking sites keeps me from joining the facebook, and my myspace died years ago. I'm typing to strangers and my own future self, but what am I even recording?

I'm in love again. Hopefully, this time I made a healthy choice for myself. I've lost touch with nearly everyone I've known over the years, and so I've basically got him, Auriel, and Gizmo, but Gizmo is even fading into the periphery....

Somehow, this does not make me feel alone,

It's strange not feeling lonely because I have so few people that I am truly close to. Maybe that means I've found the ones who will be there for the rest of my life.

I always was of the impression that everyone gets three soulmates... One is the bond of tarnished love: You'll always want, you'll always love, but get too close, and you'll incinerate each other. One is a bond of romantic love, and we'll always try to trick ourselves that this time around, we found the right one. The other is Perfect love, the kind of bond without physical complications, the ability for both to change, yet still fully know and accept the other. True friendship, then, not romantic, never complicated by jealousy or lust, no basis for infidelity.

Maybe I have all three, finally, and that's why I don't seek to surround myself with others.

Or maybe I'm just working on alienating everyone who might hurt me, so that I can feel REALLY sorry for myself when one of the few left in my life do.

Ooh, I'm so melodramatic.

lung butter

    Monday, April 11, 2011


I don't have a quote to head this one off. All that I have right now is the persistent fear that this might be serious, and the knowledge that I should have kicked my cigarette habit two years ago when I tried to quit, when I was 17 and I tried to quit, last summer when I tried to quit... Well, you seem to have the idea. My airways are constricting badly, and I'm coughing up a lot of lung butter, as I like to lovingly call it. So maybe it's time to stop worrying about maybe gaining a few more pounds or gnawing my lips off in an attempt to sate the oral fixation. Who am I kidding, there's no maybe about it.

I've been smoking for half of my life now, and I'm honestly overwhelmed by the prospect of quitting, confounded by the notion of myself being a non-smoker.

But I only have so much left on my inhaler, and then I'm going to have to seek medical attention because the not being able to breathe is actually a daily occurrence this past week. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm praying for bronchitis.

Please don't dominate the rap Jack
if you got nothing new to say
If you please don't back up the track
This train got to run today

Spent a little time on the mountain
Spent a little time on the hill
Heard some say better run away
Others say you better stand still

Now I don't know, but I been told
it's hard to run with the weight of gold
Other hand I heard it said
it's just as hard with the weight of lead

Who can deny? Who can deny?
it's not just a change in style
One step done and another begun
in I wonder how many miles?

Spent a little time on the mountain
Spent a little time on the hill
Things went down we don't understand
but I think in time we will

Now I don't know but I been told
In the heat of the sun, a man died of cold.
Do we keep on coming or stand and wait
with the sun so dark and the hour so late?

You can't overlook the lack Jack
of any other highway to ride
It's got no signs or dividing lines
and very few rules to guide

Spent a little time on the mountain
Spent a little time on the hill
I saw things getting out of hand
I guess they always will

I don't know but I been told
if the horse don't pull you got to carry the load
I don't know whose back's that strong
Maybe find out before too long

One way or another
One way or another
One way or another
this darkness got to give

"New Speedway Boogie"
Words by Robert Hunter; music by Jerry Garcia
Copyright Ice Nine Publishing

Robert Hunter wrote the lyrics to the Grateful Dead's "New Speedway Boogie," about the tragedy at Altamont. In one hate-filled moment, the Flower Children were stripped of any innocence they had retained in the decline of their movement.

For many, this song was also applicable to the madness of Manson's heinous crimes. The final coffin nail driven by violence seemed to kill the peace movement in a hialstorm of bad press and widespread fear.

Last night, a new association for this song was drawn in my mind.  19-year-old Joseph Kimutis, attending a Further concert in Oakland, ran himself through a window and to his death. Toxicology reports are still pending. The tragedy of a youth's death is, in most of the media coverage, being downplayed to the possibility that drugs were involved.

I'm going out on a limb here and gussing that they were. It's a shame that the young man basically comitted suicide in a state of mind where he was unable to comprehend the consequences of his actions, but it could have happened at a concert from any other genre, and the focus would have been on the life ended, the sad loss of human life, the surviving family, and the mourning of the bereaved. His father was at the concert, but I have found not a single reference to whether or not the poor man witnessed his son's death, or if he found out later, like the hundreds in attendance around him. I don't know which would be more traumatic. But I digress.

Where in the media is the mourning? Where is the celebration of the life cut dramatically short? The coverage graphic and shocking event seems to be, in the news stories, always routed not to the life lost and the lives affected by the loss, but rather to these pending toxicology reports.

The state of mind in which Joseph Kimutis ended his 19 year life is not the important thing here. Let us not speak ill of the demised, especially when the wounds upon their loved ones hearts are so fresh. His death was tragic. His death was shocking. There are not words of sadness strong enough to describe this bleak event. Let's not worry about his mind-state. Let the toxicology reports help bring understanding of the awful situation to those who knew Joseph. Let it bring them closure. Do not brandish them in the media so that the rest of the world can continue to gawk at a situation whose gravity they will never truly feel.

I do not know Joseph Kimutis's family, nor did I know him. I am simply outraged by the way the media is portraying his death, and feel as though it is being biased by the sort of event he had been attending at the time.  My heart and soul goes out to those who survive him, for this difficult time of loss has been thrust upon them, but is also being graffitied across the skyline of an entire city. May your family and friends find the strength they need to hold their heads high and pass through this trying time, Joseph, and may you find the peace the media fails to afford your memory.

...It's hard to get a grip with all these broken fingers.

I'm tired of these mercurial musings that mean nothing to me months later. It's time to lay it all out, like it or not, and whether or not you should know/care/have any place witnessing a life you don't even know anymore. Yes, I am writing to you, friends of yesterday who are now only acquaintances. Yes I am writing to those of you who have no interest in why I feel something, only knowing what I feel so that you can be all up in my business. I'm writing to you friends near and dear to my heart who either already know this, or else don't know it for a reason. I'm writing to you, perfect strangers who just happen to be drifting through.

The question of the day asks what changes LiveJournal has seen me through, what major phases of life I have chronicled here. I seem to have failed to actually keep tabs on the meaty shit. I feel as though I'm whining if I share the things that weigh heavy on my heart, and stroking my ego to share how I am doing well, and so I simply make note of the mundane. Well, let's backtrack and fix that. Let's take a look at everything this website has nearly captured of this insignificant life, this extraordinary existence.

My Open Diary was there for the beginning of high school, and my first boyfriend. It was there for my first mosh pit, and my first Dead tribute show (The Other Ones still ranks in my top ten most wonderful experiences.) It saw me through from my first days on the internet until my senior year, when all my friends were blogging on this site, and therefore, so too did I jump on the bandwagon. January of 2004. Now let's get into the juicy details of the life barely captured in this server-space.

I had spent the past three years discovering myself. I had found a passion behind the scenes in the theatre. I had fallen in love with the poetic nature of the work (silent shadow figures manipulating an entire world into existence, creating an illusion for the audience to buy into every night, gods of their own microcosm of a world) that I was convinced it was my calling. Every action I took, every goal I set, every choice I made were all an effort to create a life behind some scene, somewhere, sometime soon. I was accepted into a school that I adored, and there I was challenged by some of the best professors tuition could buy. Unfortunately, I also had a rebellious streak that made me very irresponsible when it came to the party.

I had always been determined to not view my teen angst as anything but the normal and necessary right of passage that it truly was, but for some reason, having everything I wanted in my hands and still having the mopes made me think I was in over my head and in need of medication. When I was 18, I began taking Prosac. At about the one month mark of medication, I was still drinking, and the reaction was... pathetic in one vein, dramatic in another. I had a disassociative episode that I am not comfortable discussing, mostly because I'm not comfortable with the actions I took and then forgot. They put me in a psych ward, and doubled the dosage of a medication that was already not working right, and making certain symptoms of the "Depression" worse. I was actually depressed by this point, not just riddled with warped teen hormones. They shipped me back to school, without any monitoring of the new dosage, and absolved themselves of my future/present. I had major issues with oversleeping because of the drug, including one occasion where I slept for 21 hours without waking even to eat or use the bathroom. It caused me to miss too many classes because of all the times I simply couldn't awaken in the morning, and at the withdraw point of my second semester, I gave up.

I met Gizmo that summer. He was my first love, and the worst choice I ever made. I still love him dearly, and we're still close, but now it's with the cautious distance required. Maybe THAT'S really the worst choice I ever made.

When I was still 18 I enrolled in CCAC, was not challenged by the curriculum, and was convinced that I was too good for the school. I dropped out without properly withdrawing, and now have a failing semester on my record, thoroughly eradicating any chances of merit based financial aid.

Instead of going to school, I would hang out in a single room efficiency apartment, smoking a lot of pot, and drinking when someone would buy alcohol for us. Us being 7 other individuals, of whom I now only speak to 2. I don't go out of my way to not speak to the others, but they simply faded from the periphery as I grew.

I stayed with gizmo, even though he was unemployed and leaching my money. I had taken on my first job, as a waitress in a Chinese restaurant, which didn't pay much but it was enough to get me stoned, so it was good enough for me. Not once did I ever reflect that I had been an honor roll student, in the top 10th percentile of nearly every standardized test, and I was doing nothing, had no goals. I was in love, and all I wanted was him. Even if he had been good for me, I was irrationally and excessively given to him. Instead, he encouraged me to drink, smoke, and become a self-centered asshole.

Somewhere around my 20th birthday, he knocked me up. I knew I couldn't afford to support a child working weekends in a diner, and so I spent the next months looking for a job. He did not. He had actually gotten his ex pregnant a couple of months before that. Near the end of my first trimester, I still didn't have a job, and gizmo was asking for space. I chose to abort, a decision that still haunts me to this day. On the day of the procedure, he went with me, and afterward that same day, our break-up was official. I went into a very dark place then.

I drank. Alot. Lost my job at the diner, but I had been working 2 jobs for a little while and still had the fish palace. By the fish palace, I mean Long John Silver's. I stayed at that job for three and a half years. I guess I felt like I had betrayed my heart and soul with the decision I had made, and I saw that job as penance. I moved out of my parents' house right after my 21st birthday, still a wreck over the choice and Gizmo. Not ready to move on, I fell back, into the arms of someone I was never compatible with, but with such low self esteem that he was glad to have me. I broke his heart, and he mine. And now we don't really see each other much. I had lived with him for one and a half years, doing nothing but working and smoking. The last 2 years, I have been living not with a significant other, but with Auriel, and have been wondering why I have lived without direction for so long.

Now the past is more directly influencing the present. These past 2 years are harder to analyze, since I'm still experiencing many of the effects of the events from this house. And with the tale I've told losing it's linear nature, I find it difficult to continue in this vein, so let me begin to draw everything together. I had a bit of a spiritual awakening/mental coming around. In the spring I had a major moment of realizing the ways that I was repressing all this pain and displacing blame for my own inactions, and was able to see through the screen of "depression" which I then discovered to be a veil I was holding in front of my eyes through my own volition. In the summer, I made the decision to leave The Fish Palace because they had been dangling a promotion in front of my face for a year and a half, and never made any effort to follow through until they had irrationally fired nearly every other manager in the store. I'm still in Food Service, but in a restaurant where the talk of promotion is more than just talk, and am starting the third serious relationship of my life.

And now I have no idea how to conclude this, because these are not beginnings or ends, but rather points on a continuing timeline. This is an outlook I have never been able to maintain previously, and in viewing the events of my life as such, I find that I am a more positive person, more mentally stimulating and stimulated, and a more interesting person than I was able to be before. Well, then. Until the next mile marker, I'll be moving onward.

Strange days have found us...

The chords of The Doors' "Strange Days" are dancing through my mind as the wind howls outside my home... my house... which to call it, I wonder as of late. My cats are here, but I never am any more. I've come to feel a stranger here, isolated and unwelcome... Have I brought this upon myself?

I know I pushed my past away this year, made myself move on where normally I would have clung to my memories. I have pushed those who bring me nothing but grief out of my life, or at least to the polite acquaintance category when I've been unable to completely isolate them from me.

Rel's rushing me. More introspection later.

Solstice Hangover?

On the first day of the new Mayan galactic cycle, the protests in Egypt led to the ousting of their leader. On a global scale, we see the influence of the day carrying through.

What began anew for you on 1 Crocodile? Look into your life, because I'm willing to wager that something is irrevocably new in your personal existence as well.

Just weighing on my mind a bit.