give it to me straight

My mom called me at work one day and said a family friend's boss's son needed an assistant for three businesses he was juggling. The family friend put in a great word for me (and they respect her so her recommendation is gold) and he agreed to meet with me. Bam. Just like that. The work seemed decent and best of all, no more working with the public. The only drawback was the pay wasn't great and there were no benefits. But I kept leaning toward no more working with the public.

I kept thinking how it all worked out so well. An office job with recommendation from an insider. And I had a day off from working coming up so I could take that day to do the interview and it wouldn't interfere with my current job. Perfect.

I met the man at his father's restaurant. It was empty because they weren't open for lunch yet. The man, M, was short and overweight, a roly poly kind of guy with a round, young face and closely cropped gray hair. His cheeks and chin jutted out when he smiled. His skin was shiny and ruddy around his hazel eyes. He did not walk but waddled. He wore a shirt and jeans and dirty white sneakers.

We sat down and he told me a little about his businesses. He has three and he also deals with his family's personal finances. His family is rich and they have several sources of income and I guessed he needed someone to help him keep everything in order.

It was apparent from the beginning of our conversation that M wasn't articulate but he was extremely southern. He spoke with a grating country cadence and often raised his voice toward the end of his sentences. He paused several times as if he were trying to collect words from his head before he said them. He mentioned the job didn't necessarily have a title since I would be doing a little of everything. I wasn't worried about job titles, only the duties. Fortunately, they were duties I had done during previous jobs or duties I felt confident I could do if given the proper instruction. It wasn't neurobiology we were dealing with here. I was going to be faxing and using Excel and taking out the trash.

He asked me to tell him about myself and I did and then he sat back, his squat, chapped face stretched into a mischievous grin. He stared up at the florescent lights, again trying to find his words.

"So, tell me this...hm...so basically...well, let me tell you where I'm coming from...what my concern is...it seems to me like you're going from A to Z. You went to college to be an artist and you've got this degree. And now you wanna be a secretary. You see what I'm sayin'?"

I basically explained the best I could, downplaying my crazy, that I had a change of heart after I graduated and wasn't sure if I wanted to pursue art and decided to change my direction. He said he encountered a similar situation after he graduated from college so he understood but he was concerned, if I took the job, I would pack up and leave after two months or so. I assured him I wouldn't do that. I pointed out I've been at my current job for three years now. And if I didn't get that job, I'd probably have to stick with it for another three years because these opportunities rarely come along.

In some ways, I could understand his concern or just curiosity over why I made such a radical change. But in other ways, it made me feel bad, as if he were implying that I was downgrading myself or that the job was beneath me. First of all, nothing is beneath me. The job might be beneath my education but not beneath me. I'm just not uppity like that. And I told him I enjoy being organized and doing office work. It's easy and I don't have to deal with the public and it wouldn't be so stressful that I couldn't work on my writing or even pick up art again on the side.

The problem with my job now is that it's so stressful and dealing with the public gives me such bad anxiety that I'm emotionally and mentally exhausted at the end of the day and have no creative output within me.  I wasn't necessarily aiming to move up as far as a job goes, but just to find something to lower my stress levels.  And that seemed like the kind of job to do it.

And then he said if I were hired, he'd have to get into the mindset of a man doing the job because he envisioned a woman filling the position. I was slightly irritated by that but it wasn't a deal breaker.

The deal breaker came a week later.

duck, duck, noose

"I'm sorry for the way I am
I'm tired of waiting for the past
I'm lookin' for a better place
I'm longin' for findin' my way around..."
-Groove Armada, History

I feel like we are living in an age of one-sided relationships.  We as social network users put ourselves out into the world and allow anyone with an Internet connection to get to know us through our words or art or music or favorite movies, etc.  And we never know who's watching, who has taken an interest in us, who forms feelings for us based on mutual love for zombies or writing or puppies or Sweet Brown memes.  We build our personalities through our blogs and Tumblrs and other sites and that creates the potential for trouble.  

The problem with following someone through their social networking sites before you get to actually know them is you've already taken the time to shape who you think they are in your head, forming a one-sided sense of who they are through their words.  And you see these commonalities and connections and when you finally talk to that person, you expect the two of you to click and hit it off right away.  Sometimes it actually happens.  Sometimes it doesn't.  And in the times it doesn't, you feel disappointed.  I've been let down.  I wonder how it didn't work out.  We have so much in common.  We've walked the same paths.  Maybe I'm ugly.  Maybe I try to hard.  Maybe the other person is just looking for a certain type of person to befriend.  Maybe the other person just doesn't have room for one more friend.

I think we've all been through this.  We all know how it feels to follow someone who doesn't know we exist or couldn't care less if they did.  It's definitely disheartening and as painful as it can feel, we shouldn't take it personally. 

I try to remember it's not my fault and it's not the other person's fault.  Sometimes two people just don't connect.  Sometimes you're the one with no interest and sometimes the other person has no interest in you.  I've been on both sides of the situation and both are difficult but at least I can understand when someone does not want to talk to me and I can leave it alone and deal with my issues without pulling the other person into my muddled mind.

Those polar opposite examples sum up my relationships with everyone throughout my life.  It's almost always been one-sided.  Any mutual interests have been superficial friendships or genuine good relationships I eventually wrecked due to my insecurity and selfishness.  But despite these many mishaps, I feel like I've tried to continue to branch out, connect, and make new relationships.  I have not been very successful.

The only problem is when I meet someone new, especially someone I admire or respect as an artist, I over think and over analyze my words and actions.  I want to be cool and smart and easy to talk to.  I want to be funny.  I want to be liked.  And sometimes I think the stress of trying not to show my craziness becomes more trouble than the relationship is worth.  I just don't know how to interact with people in a natural, effortless manner.  I feel like every move and word is calculated and it's exhausting.

The stress makes me want to withdraw.  I don't feel cut out to be a sociable creature.  Nice effort, Bran, but no success.  It messes me up because I don't want to be isolated.  I want to be able to reach out and have someone there.  But am I deserving of it?  Can I handle it?  Have I been mishandling all my relationships and that's why I don't feel fulfilled by any of them?  Or am I just over thinking again?

There is an ebb and flow to every relationship.  I'm not going to be great all the time but I'm just so terrified of losing people that I feel like one awkward moment or social slip would mean the demise of the relationship.  And as lonely as I might feel, the frustration of dealing with forming a fellowship doesn't feel worth the hassle anymore.  Maybe I'm alone for a reason.  Maybe I'm mean to be a loner.  I can talk with people and share and give and take but at the end of the day, all I have is myself, which would be fine if I liked myself, but you've got to like yourself before anyone can like you.  Or some horse crap like that.  I always end up feeling empty.

I walk around this circle of people and inspect and analyze and hone in on those I feel have potential and when I choose, the race is on and they chase me down and knock me over the head with my own insecurities.  But they aren't really doing anything.  I think I'm in control, that I'm choosing carefully, that I don't just let anyone in.  I think I'm being particular in picking these people out but I'm really just picking myself apart.

special

"So one last touch and then you'll go
And we'll pretend that it meant something so much more
But it was vile, and it was cheap
And you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me..."
-The Postal Service, Tiny Vessels 

I keep thinking if I can just make good art, someone will notice.  Someone will appreciate.  Someone will understand.  Someone will care.

I'm always looking to be validated based on a product, not personality.  I'm not too fond of myself so I look to my art in hopes of garnering attention.  Sometimes I think it's easier to dress up my writing rather than my mind.

But even trying to do that feels terrifying because art is an extension of one's self and if my art is rejected, so am I.  I'm not ready to face that kind of pain so I don't finish projects.  They stay in a work-in-progress limbo to hold off the possibility of finishing, then failing.

I want my work to matter.  I want to matter.  And yet I'm scared of finding out neither one does.

If I don't have my work or myself, what do I have left to offer the world?  If I have nothing then I am nothing and if I am nothing, why am I here?

I'm no one's number one and it's disheartening.  I know a lot of people care about me but nothing feels like it runs deep enough to fulfill me.

The majority of us have people who care for us.  But it doesn't make us feel any better.  It doesn't ease the loneliness or the separation.  Why?  I wonder if it's because we only have certain people we've deemed appropriate to assuage the agony.  Maybe some people just don't count because we don't care for them as much as they care for us.

That sounds kiiiind of horrible.

But I think a lot of us feel that way.  Otherwise, any person who came along and offered a friendly hand would fix the frustration.  But we still feel bad.

Maybe it's just more gratifying getting recognition from those we admire.  The problem with that is the people I admire usually don't admire me.  Or sometimes I admire them from afar and make them out to be grander than they really are.  And then I feel inadequate around them, like I'm not good enough, like they couldn't possibly be interested in me.  I'm a fan.  I'm a faraway admirer.  I can't be their friend.

Sometimes they do like me.  Sometimes they don't.  And the ones who don't are the ones I want approval from the most.  A lot of us probably feel that way from time to time.  It's like having a crush.  We want the ones we want to want us.  Unfortunately, we tend to discount the ones we don't want who want us.

It's the way relationships work.  It seems most of them are one-sided.  How many times have we had a crush on someone who wasn't interested or never even noticed us?  It applies not only to romantic endeavors but to all relationships.  We have co-workers who didn't give us the time of day or teachers who wouldn't talk to us or cousins who chose not to play with us.  We meet writers who write us off, girls who gag in our presence, boys who bruise our egos.

Sorry, I'm just not that interested in you.

But I could be a good friend.  Someone you can confide in.  Someone who will make you feel good.

Nah, that's okay.  I have my sights set on something else (i.e., someone better).  

I'm guilty of this myself.  And I've been a victim of it.

We want to feel special and there are people out there who are capable of making us feel special so why don't we let them help us?  Is it superficial like some mental caste system in our minds?  Are we categorizing people, sorting them out, putting them in files in order of importance?  Or is it something deeper, something harder to explain?  How do we get to the root of relationships and what we want out of them?

Do we simply want attention or do we sometimes strive for symbiosis?  Do we want to help them as much as they want to help us?  And do we decline their offer of assistance and discount their support and encouragement because there is no perceived balance?  We can't help them so they cannot help us?  Sure, some would eagerly eat all anyone had to offer without thinking of giving back.  But I also think other people do genuinely want to give as much as they take.

I can't help but wonder if I really want to give as much as I want to believe I do and that's the reason I can't accept the affection of others or if, in reality, I'm just a snob about who I take it from.

Are you special enough to help me?  Am I special enough to deserve it?        

with guitar strings to guide us

I want to make out to some good music.

I just want to make out.

I really just want to make it through knowing I have no one to make out with.

cotard's syndrome

I was talking to my supervisor at work the other day and out of nowhere, she said, "Brannon, from some of our conversations we've had, it seems to me like you're dying a very slow death."

"Been there, done that," I said.  "Now I'm just rotting."

do not allow back

This is embarrassing to write about but we're all family, right?  I've talked about all my other mishaps, be they spiritual, physical, and social.  Might as well talk about my professional snafus, too.

When I was seventeen, I quit my job as a florist assistant after dealing with dead people, nearly wrecking the company van (on several occasions), and inhaling second hand smoke from my soot-stained boss.  I quickly moved on to be a cashier at a pharmacy.  Things went swimmingly for six months until I sold cigarettes to an underage girl.  The girl worked with the Alabama Alcoholic Beverage Control Board and several agents quickly swooped in and told my supervisor.  I was fired on the spot.

Now, let me explain.

I was fat, pimply, and insecure.  I didn't have a voice.  I didn't like to "confront" people.  The girl did look too young but I was too scared to say anything.  I felt a rush of nervousness hit me, a bad feeling, but I ignored it because I didn't want to come off as rude or suspicious of her.  Yeah, it was my job to be suspicious and check her age but I didn't think of it in those terms.  I just thought of it as one person dealing with another.

And it was a huge mistake.  All these years later, it still embarrasses me.  No one likes to talk about how they were fired but I was fired for doing something illegal.  I look back on it now and I feel dumb.  All I had to do was ask for an ID but I couldn't even muster the courage to do that.  And because I couldn't ask a simple question, I was fired and it made my life spin in a different direction.

Cut to a few weeks ago.  A former coworker from my current job called me up and told me he had gotten a position as an assistant supervisor at that same pharmacy.  He said there was another assistant manager position open in another city and he said I should try for it.  I immediately thought of my termination and wondered if I could be hired there again.  I didn't want to express that to him, though, because it was embarrassing.  So, I shrugged off his offer and made lame excuses and said I wasn't sure if it was right for me.

The job did sound pretty good, though.  More money.  More hours.  I just had to face that shame again.  I finally expressed my concern to him and he said he'd speak to his store manager to see if I could be hired again.

Two days later, he sent me a text message saying I was on the "do not allow back" list.  I wasn't necessarily shocked but just knowing it was official was disappointing.  There was the smallest part of me that held out hope.  But that hope was squashed, just like it always is.  Just knowing I'm on a naughty list somewhere makes me feel dirty.  Filled with more shame.

It's bad enough that the dumb, huge mistake I made ten years ago still embarrasses me, it's also still holding me back from better opportunities.  I didn't even ask for the opportunity.  In fact, I avoided it  'cause I didn't think it would work out.  Naturally, it didn't.  But it was like the universe had to bring my bad decisions back around to me, another reminder of mistakes and failures, of setbacks and shame.

A week or so later, I walked into that pharmacy to pick up a couple of things.  I had just come from work and I had on a dress shirt and tie.  A man with an unkempt beard and a limp came up to me and asked, "Do you work here?"

"No, I don't," I replied.  "I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, it's okay," he said as he hobbled away.  "Sorry for asking."

I wasn't talking to you, mister.

apprehensive

"They’re fooling themselves. They think all this bullshit about hard work and achieving means something but it doesn’t. Universe is completely random. Particles colliding at random. Blind chance. So you didn’t make it. No big deal. It’s not your fault. Shit’s random."
-Party Down

I'm not an atheist, just apprehensive.

I've mentioned before that I've stopped praying or relying on God in any kind of way.  I used to feel guilty about it but now I don't feel bad at all.  Nothing in my life has changed.  I'm no better or worse for it, which makes me wonder if God was ever in my life at all, or if God is anything at all.

I don't know.  I'm not sure I care.  I do hate that I've slid so far down but what can I do?  I've tried it all with the prayer and meditation and Bible reading and patience.  Nothing helped.  Nothing ever does.

Faith is a lot like a slot machine.  You pray and pull the lever and you hope for good results but you never know if you'll hit it big or end up empty.  It's really all random chance. You can never be sure if the constant prayer ever pays off or if things in your life just finally line up.  You want something long enough and if you work for it, you might just get it.  It doesn't mean God had anything to do with it.  Just to be fair, it also doesn't mean he didn't.  You just can't know so why get caught up in it?

It pisses me off when people think I have given up on my faith in God just because I am not where I want to be in life.  Do people think that's how I think it works?  I'm not new to this game.  I'm not asking for a perfect life.  It's not about circumstances but sensations.  I have never felt that comforting presence.  I have never had a good feeling when it comes to God.  I've only ever felt separation, emptiness, nothingness.  I am not reassured when I pray.  When I scream for God to give me a sign, I get nothing.  I am not comforted and therefore I don't think there's anything out there to comfort me.  How hard is it just to say hello?  If God cares/exists, why has he not shown me?

And where's the stable relationship with anyone in my life, cosmic or concrete, with flesh or faith?  My parents are distant, my coworkers are crass and former friends are too busy.  I can congregate and communicate but I'm no one's number one.  

I wish I could believe again.  I wish I could be the good little Christian boy in my Christian bubble like so many people around here.  They are small-minded and naive and annoying.  And sometimes I think it would be easier if I could just be that way, too.  What if God gave a shit?  What if he finally had mercy on my menial life?

It's not like he's bullying me or anything.  It just feels like it.  But that's conceited on my part because, really, who am I?  He has a whole big world to ignore so why would he single me out to slice and dice?  No, he's saving that dirty work for the devil.

every night is a knife

I don't want to be here anymore.

I don't want to be         anymore.

every day is a dagger

I ruined the only good relationship I ever had.

Memories of holding hands and hotel rooms keep me warm but the cold always settles in again.  The irrevocable damage sweeps over everything and I just can't believe it happened, that things turned so bad so fast.  And it's the reason I pushed people away and messed myself up for all these years.  The worst part was I did it all for no good reason.  It's not like I ever really belonged to you.  And I'm not sure I ever wanted you in the first place.  But you were the closest I ever had to something special and so I held on to it so tight, an iron grip on a frail hope.

I pinned myself to the ground and watched you fly away and flourish.  I was left behind, fingernails splintered on the concrete floor.  The pain deepens every day, spread out and penetrated into every part of me.  It will never go away, grafted on to me the day I gave up on you and everyone, and everything, else.  I call out, "I'm here, too.  You forgot about me."  But my voice grows weaker.  Their ears grow more deaf.  The space grows wider.

You don't get to be okay.  I don't want to be happy for you because you ripped me apart.  You didn't even mean to but damn it, you did.  And I just want you to know the pain you caused me.  I just want you to dip your toes into the fire you lit inside my soul.  Just have a taste and then you can move on with your life.  And I want you to carry a bit of that burden with you when you do.

pavlolv's dawg

I feel like I'm constantly putting my hand in a meat grinder labeled hope.

fate and failure

"This is a lesson in procrastination
I kill myself because I'm so frustrated 
Every single second that I put it off
Means another lonely night I got to race the clock..."
-Brand New, Failure by Design

"How are you going to make an idol from the type of person you're trying to avoid in real life?  I'm afraid if America keeps letting people like that become the entertainers, pretty soon there'll be no one left to work at Rite-Aid."
-Natasha Leggero, Coke Money

Failure is isolating.  I should take comfort in the fact that I am not the only twenty-something floundering in the world.  I am not the only twenty-something with a degree floundering in the world.  I am not the only twenty-something with a degree who no longer desires to use it who is floundering in the world.  But it doesn't make me feel better.

All I can think of are the ones in similar situations as me who have prospered.  They had the same education and privileges and hardships as I did and yet they succeeded.  I stumbled.  That makes me feel like something must be wrong with me. 

I struggle with the idea of fate and putting faith in fate.  Am I destined to do what I love and, if so, should I take comfort in the fact that I will be where I belong eventually, even if things seem terrible at the moment?  Or is fate just a bandage for the broken-hearted, something people tell themselves to get through the hurt of shattered expectations?

People say, "Yeah, things suck now but I'm meant for more.  Everything will work out.  I will live my dreams."  But, is that really the case?

One of the great hardships of life, and death, is acceptance.  We have to accept a lot of failure, endure disappointment and oftentimes lower our standards just so we can get through the day.

But do we also have to accept that our dreams might never come true?  Do we have to accept that fate isn't real at all, that it's just a nice notion?  Do we have to accept that fate won't always sync up with what we want?  Why must we ache over something we can't even control?

I always dreamed of being an artist and recently, a published author.  But the insecurity and awareness of my limitations hold me back.  I can practice and get better but will I ever be good enough to actually make a living doing what I love?

The truth of the matter is we all have dreams.  A lot of people aspire to do great things but someone's gotta flip the burgers and fold the shirts.  What about their dreams?  Are they where they wanna be or are they just biding their time until their big break?  What if that break never comes?  What if they wait in vain?  What if they crack open and lose all hope? 


What about them?  What if I'm one of them? 

We all stare stary-eyed at those one television who tell us to work hard, to be persistent, to keep practicing and we believe them because they did that and they "made" it.  But we can't base our judgment of ourselves on people like that because the dirty secret is talent isn't as important as timing or connections or pure random luck.  Sometimes talent has very little to do with success.

And that creates a disconnect between our talents and expectations.  If we are so good, why aren't we successful?  Maybe we aren't good after all or maybe we have the talent down but not the timing.  Or maybe we don't have the right connections.  But how are we to ever know what keeps us from happiness and success and fulfillment?

People say to compromise.  You might not make it to broadway but you can do local theater.  You might not be in the bookstores but you can fill a spot on Amazon.  You won't fill a gallery with your art but you can fill a wall of a supportive friend's house.

Is that good enough?  Can we make it good enough?

I think it's safe to say the majority of people out there have dreams but not everyone can follow them.  But if we can't follow them, why do we have them in the first place?  What's the point?  What's the lesson to be learned from craving a passion we can't pursue?

avoidance

I admit I've never been the best at social relations but throughout the years, I think I've come a long way from being painfully shy in front of everyone to being able to crack jokes with strangers on occasion.  As much as I've progressed, I realize I still have roadblocks, like when people converse with me on subjects I don't give a crap about.

How do you squirm your way out of inane topics?  Do you pretend there's an emergency on the other end of your "vibrating" phone call?

"This debt ceiling discussion is fascinating but my son got his penis stuck in the swimming pool filter.  Again.  The doctor said he could circumcise himself the next time this happens!"

Do you feign a bathroom emergency and politely excuse yourself from the topic at hand? 

"My apologies.  I'd love to hear about the grooming habits of your ferret but I've got to go to the john and pinch off a loaf."

Or, as I've been forced to do, do you stand there and take your punishment?

People are always talking to me about their kids or home improvement projects and frankly, I don't give a crap about either.  It comes from place of a lack of commonalities between me and the people I interact with on a daily basis.  I'm weird and I'm into weird stuff.  I don't have kids.  I don't like kids.  And I don't like HGTV so the chitchat about your electrical sockets gets lost on me.

And if the topics are boring, their unbearable, like when people want to tell me about dead animals.

Being an animal lover, I don't want to hear horrific encounters people have had with furry creatures, like how their pet goats were violently ripped apart by a pack of wild coyotes or how their fluffy new kitten crawled into their dad's engine and the mess it made when he started it up that morning or how they hit a deer with their car and it's leg got caught in the carburetor and it was dragged three miles until the tendon finally snapped, leaving the poor thing wailing and writhing in the road.  And then they finish off with h a sensitive, "At least it didn't ruin my paint job."

Every time someone starts up with a dead pet or abused animal, the ASPCA commercial starts rolling in my head and the Sarah Mclachlan soundtrack drowns out stories of slaughtered shetland ponies or drowned puppy dogs.

As I've said before, my job isn't physically hard.  But the mental exertion of pretending to be engaged in conversation with customers wears down on me.  To protect my sanity, I usually tune them out and employ the usual head nods and verbal cues to continue their stories.  All the while, I'm wondering when they will stop, or if they ever will.  Is this my hell?  Replacing the inferno with insufferable stories of potted plants and parenthood?  I just don't have the energy.

It's sad to admit I often evade these types of people.  If I see them coming (or in some cases, hear them, because their incessant laughing is so booming), I hide behind fixtures or walk in the opposite direction.  I've even ducked into a fitting room like I'm dodging a grenade and waited there, holding my breath until I hear them pass.

Now imagine having to do this dance daily.  And imagine getting caught like a fly in a spiderweb of stupid stories, tightly bound by social niceties, squirming on the inside but knowing it's futile.  You stand there and give up, laugh out loud and let the poison infect and numb your skull.  

english is my second language

While at work a couple of months ago, my high school AP English teacher came in to shop.  I walked up to her, excited to tell her about my newly acquired passion for writing.  I haven't seen her since I graduated high school in 2004 and thought she'd be happy to hear about my venturing into her field of expertise.

After we caught up for a bit, I told her I liked to write now and she smiled a small smile and I told her I was even published in my college's literary journal.  Not a huge deal but it was something.  A good start.  I might have made a misstep, however, because I said her class helped me enjoy writing and I thought my writing grew while under her guidance.  I even bragged a bit and said I thought I wrote some pretty good essays during the times I had her in 11th and 12th grade.

She smiled again and mentioned my science teacher's daughter, who was one grade above me.

"Yes, I still remember her essays.  She was one of the best students I ever had."

I didn't understand why she chose to compliment some random girl who had nothing to do with me but I pressed on and casually asked her if she would like to read some of my writing.  She was retired by this time and so I thought not only would she have the time to read it but I hoped she'd be interested to see how I've grown as a writer.

Instead, she let out a sigh.

job limbo

Last March, a co-worker of mine walked up to me with the biggest smile on her face.

"Heeey, what's up?" I asked, unnerved.

"I have a question for you and I want you to keep this between us."

"Okay..."

"I know I'm not supposed to do this but I am starting up a business and I want to take you with me."

"SIGN ME UP," I said. I didn't know what the business was. It could have involved me fisting dwarves on the Internet for the website humantootsiepop.com. I was up for it.

She smiled even wider. "Excellent!"

victor/victim (i love to complain)

The co-worker who played the race card all the time also called me out the other day.  I said something about how he and the other co-worker who moonlights as a preacher had all the luck with customers.  They always ran into receptive individuals who treated them warmly while I got stuck with the disgruntled, disheveled, and diarrhea prone.

He smiled and said, "Come on, man.  You play the victim."

His words struck me like a slap to the face because that's what my counselor said to me when I was in college.  At the time, I thought my counselor was full of crap and didn't understand what I was going through.  And here was this guy, having only known me for a couple of weeks, giving me the same diagnosis.  He already had me pegged.  Am I that transparent? 

Maybe I am.  Maybe I do play the victim and it's something I've subconsciously done and I never realized it and yet it's plain to everyone else.

It's painful to see myself like that but it's also necessary if I want to correct it.  In some ways, I feel I've made peace with my pain.  We are all hurting.  We didn't choose to be born but yet we were thrust into this cruel world.  We are all victims but some are just more vocal about it.  No one's pain is more important or unjustified than anyone else's but we continually negate other people's negative feelings.  Sure, I agree some people do have it worse than others.  I've said multiple times that I don't even have it that bad.  But does that mean I should strap on a smile and act like everything is fine?

I think there's a fine line between being grateful and being gross about it.  At the end of the day, if we and our families are safe and can feed and clothe and house ourselves, we really have nothing to complain about.  And yet, we all complain.  And then we get annoyed when other people complain.  How many of us really examine our situations and realize we have it better than probably 90% of the planet and then and immediately put an end to our own rants?  I'd venture to guess not many, including those who complain about others who complain.  It's all relative, really.

I complain to vent.  Sometimes, it's how I get through the day.  It doesn't mean I'm not grateful for what I have.  It doesn't mean I think I have the worst life ever.  But sometimes I get pissed off about things and I need to express that.  I express myself.  I complain.  I piss and moan.  It's what I do.  It's what feels good.  And I'm darn good at it.  But it's not all I'm about.  If I had something good to express, I'd express that, too.  It just so happens I haven't had much good to express lately.

And just because someone seems like they have it all together, don't make the mistake of thinking they actually do.  My outside world might seem fine, but on the inside, it's on fire.  It's not so much a physical suffering but an emotional/spiritual one that not a lot of people outside of my blog have access to.  It's that silent and unseen slicing that gets a lot of people.  It's the hurt hidden in plain view.  It's the fear of the consequences of complaining.  We are taught to get up and get over it.  Quit yer cryin'!  Stop yer complainin'!  There's starving children in Africa, for God's sake!  We should be grateful we can breathe, they say, even if we're inhaling hell.

Ultimately, I think a lot of us can be less whiny, including me.  And a lot of us can be more compassionate as well.

I've tried to be more accepting of the nature of my being.  Some people are just more unfortunate than others but with bad luck.  Some are unfortunate but the odds are in their favor.  Some people are naturally happy and some are born bleeding.  Yep, I'm the hemophiliac.  I've made a conscious effort to stop blaming God for my troubles.  It's conceited to think he'd single me out and send a mack truck full of crap barreling into me.  At best, he loves me.  At worst, he doesn't care.  Either way, it's not helping my condition.  What is love without action?  If I don't know about it, does it really count?  Not in my opinion.

I'm just trying to learn to take the blows and keep it moving.  And I complain to get some of the pain off my chest.  It helps and I don't care.  I don't have to justify  myself to anyone 'cause no one knows the extent of my imbalanced brain.  But I try to justify myself anyway.  And I vent to people because I want them to know I'm not a victim and bad stuff really does happen to me.  I point out specific examples, sometimes as they happen, to show them I'm not making it up or playing a role.

But am I trying to convince them or myself?  

vent-ricles

Feel free to skip this as it has no significance other than me ranting about retail and who really gives a crap?

my lorazepam says i'm happy for you

"We'll never be the same, never feel this way again
I'd give you anything but you want pain
 little water please, I taste you all over my teeth..."
-Jimmy Eat World, Just Tonight...

"She'll break your heart like she broke mine
bipolar, baby, make up your mind..."
-Forever the Sickest Kids, Bipolar, Baby

Wednesday at work, I had lunch with work girlfriend (WG) as we tend to do when we work the same shift.  Everything was fine and well until we clocked in to go back to work and a coworker walked toward us.  The coworker pointed to WG's hands and said, "Why are you hiding that?"

I looked over to see what the coworker was talking about and WG, who conveniently had her left hand covered with her right, uncovered lefty and held it up.

The coworker looked at me and said, "He did a good job, didn't he?"

Confused, I didn't reply.  I just looked at WG.  She held her left hand closer to me and pointed to a shiny silver ring.

"What's...that?" I asked, still confused.

"I'm engaged," WG said.

And my reaction went a little something like this:

"Da fuck?"

dented hearts

"It's so easy from above, you can really see it all
People who belong together, lost and sad and small
But there's nothing to be done for them, it doesn't work that way 
sure we all have soulmates, but we walk past them every day..."
-Ben Folds, From Above

"Some men die under the mountain just looking for gold
Some die looking for a hand to hold..."
-Brand New, At the Bottom 

Work girlfriend (WG) went on vacation a week or so after I did.  She scampered off to Tennessee with her boyfriend.   Naturally, I didn't hear from her the entire time.  When I was gone and she had no one to talk to, she blew up my phone but when she was gone and had her boyfriend to hump and hug, she forgot my number.

A few days before she left, she sent me a text:  I'm so freaking lonely.  I say I like being a loner but I hate being alone.

Oh, I had to groan.  She has a boyfriend.  She shouldn't be lonely!  And then I stepped back and tried to examine the situation and see it from her perspective.  I try to understand that you can be in a relationship and still be lonely.  You can be in a crowded room and be all alone.  I do try to see that.  But, I just found it annoying that a girl in a happy, healthy relationship complains to me, the lord of loneliness, that she's "so freaking lonely" because she doesn't have her boyfriend right beside her at that very minute, although she was about to embark on a week-long vacation with him.

It's like going up to an Ethiopian child and saying you're starving because dinner is in three hours and you're not sure you can hang on 'til then.  And you say it while eating a bag of chips.  Ya feel me?

So, I wanted to shake her.  And days before, she told me she hadn't been single in five years.  So, again, she shouldn't be lonely.  Right?  Going from one relationship to another for five years straight, I think her perception of loneliness has been skewed.

But I stepped back again.  Who am I to say she doesn't feel loneliness?  Maybe she just feels it in a different capacity than me.  Maybe her loneliness stems from lacking a physical connection.  She knows her boyfriend loves and cares for her and if that was me, I would like to believe that it would be enough.  Even if I couldn't see the person every single day, knowing they were thinking about me and caring about me would make me feel better, less alone.  But maybe it doesn't work for her like that and she needs that physical closeness.

For me, I feel loneliness in every aspect.  I have no physical, mental, emotion, or spiritual connection with anyone.  I'm not just talking about romance, ladies and gents.  The only connections I share with some people are a mutual enjoyment of writing and maybe zombies and a couple of dick jokes.  Not exactly deep and meaningful.  So while my loneliness is all consuming, it doesn't negate hers (although it feels like it should).

Her loneliness is transient.  Mine is chronic.  But both are valid.  I try to believe that.

And it's just hard because I want to tell her she should be grateful for her boyfriend.  It's not like she's in a relationship just to be with someone.  But she seems genuinely happy.  She's not hanging out with him until something better comes along.  No, that's what she does with me.  And so I just wonder what more she needs.  At the end of the day, despite how she feels, she has someone she can "come home to" so to speak.  I've got my pillows and a carton of ice cream.  But I can't be like that because, as I said, her troubles are no less significant than mine.

But when it comes to loneliness, I'm an expert and I can't take her seriously.  In fact, if it were doled out in credits, I'd have a Ph.D. in Dented Hearts by now.  It's hard for me to understand because I've never been in the position of being with someone and still feeling hollow just as she can't understand my emptiness because she's been attached to a string of guys for half a decade now.  I try to be reasonable.  I really do.  But I don't feel bad for her.  It's hard to when all I can hear is the crinkling of her potato chip bag in my ear.

summons

I got a letter in the mail the other day.  Jury summons next Monday.  I was intrigued at first but when I realized it wasn't an invitation to view a taping of Judge Judy, I was dismayed.  I had actually planned on taking some time off from work during the week I was set up for jury duty so that messed it up.

My parents told me I probably wouldn't be able to get out of it so I accepted my fate and talked to a few co-workers about it.  One said she has easily gotten out of it twice.  She said they give you three exemptions but you must go on the fourth and each subsequent summons.

So, I gave it some thought and considered calling to tell them it would be a hardship on me and my job since re-scheduling vacation time would be difficult for my job.  But the longer I thought about it, I became more reluctant.

Depending on the case, jury duty could be interesting.  Or with my luck, it could be hell.  But, being as paranoid as I am, if I only have three chances to get out of it, I don't know if I want to waste it by just saying it would be a hardship when it really isn't.  I just don't want to do it.  But what if the next three times they call me, I really can't serve?  What if I'm in the hospital or in rehab or crossing the border with a colon full of cocaine at the time?  Of course, I might never be called again but I don't want to chance it.  If I can do it, might as well.

And it gives me at least another day away from work, or even more if I am selected.  Hey, that's a mini vacation right there!

It's sad when you dislike your work so much you'd rather do jury duty just to get a break from the job for a while.

I re-scheduled my vacation for next month.  I have time off that won't roll over to next year so I have to use it up or it'll be gone.  I'll get a whole week.  I'm pretty stoked about it.  I thought about going back to Savannah, GA for a few days.  I just never travel, never get out, never explore.  Mostly because I'm lazy but also because I just don't know where I'd go.  There's a great big world out there ready to be seen and walked on and photographed but I don't know where to start.  It could be good to start in the last place I left.  It would be nice to go back and take a look at all the places I used to go when I was an art student there, except this time I won't have the overwhelming pressure of art projects and prick professors hovering over me.

Or I could just save the money and stay at home and treat myself to a pizza. 

I haven't decided yet.

bumper sticker razor blade beckoning

I stopped praying, stopped talking to God.  I gave him the silent treatment (hey, he started it).  I came to a point where I was just tired of trying to feel something and tired of talking about it and so I just stopped.  Not entirely gave up.  But took a break from calling on Christ and the resulting disappointment.

And then the signs came.

Several days ago, I drove to work and noticed a truck with several bumper stickers attached to the exterior like badly placed tattoos on bare arms.
  

For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved. Rom. 10:13

  
Orly?  I've called upon the Lord many times.  Did that mean I was saved?  Was that my confirmation?  It sure didn't feel like it.  Just another random sign that anyone could have ran into or an actual extension of God?  He must have sensed my hesitation because the signs kept coming.