mother may i?

"Oh mother dear
don't let them shoot my kite down..."
-Nick Heyward, Kite

It's taken me a while to write this post, partially because I couldn't think of too many examples to support my small rant, which we will jump into in a second.  Secondly, I could sense the backlash I'd probably unleash by being so trivial.  I wanted to continue to breakdown my family situation, which started with my last post, siblinguistics.  That one covered my sister, and I wanted to swing through the other branches of my family tree eventually covering my mom and dad.  But, as I started writing, I realized I really had no right to be complaining about these people.  My sister was a different story, as she never took care of me or tried to be involved in my life in any capacity.  My parents, however, took great care of me and any complaints I'd express would seem petty in comparison to the comfortable lifestyle I have.  Then, I realized that I am petty.  I complain.  It's what I do.  It's what I'm good at.  And just because I complain doesn't mean I don't realize how fortunate I am.  I can disagree with something without rejecting it, can appreciate something without accepting it.  I've spent too long feeling too guilty for the things I've felt and I can't do that anymore, something I've summed up as my paper cut philosophy, which I have covered extensively in this blog.  Yes, I'm privileged.  But privilege does not denote perfection.

Out of everyone in my family, I am probably closest with my mom.  But it doesn't mean that our relationship is that great.  While we are usually good overall, it's also often strained.  My mother is an extremely controlling, demanding woman.  She controls mine and my dad's money, food, and many times, our emotions.  When I was younger, I was never allowed to be too emotional.  If I ever laughed too much or was too hyper, like any kid is prone to do, I was reprimanded for acting childish.  If I was ever sad or upset about something, I was chastised for being weak.  There was never sympathy for any of the tough situations I found myself in.  Instead of a soothing word, my mother always countered my complaints with, "Why didn't you stand up for yourself?  Why did you take that from them?  Why didn't you do X, Y and Z to remedy the situation?"  Maybe because I was never reassured of my worth.  I was always picked apart rather than built up to be a confident.  And God forbid I ever got angry with my mother because it only made things worse.  I could never express any kind of hurt or sadness toward her because she made it seem like I was accusing her of being the worst mother in the world.  I never said that, nor thought that, but she tended to blow things out of proportion.  So, I learned to keep my feelings to myself.  It wasn't worth adding any more strife to the swirl of negative emotions that spun in my head.  And while it might not seem like that big of a deal, it definitely didn't help my emotional development, especially in the area of expression.  I learned to channel a lot of that negative energy through art, and eventually, writing.  But when it comes to people, I tend to either keep too much to myself or spill too much.

My mother is old school.  She's also small-minded and set in her ways.  It's hard being a progressive young man in such a repressive household.  She never liked the way I dressed.  She didn't like that I owned hair gel or had more than one pair of shoes.  She didn't like that I was more of an indoors person than outdoors.  She wanted me to ride a bike outside while I wanted to draw inside.  She didn't approve of my taste in clothing, music, friends, television and especially not my choice for college or career.

I needed to express myself, to get out of my redneck town.  I needed to be artistic, to create beauty and inspire and entertain.  My mother wanted me to draw blueprints for houses and company buildings.  I was not feeling that and never even considered it, much to my mother's disappointment.  No, I needed to break away, to do something bigger than I had ever done before, something more grand than myself, contribute art and culture and perhaps a message to the world.

But even a state away, my mother's reach managed to choke me.  She constantly asked if I had done my laundry, if I had finished my homework and went to bed at a decent hour.  She queried about the last time I vacuumed my room or took out the trash and if I had once washed a dish.  She didn't have to ask if I had purchased groceries because she had access to my bank account and made sure to tell me I was spending too much money.

I always had the impression that she thought I was immature and irresponsible.  Maybe I am to some degree but I am also responsible when I need to be.  I managed to make it through three years of college without starving or having the Center for Disease Control inspect my dorm room.  Oh, and I graduated Cum Laude.  I created a short film.  I was published in the college's literary journal.  And when I went back to work, I was put in charge of an entire department before being promoted to supervisor.  I don't have any illegitimate children running around, never been in trouble with the law and floss daily.  All in all, I think I'm a pretty damn good kid.  But my mother doesn't acknowledge those things.  She only chooses to criticize, nitpick and whittle away my accomplishments by pointing out inconsequential things I don't do to her satisfaction, such as the cleanliness of my room or the fact that I don't work enough hours at my job, which is out of my control anyway.

It seems silly for me to get upset over her acidic appraisal of my everyday life, but it all adds up, every judgment, every shake of her head or squint of her eyes.  It's the paper cut again.  It's that subtle chipping away at my self-esteem, an almost unconscious act of antagonizing me until I feel wrecked and unworthy.  It's the fact that she questions everything I do, wear, purchase.  It's the fact that she can't simple praise me for anything without throwing her own assessments into the mix.  It's the fact that she only sees my art as a money making business and not something I just enjoy.  It's the fact that she has never asked to read anything I've ever written.  It's because there's never been support of my decisions or my lifestyle, only reluctant acceptance.  And it feels like I've been living my life up against a wall, constantly pushing forward and feeling nothing but resistance.

But my mother is not a bad woman.  She is a hard worker, a good friend and a generous provider.  She has always paid for just about anything I've ever wanted, and will probably continue to do so as long as I have a need.  But being a monetary mama doesn't always ease the pain.  She took care of me how she knew to, in her own way, no matter how misguided she might have been.  But, isn't that all parents?  She did what she could with what she had and maybe by the time I came around, she was just tired.  She had already had eight hard years with my troublesome sister before I came along and since I wasn't necessarily planned, my parents probably just went with the wind when it came to raising me.  My mother soothed me with food instead of hugs, but she probably didn't know any better.  It worked and she stuck with it, never foreseeing the future damage she'd inflict.  She bought me coloring books and crayons and video games.  But she missed out on actually nurturing me and my talent, never went out of her way to make me feel special.  She often dismissed my drawings with an insincere "very good" before returning to her cooking.  But this was never intentional.  She was distracted, exhausted.  Once, when I was older, I confronted her with her incessant criticisms and she responded by saying she only said those things to help me, not to hurt me.  Obviously, she thought she was teaching me to be a better person but it backfired.  She was was unknowingly making me feel I was weak and unfit for independence.

It's always been a bit of a struggle to please my mother.  I often avoided situations that might have been fun or beneficial just so I wouldn't have to endure another disapproving look or icy silence.  I often asked her permission to do things in lieu of independent decision making.  It was always just easier to pacify her.  But I felt I was never able to grow up because I was confined by my mother's cold critiques.  How could I feel ready to step out into the world when she didn't think I could make up my own bed?  How could I grow up when my mom coddled me and then complained about it?  Hm, complaining.  I guess I got that from her, too.  I guess I have a lot in common with her.  Not only do we have the same hair, skin, teeth and eyes but the same mentality as well.  And it's slightly disconcerting as there are so many things about her I don't agree with.  And I realize the things I don't care about her are some of the same things I don't care about myself.  The impatience.  The quick temper.  The feeling of restless dissatisfaction.  What is it they say, you can't love anyone until you love yourself?  I suppose the same goes for acceptance.  My mother is not just a mom, but a person.  A human.  Fallible.  Loving.  Tired.  She is just another person, not a miracle mother, but no one's mother is.  And I have to accept that.

I'm sure parenting is harder than I could ever imagine and children, and people in general, no matter the age, are so susceptible to insecurity that the slightest word or action or inaction could create chaos within one's self, could screw someone up for life.  My mom wasn't highly educated, isn't incredibly worldly and doesn't have a great grasp of sensitivity.  And it's not really her fault.  Like I said, she's not a bad woman.  We do have our good times.  We laugh and when something excites me, I still want to tell her about it.  As much as I feel I missed out on integral part of growing up, becoming an adult, becoming well adjusted, I can't put all the blame on my mother and even if she was partly responsible, I should be old enough now to be able to change things, to at least make an effort to undo some of the damage.  And realize that she will never stop reviewing my life, lining up my accomplishments and blasting them away with her own input.  That's just something I have to not take so seriously, not have to internalize the way I do.  And as much as she might point out my shortcomings, as you can see, I point out hers as well.  I'm no better, really.  I am my mother's son. 

siblinguistics

"Brothers and sisters are as close as hands and feet."

-Vietnamese Proverb

After being screwed over by my sister several months ago, I had a lot of bitterness toward her.  It kind of disgusted me how she didn't want her own brother in her home.  I wasn't asking to live there, just to stay for a while so I could try to find a decent job that would allow me to move out of our parents' home so I could start my own life.  I suppose I was asking too much, however, because she acted like I was the biggest inconvenience the whole time I was there.

I tried to stay out of her way but when we found ourselves in the same area together, she interrogated me over my daily doings, asking me how many applications I sent in, inquiring as to how many resumes I printed out, how many newspapers I bought or how many malls I visited to ask if they were hiring.  Plus, she felt the need to push jobs on me that I had no interest in.  Here she was, working a job she hated, and thought it was necessary to make me do the same.  That's one characteristic she inherited from Mom.  As if her pestering me wasn't bad enough, I was driving to an interview one day when Mom called and told me my sister didn't even want me to come to her house.  Mom got the call from my sister just as I was pulling out of my driveway to go see her.  Mom said she started to call me and tell me to turn around.  I wish she would have.  It would have saved me some anguish.

I've never been close with my sister.  I believe it has something to do with our large age gap and the fact that she's probably a bigger cynic than I am, if you can believe that.  But I can't seem to shake this latest incident, can't seem to wrap my feeble mind around her complete lack of sympathy for my situation.  It's not like I was asking to move in.  It's not like I was planning on eating all of her groceries or throwing my dirty underwear on the living room floor.  I was just needing a place to stay for a maximum of two weeks until I could find a job and an apartment.  It wasn't too much to ask, at least I thought.  But, for my sister, I might as well have asked her to walk a tightrope over piranha infested waters.  It was insulting and hurtful because I'm family and I always hoped, despite us not being close, that she would help me out when I was in need.  Sure, she did, but she did so reluctantly and then treated me like a cockroach that came out at night to nibble on the dirty dishes left in the sink.  

When I was little, I adored my sister.  Perhaps that's where some of her annoyance with me came from.  Sure, I can understand having some little rugrat clinging onto your leg might grate on a gal's nerves after a while, but I wonder if she ever wondered why I was under her so much.  Did she ever realize how cool I thought she was, how I was proud that she was my sister, how I thought she was the neatest thing since Crayola?  As I grew older, I hoped that my burgeoning maturity would somehow soften her revulsion of me.  I hoped that as I became an adult, we could be more adult toward each other, see each other as somewhat equals, instead of a idealized big sister and a nerdy little brother.  Besides, she introduced me to art and horror movies when I was little, two things I still crave to this day.  I hoped we'd make a connection over those things.  I suppose we did, for a few Christmases.  But that connection wasn't strong enough to maintain through multiple holidays.  Even as I started to understand who I was as a person, as I began exploring myself and why I was who I was, as I stopped caring about being the cool guy for everyone else, I still felt vulnerable around her, inadequate.  I still saw myself as that clueless little boy who clung to his sister.  I think she still saw me that way, too.

I never knew how to talk to my sister because I never really knew who she was.  She moved out soon after I hit my teenage years, when I started becoming aware of myself and my surroundings.  I never got to know her past the sisterly image I had constructed in my small, impressionable mind.  She never got to know me past my little boy annoyance.  And when we'd see each other again for the holidays, it was always awkward.  We couldn't carry a conversation past book or movie recommendations and her horror stories about work.  It's not that I didn't try but it always felt forced when I asked her questions, like it was more of an interview than a relationship.

I love my sister because she's family, but I don't really like her.  She has a terrible attitude and doesn't give anything potentially good a chance.  She's cold to those around her, even her husband.  And after the way she treated me, I'm just kind of over her.  She came over the other day to take care of some business in town and stayed here overnight.  I hadn't seen her since Easter and I was okay with that.  While she was over, I stayed in my room the entire time, not going out of my way to ignore her but I didn't make any effort to socialize.  Mom pointed that out to me after my sister left.

"You acted like you had nothing to do with her," Mom said.

"Well, I didn't mean to."

"You just stayed in your room the whole time."

"I always stay in my room."

"Well, you could have came out and visited."

"Sorry."

"You still mad at her?"

And that was where I became annoyed with my mom.  It felt she was more angry at me for being angry at my sister for being mean to me.  But what about my parents being angry at my sister for being mean to me?  I brought that up and Mom just shrugged it off.

"Oh," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.  "We were angry and we told her, me and your dad."

Okay, so is that supposed to make me feel better?  You two can be angry and I can't?

"You just need to let it go and move on," Mom said.

But I can't and I won't because it wasn't just some excusably tough time in her life that I happened to step into.  It symbolized how she's always treated me, how she's always seen me as bothersome.  It goes beyond that one incident.  It exemplified our entire relationship and after that, I was done.  My sister and I have never been that close and I am sure we never will be.  And while I get jealous of other strong sibling relationships, I don't feel too bad about the nearly  nonexistent one I have with my sister.  It's really her choice to be the way she is and there's nothing I can do about it.  As much as this might sound terrible to say, I don't consider it that big of a loss.

How do you talk to a sibling?  I understand the parent child relationship, I suppose.  Parents are in charge, to be respected but there's also that small window of mutual friendship that can form as the child grows, matures and becomes a relatable adult.  But when it comes to an older or younger brother or sister, where does each sibling stand?  Are they equal because they are both children of two people who are older?  Or should the older sibling be treated with the same amount of respect and obedience that would be given to a parent?  And as the older sibling, how do you treat your younger brother or sister?  Do you always look down on them as the baby, as the one who took Mommy and Daddy's attention away from you?  Or do you realize that they grow up just like you did, that they are people, too, that they are not the whiny little brats you remember from your own childhood?  Can there be more than a brother sister relationship?  Can there be friendship?  I think so, as long as both are willing.  I just don't think my sister is.  She'll always look down on me just as much as I always looked up to her.  She'll always see me as nothing more than her baby brother, a snot-nosed nuisance. 

And I'll always see her as my big sister, a stranger.  A bitch with my blood.

home to nothing

"Do you do you like dreaming of things
so impossible or only the practical or ever the wild
or waiting through all your bad bad days
just to end them with
someone you care about...?"
-Dashboard Confessional, So Impossible

"What's it going to take to relax you?" she asked.

"Quitting," I thought to myself.  But I told her I wasn't sure.

She looked around the break room, her eyes searching for a solution.

"Do you need to drink a beer?" she blurted out.

Was my gray-haired grandmother with glasses supervisor suggesting that I start drinking?

"Uh, no, I'm not really into that," I said.

"Oh, well it works for me."  My shock deepened.  It was hard enough to imagine her suggesting alcohol to me and even harder for me to imagine her getting off work and cracking a cold one.  "We gotta find you something."

Duh.  If only she knew I've been searching for years for a way to loosen the knot inside myself.  Food had been my main source of soothing but even that wasn't doing the job like it used to.  The only thing I could think of that was relaxing was writing and I hadn't even had much time to do that with my Harry Potter book and movie marathon I had been working my way through during the last three months.  So, I had to wonder: what would relax me, what could I do to calm down?

Naturally, the new position at work totally sucks.  Yeah, I have more responsibilities and get paid more for them but I don't think it's really worth it.  I have a lot of paper work to do on top of still dealing with annoying and smelly customers.  I also have to do schedules and lucky me, I only have two other people in my department, both of which don't want to work.  One lady stepped down from the supervisor position to work part-time in a different department.  The other lady only wants to work at a minimum and only on certain days.  So, that only makes scheduling more complicated.  And the hours are long.  By the time I get home, it's nearly time to go to bed so I can wake up and do it all again the next day.  And the worst part is I feel pretty much trapped.

A couple of days after I accepted the position, I was having severe reservations about my decision.  I talked to the store manager about it, meaning to tell him I had changed my mind but he informed me he had already replaced me with someone else and to back out now would not only inconvenience everyone he had changed around but would also "leave him in a real bind."  Plus, he had hired more people from outside the store to fill in the empty spaces from the associate rearrangement.  So, I'd be basically screwing over a lot of people if I decided to go back to my department.  Obviously, I couldn't do that.  I was tied down.

It sucked seeing everyone else leave at 4:00, while I was trapped there until 5:30.  And as they walked out the door to freedom, I wondered what they went home to.  Most of them have families.  I think out of about forty people that work there, only five or so are single and even the single ones have children or some sort of family they enjoy.  They go home to friends and family and spouses and I go home to nothing.  Just a nagging mother, indifferent father and a cat who craps everywhere.  Nothing like the smell of feline feces to greet me after a long day of dealing with dunces at work.

I know I should be grateful for my parents and in many ways I am.  They definitely provide for me but they mostly provide financially.  And that's about where it stops.  I think a lot of people are under the impression that presence trumps tenderness.  Yes, my parents are around and I appreciate what they do manage to do for me but I also feel they lack in other areas.  My mother is never satisfied with anything I do, leaving me feeling inadequate.  My father doesn't speak to me, which leaves me feeling unwanted.  Sometimes, being there isn't enough.  Sometimes, criticism and lack of interest can be as damaging as absence.

And I think another paper cut is the fact that I even have to come home to my parents at all.  I should be further along than this.  I should be coming home to my significant other rather than an incontinent cat.  At the very least, I should be coming home to a rockin' bachelor pad.  And while I've managed to suppress those kinds of thoughts, it's in the moments of change that the emptiness echoes around me again.  My defenses are down during change.  When my life is stirred up, so are all of my emotions.

A lot of people tell me I'm too high strung, that I should try pot or alcohol or even sex to loosen up.  The only problem is my morals go against all of these solutions.  That's not to say I haven't thought about them before.  And that's not to say that I wouldn't indulge one of these problem-solvers in the future.  But those aren't really the remedies I'm willing to try at this point.  Sure, it would be nice if I could drown out my doldrums by getting drunk or high or even getting laid but I don't know how healthy those options are.  I've already ruined my body by treating my temperament with Twinkies.  I don't need to become addicted to meth or contract syphilis on top of my other physical defects.  Of course, I'm exaggerating but with my previous history of making my life (and death) so much worse, I wouldn't put a little venereal disease out of the realm of possibility.

STDs aside, I surely wouldn't mind coming home to someone at night, someone who would make me forget about my troubles at work.  And I think that's what most of my coworkers don't understand.  They have that comfort factor, that sense of relief, not grief, from their loved ones when they get off work.  But as for me, I don't feel I have a safety net, no one to calm me down or make me laugh, nothing to ease the tension or smooth out the strain.  I don't have much to look forward to, whether I'm headed home or back to work.    

I just have to wonder if anything will do the job.  I've tried meditation and prayer and none of those techniques feel concrete enough for me to cling to.  I could try pills or liquor but it seems that would only lead to other problems down the road.  And sex would involve the flesh and feelings of someone else and since I don't seem to have my own under control, I'm not sure I'd be able to handle the responsibility of someone else's.  I'm trying to calm myself down, not drum up more discord.

It seems the best course of action would be to exercise.  It's supposed to reduce stress and the waistline but I never felt any better after exercising.  Plus, I'm just too lazy, possibly too far gone to care to change, which is the saddest part of all.  It's just that I have so much going on, so much going wrong, that I wish I could pick apart the problems and take care of them individually.  Unfortunately, the world won't let me take it one gash at a time.  Therefore, it's all too overwhelming to try to tackle so I do what's easiest, which is nothing.  I let it fester, let myself rot more and more each day, and then complain to ease up some of the entropy.  Ultimately, it never gets me anywhere but it does get me by, just like drinking or sex.  Hm, I guess I've always had my own semi-effective soothing mechanism.  So, I guess I don't need the booze or the bodies after all.

I have my own ruminations to keep from unraveling.

job prospect paralysis, part III

I keep getting these job offers that I don't want.  And they keep coming back to haunt me.

First, the cell phone company leaves me hanging for weeks and makes me think they didn't want me, giving me enough time to talk myself out of even wanting it, before they call and say they wanted a second interview.  I turned them down.  Then, the promotion at my current job that fell through in February suddenly came open a few days ago.  Once again, I was given enough time to talk myself out of it and even felt relieved that I didn't get it.  But I was actually singled out for the position this time around.  And no one had to get into a car crash this time around, which was pretty nice.  I don't want to say I was guilted into it, necessarily, but the supervisor made it seem like I was the only reliable choice.  I didn't want to disappoint him and I did need the pay raise so I hesitantly agreed.

Plus, being a supervisor looks good on an resume, right?  'Cause the bachelor's degree sure hasn't been helping.

I think the thing that sucks the most is how I absolutely work myself up into a tizzy about whether or not I should take these jobs.  From the cell phone place to my current job, any time something that could possibly be better was offered, I ended up feeling sick over the decision.  I walked around with heartburn for days, agonizing over whether I should take the chance or wait until something definitely better came along.

The only problem is I have no way of knowing if something better will come along.  Jobs are pretty scarce in general and even more so in my town.  I suppose it's just the fact that I am already so sad and I don't think I could take another disappointment or another crappy job.  It would finally do me in.

My indecisiveness is pretty maddening.  I was always a pretty indecisive person but it really got bad once I went off to college.  I was so sure, so unbelievably sure about going there and in a matter of days it all blew up in my face and radically changed me, from the way I thought and felt to my outlook on life.  It changed my world, and not for the better.  And I think for my first big decision to be such a disaster, it implanted paranoia in my head.  I was never sure of anything after that.  And it's not even about the big stuff, like jobs or education.  A few days ago, I stood in the frozen food section for thirty minutes trying to pick out a pizza to eat that night.  I scanned each one, checking the prices and ingredients and tried to tap into my tummy to find out what it was craving.  I put one pizza in my shopping cart, then put it back, grabbed another and then put that one back as well.  I just wasn't sure what the right choice was.

And so I found myself pondering whether I should take the supervisor position.  I talked to a lot of people and with each person I talked to, I felt differently about taking it.  One person made me feel good, another made me want to retract my acceptance.  I wondered if it would be another bad choice.  Would it be like the old job at the bingo facility where I transferred positions, thinking it would be better, and ended up being worse?

It sucks to be so unsure of things.  And it sucks to feel like the type of person who can't make good decisions, who can never seem to get things right when it comes to making big, or even small, choices.  I'll probably end up sticking with pursuing the new position, and I'm sure I'll regret it, but it's more money and I definitely need that.  I'm just not sure if I need all the extra stress and responsibilities.

I just need to get my book finished so I can send it off to agencies and get a book deal and become comfortable enough to quit retail and not have to worry about any of that anymore.  Or I need to at least hold on to that dream so I don't end up putting my head in the oven.  Hey, if I can't be a writer, at least I can go out like one.  Am I right, ladies?

book notes #6 and more

I didn't want all of my updates to be about book writing but that's basically all I've been doing and as I'm trying to keep this blog updated, I guess that's what I'll update about.  Sorry in advance.

Last month was pretty productive in terms of writing.  I had written approximately 57 pages over the course of two years prior to last month.  It's not as if those 57 pages were perfect and I worked tirelessly every day to make every word gold.  I just wrote for a few weeks and then took a few months off.  Obviously, it was getting me nowhere.  So, after receiving a proof copy of my first novel, it inspired me to forge ahead with my memoir.  And in that month, I wrote another 57 pages.  I still have about 200 to go so I'm nowhere near finished but I'm still plugging away at it.

I have to say I feel good about the book so far.  As I was looking over my notes, it brought back so many details that had gotten lost in the gutter of my head.  Scents, visuals, and even strands of dialogue came back to me as I wrote.  Also, I realized how varied the book will be.  While it focuses on my time in college, it also addresses a wide variety of issues that I dealt with before I even stepped foot in school and issues that I'm still dealing with today.  I think once it's finished it'll give a pretty good picture of who I was as a whole, not just a college student.  We've got God and sex and art and mental health and death and eating disorders.

And the best part about it so far is that it's been fun to write.  Not only do I feel like I'm working with some good material but it's just been enjoyable to go back and relive those moments.  Even the not so good times were worth revisiting because it's been pretty therapeutic overall and has given me a bit more perspective on things.

In other news, I feel like I have completely disconnected myself from the real world.  My mind has been filled with writing two books and reading Harry Potter with any spare time I have and I haven't left much mental energy to concentrate on the issues that are slowly dissolving me into a second death.  My existence is in shambles and I've just been ignoring it by placing my priorities elsewhere.  I hate my job but I've all but given up on finding something else because there is nothing here for me.  I hate my body but I'm too lazy to exercise and I'm too depressed to eat healthy because fattening foods make me feel better, no matter how short-lived the feeling may be.  It's better than the emptiness.  At least that's what I try to tell myself.  I know better but I ignore it.

If I had to work in retail, I wish that I could work somewhere a bit more upscale, somewhere where the customers observe a minimum standard of hygiene, like bathing and brushing their teeth.  I had one gentleman shuffle his way into my department the other day and as I was processing his transaction, I literally had to hold my breath.  The body odor was so strong it was sharp, like it was stabbing my face.  Naturally, it took him several minutes to get the change back into his wallet.  Her gingerly eased the money in as I began to turn blue and become lightheaded.  I actually had to turn around and take a breath before going back in.  I don't deserve this.

There are three other coworkers besides myself who have bachelor's degrees.  And none of us can find anything better than crappy part-time work with this company.  I think it's kind of sad.  One's in business, the other in education, the other in social work.  I think they still stand a better chance at finding something than I do, at least something relatively nearby.  But the fact that they can't find work still makes me feel bad for them.  We all spent so much time and money to become educated, to do better for ourselves, and we are all still stuck.  And also in student loan debt on top of that.

The lady from the wireless phone company finally called me back the other day.  I had actually given up on getting a call back and put it out of my mind so when she called, I was surprised.  Obviously, I wasn't going to take it.  I had already decided that, especially when my work said they wouldn't let me stay on with them if I took the full-time job.  I didn't want to risk leaving something secure to jump into something I wasn't sure would work out.  I'm not a daredevil like that.

The funny thing is I wanted them to call me back even though I wasn't going to accept.  I just needed to know that they wanted me, that I was good enough.  But after I started thinking about it, I realized I was good enough.  I rocked that interview so hard and I am darn good at customer service, although I loathe it.  I pretty much hate all people but I am awesome at pretending I don't.  I realized I didn't need their validation and I was proud of myself for owning that.  But, I got the validation anyway so I had to make an awkward phone call back to the lady to explain to her that I was no longer interested in the position.  I wondered why it took her so long to call back as she told me it would be two days but instead it was around two weeks.  She never gave me an explanation so I'll never know.  My paranoid mind thinks she might have hired someone else and they didn't work out?  So I was second best.  Or maybe she just got busy.  I don't know and I don't have the energy to care.  It's done.

Plus, she kept calling me Brandon.  I hate that.  Even during the interview with my application sitting right in her lap, she called me Brandon.  People have done that all of my life.  When I'm at work, people read my name badge and call me Brandon.  Most of my teachers from middle and high school still know me as Brandon.  It really makes me feel good about who I am.  Thank you.

book notes #5

I decided to go ahead and use the free proof copy on the novel I wrote for National Novel Writing Month last year.  I didn't have time to edit it or even read over it but, as I mentioned, I thought it might be interesting to print it out just as it was written to see what I could do in such a short length of time.  Then, later on if I decide to edit it seriously, I can resubmit the novel and have it printed out again.  Then, I can compare the first draft to the final product.

The process was incredibly easy.  You just upload the work as a PDF, upload a cover or use their cover creator program, obtain an ISBN number and submit it.  They have to approve all the files before they are ready for you to order the proof.  They said it could take up to 48 hours but I think mine was done in a day.  I ordered the proof copy, put in my discount code and got it for free.  It's usually around 7 dollars plus 3 dollars shipping but I only had to pay the shipping.  And in a few short days, it arrive in my mail!

I would have liked to have created my own cover but as I was pressed for time and running against the free proof expiration, I decided to go ahead and use the websites cover creator.  So, it's not really what I envisioned it looking like (I don't even know what I would envision it looking like) but I think it came out quite nice.  The overall quality is pretty good, too.  For the record, I'm no book aficionado but it looks just as good as something you can pick up at Barnes & Noble.  So, I'm pretty happy with the end result.  I'd be even happier if the book were entirely finished and I had my own cover but to have a physical copy of my first book practically for free, I'm pretty pleased.

job prospect paralysis, part II

I walked around with heartburn all day because of the job situation.  I wasn't sure whether or not I should take it.  The good parts sounded really good and the bad parts sounded really bad.  It felt like a combination of my two job prospects I have had in the past:  doing really well during the interview for the electric company and wondering if I should take the supervisor position at my current job.

It was really weird how this new opportunity mirrored the previous one with the electric company.  Both jobs came out of the blue.  I rocked both interviews.  And, as it turns out, neither one of them called me back.  The only difference was I really wanted the one at the Electric Cooperative.

I'm left kind of confused.  Perhaps I'm totally off but like I said, I think I did really well in the interview.  I made her laugh.  I was charming and acted interested.  She said it was obvious I had the customer service part down.  So, what went wrong?  I was supposed to get a call yesterday for a second interview over the phone but when I didn't, I thought maybe the lady had gotten behind and she'd ring me today.  She didn't.  I can't say I'm too upset about it because I was going to turn her down anyway.  What really clenched the decision for me was the fact that my current job said they wouldn't work with the new job's schedule, even though they will work around anyone else's.  I always thought I'd have the old job to fall back on if the new one didn't work but I just can't risk quitting one job and taking another with no stability.

Although I didn't want to take the job, I didn't want to have to tell her.  I just thought if she didn't call, I wouldn't have to worry about having that awkward exchange.  Then again, if she didn't call, that would mean I wasn't good enough or qualified enough for them, which would be pretty upsetting.  So, I realized, yes, I did want her to call.  It would show I was good enough, that someone actually wanted me.  But, I guess I wasn't.  I guess they didn't.

There's always the chance she could call tomorrow but that would mean she was terribly behind schedule and I just don't see it happening.  Of course, if she did call it would make me feel better about my qualifications but I think the chances of that are slim.

As I said, I'm not upset about not getting the job but I am a little disappointed that I lost out on another opportunity.  When you send out applications and resumes constantly and never hear anything back, it's disheartening.  And when you finally do snag that interview and when you are amazing and then you still don't get it, it's even more miserable.

While I'm slightly deflated, I'm also relieved.  At least I don't have the stress of trying to make a decision and the stress of worrying if I'd make the wrong one.  Seems like the choice was made for me.  Now, I can go back to hating my current job, which continues to get worse.

Speaking of, my supervisor is retiring and I'm worried she'll be replaced with someone unsavory.  And the air conditioning was damaged a few weeks ago and the already hot building is now sweltering.  I've always complained about being hot 'cause I'm just naturally a fat, sweaty guy and when I get stressed out or nervous (which is all the time) it makes me even hotter.  So, imagine how I feel now that the air conditioning isn't working.  Everyone has been complaining and I'm like, "Well, now you all know what I've been talking about this whole time."  Except they really don't because now I'm still hotter than they are 'cause now I'm twice as hot.  It certainly doesn't help the rumors that the place is actually a doorway to hell with demons shooting out and taking the guise of disgruntled customers.

job prospect paralysis

I was at work like usual when a guy came over to exchange a shirt.  He has come in several times before and I knew his face but not his name.  He always seemed pretty nice but we never engaged in conversation.  Yet as I was ringing up the transaction, he started talking to me.

"Do you work full time?" he asked.

"No," I replied.

"Are you a student?"

"Nope," I replied.

"Oh, okay.  Well, I work for the cell phone company across the street and you're always so good with me and customer service oriented and we're hiring right now if you might be interested in applying."

This kind of caught me off guard and I wasn't sure how to react.  So, I told him I'd come in and pick up an application.  He left and left me with a lot of swirling questions in my mind.

I had actually researched the company in the past and I hadn't heard great things.  But, I hate my current job and really wanted to get out.  I had put in applications at other places and hadn't heard anything.  Nothing was panning out and this guy just randomly walks in and asks me if I'd want to work there.  There was a part of me that wondered, "Was that some sort of sign?"  Stuff like that just doesn't happen often.  And jobs just are not easy to get around here.  There's no where to work and the places that are decent aren't hiring because everyone is hanging on to those decent jobs.

But, then I remembered I can't for the afterlife of me differentiate between intended and incidental.

I got off work and walked into the store and the guy was there with an application for me.  He even introduced me to his manager.  She shook my hand and asked if I'd like to come in the next day for an interview.  Whoa.  Everything was going so fast.  I kind of stumbled and then agreed.

From the time the guy asked me about joining him up to the interview, my stomach was in knots.  I had heartburn the entire day because I was so worried about it.  I wasn't too concerned with doing well during the interview but accepting a job offer if it was given to me.  What should I do?  Everything was happening faster than I could process.  I had resigned myself to the fact that I would probably still be at the retail store for a long time and if and when I did leave, it would be on my own terms.  Plus, I had hoped my next job would be free of the public.  This wasn't free of the public.  But, there was a hope of something better.  Because I had so many questions, and reservations, about what was going on, I thought I might feel better about what I wanted to do after the interview.

As I was waiting to be interviewed, the guy who offered me a chance at the job came up to me and said, "She told me a lot of the interviewees were pretty low energy so try to pep it up, okay?"  I thought that was pretty nice that he had told me that.  I wondered if he was rooting for me specifically.

The interview went so well.  I wouldn't have went back and changed a thing.  I was charming, personable, made the lady laugh.  We talked about the job, cell phones and computers, Apple vs. Droid, and even a bit of personal stuff.  It lasted over two hours.  I felt my chances were pretty good once I left but I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do.  I didn't necessarily feel worse about it but I didn't feel better.  I had hoped the interview would be the decision maker but I still felt just as hazy as ever.

My main concern is having to meet and exceed quotas.  You get a commission, which is nice if you sell enough devices, new lines and accessories but if you miss the quota, you're given a warning, written up if you miss again and then fired if you miss a third time.  So, when things are good, they are really good.  When they are bad, you're canned.  I wasn't sure I'd be able to handle that.  They tried to make me feel better by saying no one hadn't made their goals and they helped each other out if anyone got behind but that's all good for them but I'm not a salesman.  I don't like trying to get people to do or buy something they don't want to, even if I'm not being pushy, only persuasive.  I still don't like it.  Plus, I just don't want to deal with people.

One of the other iffy things she said was that I'd have to follow up with customers to see if they were satisfied with their phones and plans.  I don't really want to invest that kind of time or energy into some stranger who I could care less about.  I guess that's the point, though, to turn those strangers into clients who come back and come to me when they need to spend more money.  Eh, I just don't care, though.

But what really freaks me out is the quotas.  I have quotas at my current job but management is pretty relaxed about people meeting them.  It's encouraged but not enforced so it's not really stressful.  I just feel like, with my messed up mind and the way I worry about so many things, big and small, that I would constantly be stressed out trying to meet the quotas.  I'm already a stressed out guy in general and my current job makes it worse but at least my job isn't in jeopardy.  I have job security where I am now, even thought I hate it.  They'll have me as long as I want to be there.  So, why would I want to throw that away for a job that I might fail at miserably?  For a (possibly) better work environment?  For better pay?  For commission?  Is it worth it?

I just don't know.

If I were a normal person with any kind of confidence, I'm sure I wouldn't hesitate to take the job.  It's way more money, which is important.  But, what really matters?  Money or madness?  I just hate that my insecurities have crippled my life and my decisions.  And because I tend to make the wrong decisions, I'm sure whatever I decide will be completely wrong.

Who knows, I might not even get it.  I still have to go through a second interview.  I almost think it would be easier if I didn't get it.  At least I wouldn't have to make that agonizing decision on whether I should take the job or not.  The decision would be made for me.

book notes #4

I decided to switch it up and begin working on my memoir instead of the novel I wrote for National Novel Writing Month.  I can't seem to focus on one project and stick with it until it's finished, which is making me pretty crazy.   I realized my free proof copy of my novel expires the 30th of this month so that motivated me to start writing again.  The thing is there's no way I'll have it ready by that time so I thought I'd dust off the old memoir and see if I could finish that and use my free copy to print that out instead of the novel.  As I was organizing the notes and chapters I had printed out, I realized how little I had accomplished over the past four-something years.  I have about 92 chapters planned out (don't worry, each chapter is only a page or two) but I had only made it to chapter twelve.  Four years for twelve chapters?  Whoosh.

So, I started working on the memoir again and pumped through several chapters in a couple of days.  I was making good progress.  But as I looked over my source material, I was dismayed to find that a lot of what I wrote back then does not reflect how I feel about those certain topics today.  That's not necessarily a bad thing as it has been many years ago and my opinion on certain things is bound to change, for better or worse.  The bad part about it is that it's hard for me to tap into those feelings so that I can express them in writing.  Because I don't really feel that way anymore, it's almost as if I'm reading a stranger's notes instead of my own.  I almost feel as if I have to go backward and experience certain events again from that old perspective so I can accurately document my head and heart positions at the time.  It's slowing the process down quite significantly and it's also hard to keep myself from injecting my new views in the mix.

I worry that once people read the book, they might get the impression that those feelings and beliefs and value systems are ones that I still hold today, thus misrepresenting me.  I suppose it wouldn't be so horrible because I did feel these things at one time so it's not as if it's false but I also feel I've moved past those certain ways of thinking.  Of course, they weren't necessarily bad ways of thinking.  They were just different.  But no matter what people will think of me, the book needs to be written.  It's something that I think will haunt me until I can sort it all out and write it all down.

My last problem is I don't think I'll finish the memoir, either.  At least, not in time to beat my free copy expiration.  I don't want to pass up that free proof copy so I don't know what to do.  Because I won't finish the memoir, I thought about switching back to the novel and just trying my best to polish it up before it was time to submit.  Of course, it wouldn't be the final version.  Just 'cause I had it printed doesn't mean the story would be set in stone.  I also entertained the idea of not even touching it and just submitting it the way it is now, rough but ready.  That way, I could say, "Hey, look what I accomplished in 30 days."  Then, once I am ready to revise, I'll have a good foundation to start from.

Whatever I decide to do, I'm probably going to be pretty busy for the next month in preparation for printing.  So, it's likely I won't write very much for the rest of this month.  Or maybe I will.  I guess it depends on how deeply something is affecting me.

I'm very excited to have a hard copy of my words.  Even if it's just one illegitimate copy.  I just need to experience that tactile tantalization.

christianitease

"I searched for God, No answer came
Just the victim of dying love
Take my sins away..."
-Aiden, ReEvolver

Sometimes, it feels like Christianity is nearly unattainable.  One of the biggest goals in the religion is to be Christ-like, which includes being kind to everyone, including friends, neighbors, even your enemies.  It's really all about being humble and showing love to everyone.  And for me, someone who pretty much dislikes people as a whole, someone who doesn't believe in love anymore, this is problematic.

I don't want to act like I've seen the worst humanity has to offer because I know that is not the case but I have seen a lot of rude and disrespectful people in my time.  Working in retail, I see it every single day.  I know it might sound silly to develop an opinion on mankind based on discourteous customers but it really does add up over time.  It all comes back to my paper cut concept, how small annoyances or missteps don't seem like a big deal when dealt with separately.  It's only when it all builds up within you, stacking sickness upon setbacks until it swells into insanity.  And in retail, you really see how selfish, rude, uneducated and unwashed people can be.  It doesn't help that my fellow employees are just about as bad as the customers.  And while one bad person can ruin my day, a collection of crass (and oftentimes crusty) customers can ruin my entire outlook.  It would be different if I had a rude interaction every once in a while but it is all day, every day.  I'm pretty sure that will wear on anyone after a while, no matter how cheerful they believe themselves to be.

Yet, God, and my employer, command that I be nice to these people, that I treat them with kindness and respect, although they ignore my greetings, destroy my perfectly folded shirts and berate me when they aren't given the type of discounts they believe they are entitled to.  And I am nice in the face of their fury.  But I don't like it.  I wish I could call people out on their nasty behavior, put them in their place and even give them a good smack, something to rattle them out of their rudeness.  But I can't and it probably wouldn't make a difference anyway.  All of this is coming after a tragic time in college where my perceptions of people were originally shattered.  Now, those broken perceptions are ground into my face daily.

It's hard to look an a-hole in the eye (no pun intended) and be generous.  Yet, that's what we are supposed to do.  But it's easier to be negative, to be rude and hateful and angry just like everyone else.  It almost feels natural.  And in a way, I suppose it is.  We all fall short of the glory of God.  We are all born sinners.  It is who we are.  As Christians, we are constantly told we are only worthy of hell and it is through God's grace that we are given the chance at heaven.  So, we are forced to go against the ungrateful grain and be gracious instead.  And through it all, Jesus promises to make it all better in another life.  Your human life will most likely always suck but your heavenly soul will find peace.

It's kind of strange because you're told to spend your life denying yourself and loving your enemy and although you may not find this lifestyle easy, you're working toward something beyond yourself, something incomprehensible and amazing and yet we will never know how amazing it will be.  That is, if we even earn our place in heaven.  Sure, you can say a prayer and give it all to God but is that enough?  We are never given a glimpse of that promised prize, never know if all our efforts will be worth it.  We are only told if we don't abide by the rules, we will only suffer more in hell.

On Earth, barely any thing is black and white.  Barely any one person is black and white.  Good people do bad things and bad people sometimes show mercy.  Yet, when it comes to your soul, it's pass or fail, stop or go, do or die.  It seems a bit harsh, doesn't it?  It's not even so much about being a good person as it is having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ.  But, a part of that relationship is being a good person so I think it still does play a big part in acceptance into heaven.  You can't be a curmudgeon Christian.  And you can't be an amiable atheist (of course you can but as far as heaven goes, it doesn't help your chances).  

I think it's easy to be a Christian when you don't face much adversity.  I have an acquaintance who is a strong Christian but she's also had it easy her entire life.  Obviously, she might have faced problems I'm not privy to but let's just say she has not.  It's pretty easy to have faith when you don't have to struggle for it.  And just to play devil's advocate (pun intended), I have another acquaintance who is a strong Christian but life has constantly crapped all over her.  So, I suppose it is possible to keep the faith while failing at life.  So, where does that leave me?  Pretty sure that means I'm just a selfish jerk.

It all feels like this big tease.  Life's cruelties are so easily dismissed as just the world we live in but God is waiting on the other side to sweep us up, dry our tears and set us in a warm bath called heaven.  God is so good.  God is so gracious.  God is loving.  God won't turn His back on the believers.  Yet, I've never experienced any of that goodness firsthand.  You could argue the fact that I'm not poor or out on the street as proof of God's goodness.  And I can see how you'd say that.  But what about free will?  Free will is also a big part of Christianity.  God loves us but if he forced us to love Him it wouldn't truly be love so He gave us the free will to choose or reject Him.  So, what if everything good in my life was a product of free will, the choices of others, random chance?  It seems pretty convenient that a lot of Christians pass off good fortune as God's blessing and misfortune as the consequences of free will.  And I think it's a cop out.

Feeling God's existence is something I've struggled with my entire life.  Even when I was at my Christian best, praying and reading/studying my Bible, going to church and sending out positive energy to the world, I always felt the same sadness scouring my insides as they always had.  And I prayed for salvation every night.  And although I went through the motions and tried to seek God sincerely, I never felt Him, never felt like He had entered my heart, never changed me.  I've heard that because I might not feel God the way others do doesn't mean He's not with me.  That's all nice and good but what if he's not with me?  I can't go through my life on an assumption, especially when my very soul is at risk.  I need some confirmation.

And then college happened and everything suddenly spiraled downward at an alarming pace.  I kept God close.  Maybe not close enough.  I graduated and came back home to no job, no money and no friends.  Some of the most important people in my life disappeared and I completely cracked under the weight of debt and failure, fell into an element of blank and died.  And yet I prayed and asked for God's help.  And, as always, nothing.  Finally, I gave up because I felt like it was a waste of time.  Of course, I understand God doesn't answer all prayers.  I understand God's not going to drop gold on my doorstep.  I understand that God will not make life perfect.  Please, I'm not that delusional.  Yet, I always hoped God would at least give me a sense of peace, a semblance of calm as a sign that everything would eventually work out.  I wasn't asking for the world, just a word, a gesture of encouragement, a feeling of being full instead of that incessant emptiness that has plagued all of my years.  I really just needed a "hey, you're gonna be okay, kid."  And I couldn't even get that much.

I'm only complaining.  I know that God still loves me.  I know I'm being selfish.  I know it's not His fault but mine.  I know I'm probably not trying hard enough, being persistent enough or having enough faith.  I can just hear all those stock Christian responses right now.  And I'm not saying they are wrong.  I'm just simply saying how I feel about things, how my life hasn't fit in with that Christian mold of prayers and peace.  I'm just saying that it shouldn't feel like it's that hard to talk to God, to ask for some peace.  Why does it feel like I'm constantly running through this obstacle course that continues to add pillars and pitfalls to postpone my progress?

At work, some people set up a church next door to my department.  The company I work for is separated by the rest of the mall by a giant glass sliding door. Is it just me or is a mall a weird place to have a church?  Not that there's anything wrong with that but I guess I just don't picture consumerism and Christianity jelling like that.  Anyway, we always close the mall door on Sundays because no other store in the mall is open (except now for the church).  During my most recent Sunday at work, I looked into the mall and saw the churchgoers outside, some going in, some coming out, others standing around and talking and smiling outside.  A teenage girl was swinging a younger girl around with her hands.  I could hear the muffled giggles.  And as I looked through the glass, I thought it was an appropriate scene, quite literally reflecting my spiritual struggle.  Here I was, miserable, put to work in a hopeless job and on the other side of me was that promise of peace, that vision of what I thought Christianity should look and feel like for me.  There was happiness there.  Community.  And there was a wall that separated me from it.  I could see it and hear it but I could not touch it.

I was closed off from it all.