Chelsea Brewer's Blog
January 31, 2019
Girl’s Gotta Eat!
I got a job! Jesus Christ almighty, I got a job!
I was beginning to stress and regret and ponder going back to the other place that I had quit recently. I had been there officially almost two years, and unofficially another 7 months, after all. Then one day, I awoke to an online job post that a friend sent me. I emailed my resume, had an interview by 10am the next morning, then hired on the spot. Starting to feel like my old self again! Right…?
First day, great. Second day, great. I’m doing less than half the workload, hell, less than 2/3 the workload that I did at my last job AND I’m getting paid more. Win win, right…?
By the third day, things have begun to slow down. I work at an exclusive little movie theatre that is located at a very well-known state park which shall remain nameless. The theatre only shows one 40 minute movie a day about the state park at which it is located. Every 45 minutes, the same little movie (that I myself have seen in its entirety at least 2 times) repeats itself to hundreds of sets of eyeballs. However, considering this is the off-season, it’s only about 20 sets of eyeballs at a time.
Which makes my new job so incredibly boring, I’m about to rip out my hair.
Boredom: the state of being weary and restless through lack of interest.
There are 5 other employees here: one is a little newer than me, two will be leaving in the next couple months, one has ADHD or more like just HD, and the other one is a fabulous grumpy lady that I take so much pleasure in attaching myself to so I can listen to her bitch about everything and anything. She’s been here the longest, next to the manager who has been here for 14 years.
We’re a small group of misfits. It all seems to be going well. But after that third day of getting to know the basics (scan the wristband, sell a ticket, usher people to their seat), it feels more like I have been hired as a sort-of Stepford wife and less as a supervisor. The manager shows up late and leaves early, if he even comes in at all. As soon as he shows up, he puts his cellphone away and starts nit-picking about the weirdest things around the theatre: a breaker cabinet that needs to be painted, organizing the supply closet, dust on the top door frame on the outer doors. Weird shit that he says nobody has taken the initiative to fix. I’m sittin’ here thinking “you’re the fucking manager, tell them to do it.” But it seems to be some sort of weird power play.
Or maybe he’s just crazy and lazy and could give a fuck about this job. Yes, I think that’s it.
The other employees here tell me to “just observe”. My boyfriend says the same thing. When I hear those two words, it takes me back to my meditation retreats, where the Master Teacher S.N. Goenka repeats to his students “just observe…just observe….”. At these moments of observations, you are to notice any changes, no matter how big or little, in your breath or body. Notice the change, give a few moments of your time, then move along for the next observation to take place.
When I think about my first retreat, I remember how fucking hard it was to “just observe” without wanting to scream out loud about it being absolutely impossible to sit there and notice my breath. I mean, you’re sitting there silently and you’ve got a crazy fucking monkey mind tearing up the insides of your brain, and you’re supposed to just sit there and observe things….? Really…….??
YES.
So with this stupid new job, I’m just going to observe. I’m going to observe the boss not noticing the work I have done, or any of the work other employees have done. I’m going to stand or sit, scan or usher and just observe what I can while I’m here. I’ll organize the closets and paint a door. If my monkey mind starts kicking in, I’m going to observe that, too. Because honestly, I have no idea how long I can stay at this place. It’s so BOOORRIINNGGGG. At least with meditation, you work through the observation and start to feel things become more real and more present and less irritating and everlasting. At this new job, things just keep getting more tedious.
It’s not that I expected this to be the most amazing job ever; I feel more like this was supposed to be a transition job, keeping me afloat until the next perfect thing comes along. The thing is, though, I feel like I was sold a lemon, ya know. The boss told me at the interview how I would have so much responsibility and accountability (which I prefer). I would be in charge of making sure all the breaks and lunches were taken when scheduled, that all chores would be completed, all duties and projects assigned, etc. But instead, I stand up front, talking to the other employees about how bored we all are.
However, I can’t help but wonder if this is yet another gift of time. Since I’m not using much mental energy here, I can focus on writing during my breaks and lunch time. Since I’m not burnt out by the time I get home, I can use that time for sitting and creating. I have asked for time, as much time as the universe can give me. I seem to keep getting it.
So I will keep taking it.
I will observe. I will write. I will be patient.
But I still might have to find a more interesting job that doesn’t make me want to staple my eyelids to my forehead to keep them open…
I was beginning to stress and regret and ponder going back to the other place that I had quit recently. I had been there officially almost two years, and unofficially another 7 months, after all. Then one day, I awoke to an online job post that a friend sent me. I emailed my resume, had an interview by 10am the next morning, then hired on the spot. Starting to feel like my old self again! Right…?
First day, great. Second day, great. I’m doing less than half the workload, hell, less than 2/3 the workload that I did at my last job AND I’m getting paid more. Win win, right…?
By the third day, things have begun to slow down. I work at an exclusive little movie theatre that is located at a very well-known state park which shall remain nameless. The theatre only shows one 40 minute movie a day about the state park at which it is located. Every 45 minutes, the same little movie (that I myself have seen in its entirety at least 2 times) repeats itself to hundreds of sets of eyeballs. However, considering this is the off-season, it’s only about 20 sets of eyeballs at a time.
Which makes my new job so incredibly boring, I’m about to rip out my hair.
Boredom: the state of being weary and restless through lack of interest.
There are 5 other employees here: one is a little newer than me, two will be leaving in the next couple months, one has ADHD or more like just HD, and the other one is a fabulous grumpy lady that I take so much pleasure in attaching myself to so I can listen to her bitch about everything and anything. She’s been here the longest, next to the manager who has been here for 14 years.
We’re a small group of misfits. It all seems to be going well. But after that third day of getting to know the basics (scan the wristband, sell a ticket, usher people to their seat), it feels more like I have been hired as a sort-of Stepford wife and less as a supervisor. The manager shows up late and leaves early, if he even comes in at all. As soon as he shows up, he puts his cellphone away and starts nit-picking about the weirdest things around the theatre: a breaker cabinet that needs to be painted, organizing the supply closet, dust on the top door frame on the outer doors. Weird shit that he says nobody has taken the initiative to fix. I’m sittin’ here thinking “you’re the fucking manager, tell them to do it.” But it seems to be some sort of weird power play.
Or maybe he’s just crazy and lazy and could give a fuck about this job. Yes, I think that’s it.
The other employees here tell me to “just observe”. My boyfriend says the same thing. When I hear those two words, it takes me back to my meditation retreats, where the Master Teacher S.N. Goenka repeats to his students “just observe…just observe….”. At these moments of observations, you are to notice any changes, no matter how big or little, in your breath or body. Notice the change, give a few moments of your time, then move along for the next observation to take place.
When I think about my first retreat, I remember how fucking hard it was to “just observe” without wanting to scream out loud about it being absolutely impossible to sit there and notice my breath. I mean, you’re sitting there silently and you’ve got a crazy fucking monkey mind tearing up the insides of your brain, and you’re supposed to just sit there and observe things….? Really…….??
YES.
So with this stupid new job, I’m just going to observe. I’m going to observe the boss not noticing the work I have done, or any of the work other employees have done. I’m going to stand or sit, scan or usher and just observe what I can while I’m here. I’ll organize the closets and paint a door. If my monkey mind starts kicking in, I’m going to observe that, too. Because honestly, I have no idea how long I can stay at this place. It’s so BOOORRIINNGGGG. At least with meditation, you work through the observation and start to feel things become more real and more present and less irritating and everlasting. At this new job, things just keep getting more tedious.
It’s not that I expected this to be the most amazing job ever; I feel more like this was supposed to be a transition job, keeping me afloat until the next perfect thing comes along. The thing is, though, I feel like I was sold a lemon, ya know. The boss told me at the interview how I would have so much responsibility and accountability (which I prefer). I would be in charge of making sure all the breaks and lunches were taken when scheduled, that all chores would be completed, all duties and projects assigned, etc. But instead, I stand up front, talking to the other employees about how bored we all are.
However, I can’t help but wonder if this is yet another gift of time. Since I’m not using much mental energy here, I can focus on writing during my breaks and lunch time. Since I’m not burnt out by the time I get home, I can use that time for sitting and creating. I have asked for time, as much time as the universe can give me. I seem to keep getting it.
So I will keep taking it.
I will observe. I will write. I will be patient.
But I still might have to find a more interesting job that doesn’t make me want to staple my eyelids to my forehead to keep them open…
January 24, 2019
So, I Wrote a Book Once...
It’s true, LaFou. I wrote a little book. A teeny, tiny collection of short stories. Then I went out of my way to self-publish that book. It was a painstaking and lengthy process. But, goddammit, I fucking did it.
I have always been a lover of short stories. Don’t get me wrong. At any given time, I will be reading anywhere up to 4 actual books at one time. I can’t ever NOT be reading a book. Whether it’s biographies or jacked-up murder mysteries, I’m always reading a book. And even though I enjoy a good book, I absolutely positively adore reading a good short story. Those little slice-of-life tales are so powerful to me. In only a few pages, you can read about somebody’s heartbreak, or murder, or most embarrassing moment EVER. They are so effective and relatable to me. So, I would identify with them, and write my own out.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
In the winter of 2012, I decided it was time to get off my wannabe literary ass and put together some of my little stories to share with the world in hopes that I would finally achieve the publishing dream and get an agent and a contract and all that jazz. I carefully picked out 12 stories, some shorter than others, and arranged them perfectly like Christmas decorations on a folded paper tree. My brother did a lot of web design and he helped me design the layout of everything, from the page numbers to how the cover should look. My friend Jacob (we like to refer to him as “Old Man” or “Yacob”) took the perfect picture for the front and back covers. It all looked exactly as I dreamed it would.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
I had to go through all the red tape of buying the ISBN, paying certain fees, figuring out the size, blah blah blah. The book itself had to be edited, which meant I had to order a copy online and have it sent to me so I could make sure every single word, sentence, page, layout was absolutely perfect. This process was so redundant, I almost gave up. I had to re-read my book dozens of times to make sure everything was right. In the end, when it was just right enough, I was ready.
The self-publishing world is really quite easy. Anybody can do it. It just costs a few bucks of your hard-earned money, and BOOM! You’ve got a shiny paperback with your name on it. But by self-publishing, you also spend hours, days, weeks, months making it perfect. So when I say the book was just right enough and I was ready, really I mean I was sick of editing it anymore. I said “fuck it, let the chips fall where they may”. (I.e. Let the remaining misspellings suck a fat one, I don’t care anymore!)
By the summer of 2012, my little cherry-covered girl was ready. She was so pretty! I knew a guy that worked in a local bookstore and was in charge of organizing local author signing events, and he excitedly approached me to set up a date. While waiting for the date, I got the book up and running on amazon.com for an affordable price and people were even leaving little reviews. I ordered about 40 books to sell at the library for my signing and then-some.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
Being new to the self-publishing world (and self-financing world as well) I paid to have the books made and delivered without regard to how long it would actually take for the books to be printed and delivered. So when the day of my signing came, I literally had NO books to sell any potential buyers. I was fucking mortified. My bookstore working associate assured me it would all be fine and suggested I go purchase some bookplates from the local office supply store. That way, people could still get my autograph and pay for the book, they would just pick it up at a later date when the books actually came in.
I was stunned at how many people actually came to the signing. I mean, really. If you wanna talk about supportive friends, let’s talk about mine. A big group of buddies had gone bowling before it was time for my signing. And they all came in with huge smiles and giant hugs, ready to buy my little book. An old friend (in fact, she was the muse for two of my stories in the book) that I hadn’t seen in a few years showed up. My sister-in-law brought the baby (who hated me at the time but posed in a picture with me long enough before he ran away from me). There were even 2 separate ladies that showed up that I didn’t even know and said they had been looking forward to reading my book and were so excited to meet me! I felt amazing!
Everybody purchased a book. I signed bookplates for every single one of them. All in all, it took about 2-3 hours. About 25 of my books sold that day, making myself and the bookstore a little bit of money. That weekend, my book topped the sales at the store over 50 Shades of Grey (Ha Ha, slutty bitches!)
A few days later, the books were finally delivered. I pressed every signed bookplate into a book and labeled them all with the names of who purchased them, delivered them to the bookstore and collected my check. I felt like a real fucking writer and it was kickass.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
The book didn’t sell like hot-cakes online or anything, but it was a start. I eventually converted it to Kindle as well, and made another couple of bucks off of that. It was no living. Honestly, I probably broke even considering the cost I had to pay for everything. But I felt like my dream of becoming a published author was finally materializing.
Then the manager of the bookstore called me about a month or so later, informing me that several of the books hadn’t been picked up after the buyers had been contacted. I was slightly embarrassed; surely, it must’ve been the 2 ladies that didn’t know me and maybe a couple of my friends hadn’t gotten around to picking it up yet. I sent some text and facebook messages, reminding people I knew to pick it up. I had an author’s page up on facebook and made a general message: Hey everybody! The books are available at the bookstore! If you haven’t picked up your copy yet, head out there! And thank you for your support!
Then another month or so later, I was contacted by the store manager. He informed me the store was closing (the beginning of the end of printed media; do you hear my heart breaking?!?) and I needed to come pick up the rest of my books. When I got there, there were still several left unsold, and still some that hadn’t been picked up by my friends that had purchased them. I took the liberty to deliver to those that hadn’t picked it up, brushing off my embarrassment. After all, they showed up to my signing. They had contributed to my project. I was grateful. I told myself to get over it, and move on.
I wrote letters to independently owned bookstores throughout the state of California and Oregon, pleasantly introducing my little book and offering the owner a free copy to read to determine if it would be something they wouldn’t mind trying to sell off of their shelves. I received no responses. My amazon bank account resembled an underground cave filled with stalactites, filled with only the sound of random drips of water, echoing into the darkness.
My dream suddenly came to a deadening halt. It felt as if I had put so much hope into this little baby project of mine, and now nobody wanted to buy it, or even read it. They didn’t even want to be polite and peruse through it. I was crushed.
So, I stopped writing. Well, I stopped writing creatively. I took my book off Amazon, deleting it from all existence.
I did some basic freelance work for some local magazines and newspapers. But nothing that spoke to my soul. Nothing that felt like personal expression. My art went from Van Gogh (well, maybe more like Jackson Pollock) to house painter.
And then I stopped completely.
Life happened. Break-ups, moves, kidney donations, blah blah blah. And it wasn’t until recently after facing all the crappy things of life and getting myself to write again that I realized how important that sweet little baby book of mine was to me.
When I originally took it off the internet and stopped writing creatively, its because I felt jaded by the whole self-publishing experience. I can even quote myself saying I “hated” the entire experience, and almost felt as negatively about the book itself. I was angry that it wasn’t my big break. I was angry that it was such an shitty amateur attempt at making myself a great author. I was pissed that my friends and random bookstores and the internet had let me down by not making it a bigger and better experience.
Eventually, I realized that it had nothing to do with anyone but myself. It had nothing to do with my friends or the bookstores or the internet. I was the one that made the experience seem so lousy. And it wasn’t even a lousy experience. It was a phenomenal experience and I was so lucky to have such wonderful friends that loved me enough to SHOW UP. They supported me and my dream. I was the one that didn’t.
I put my book back up on Amazon. Go buy it. Buy it for yourself. Buy it for your friend. Buy it to support literature. Then share it with anyone and everyone or donate it to a library. Because. Maybe it’ll make you smile. Maybe it’ll be boring. Maybe there will be something in there that will touch a nerve within your gut that might inspire you to do something you love. I don’t know, it will mean something to you somehow, even if you hate it. Art evokes emotion. So, feel some.
The stories were written over a period of 10 years or so. Some are based on my own personal experiences, some are based on experiences of others. They all have a little fictional tweak to them. But they’re my heart and my heart has grown more since I wrote those stories. I love those stories. I love that book. So, onto the next one…
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
I have always been a lover of short stories. Don’t get me wrong. At any given time, I will be reading anywhere up to 4 actual books at one time. I can’t ever NOT be reading a book. Whether it’s biographies or jacked-up murder mysteries, I’m always reading a book. And even though I enjoy a good book, I absolutely positively adore reading a good short story. Those little slice-of-life tales are so powerful to me. In only a few pages, you can read about somebody’s heartbreak, or murder, or most embarrassing moment EVER. They are so effective and relatable to me. So, I would identify with them, and write my own out.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
In the winter of 2012, I decided it was time to get off my wannabe literary ass and put together some of my little stories to share with the world in hopes that I would finally achieve the publishing dream and get an agent and a contract and all that jazz. I carefully picked out 12 stories, some shorter than others, and arranged them perfectly like Christmas decorations on a folded paper tree. My brother did a lot of web design and he helped me design the layout of everything, from the page numbers to how the cover should look. My friend Jacob (we like to refer to him as “Old Man” or “Yacob”) took the perfect picture for the front and back covers. It all looked exactly as I dreamed it would.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
I had to go through all the red tape of buying the ISBN, paying certain fees, figuring out the size, blah blah blah. The book itself had to be edited, which meant I had to order a copy online and have it sent to me so I could make sure every single word, sentence, page, layout was absolutely perfect. This process was so redundant, I almost gave up. I had to re-read my book dozens of times to make sure everything was right. In the end, when it was just right enough, I was ready.
The self-publishing world is really quite easy. Anybody can do it. It just costs a few bucks of your hard-earned money, and BOOM! You’ve got a shiny paperback with your name on it. But by self-publishing, you also spend hours, days, weeks, months making it perfect. So when I say the book was just right enough and I was ready, really I mean I was sick of editing it anymore. I said “fuck it, let the chips fall where they may”. (I.e. Let the remaining misspellings suck a fat one, I don’t care anymore!)
By the summer of 2012, my little cherry-covered girl was ready. She was so pretty! I knew a guy that worked in a local bookstore and was in charge of organizing local author signing events, and he excitedly approached me to set up a date. While waiting for the date, I got the book up and running on amazon.com for an affordable price and people were even leaving little reviews. I ordered about 40 books to sell at the library for my signing and then-some.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
Being new to the self-publishing world (and self-financing world as well) I paid to have the books made and delivered without regard to how long it would actually take for the books to be printed and delivered. So when the day of my signing came, I literally had NO books to sell any potential buyers. I was fucking mortified. My bookstore working associate assured me it would all be fine and suggested I go purchase some bookplates from the local office supply store. That way, people could still get my autograph and pay for the book, they would just pick it up at a later date when the books actually came in.
I was stunned at how many people actually came to the signing. I mean, really. If you wanna talk about supportive friends, let’s talk about mine. A big group of buddies had gone bowling before it was time for my signing. And they all came in with huge smiles and giant hugs, ready to buy my little book. An old friend (in fact, she was the muse for two of my stories in the book) that I hadn’t seen in a few years showed up. My sister-in-law brought the baby (who hated me at the time but posed in a picture with me long enough before he ran away from me). There were even 2 separate ladies that showed up that I didn’t even know and said they had been looking forward to reading my book and were so excited to meet me! I felt amazing!
Everybody purchased a book. I signed bookplates for every single one of them. All in all, it took about 2-3 hours. About 25 of my books sold that day, making myself and the bookstore a little bit of money. That weekend, my book topped the sales at the store over 50 Shades of Grey (Ha Ha, slutty bitches!)
A few days later, the books were finally delivered. I pressed every signed bookplate into a book and labeled them all with the names of who purchased them, delivered them to the bookstore and collected my check. I felt like a real fucking writer and it was kickass.
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
The book didn’t sell like hot-cakes online or anything, but it was a start. I eventually converted it to Kindle as well, and made another couple of bucks off of that. It was no living. Honestly, I probably broke even considering the cost I had to pay for everything. But I felt like my dream of becoming a published author was finally materializing.
Then the manager of the bookstore called me about a month or so later, informing me that several of the books hadn’t been picked up after the buyers had been contacted. I was slightly embarrassed; surely, it must’ve been the 2 ladies that didn’t know me and maybe a couple of my friends hadn’t gotten around to picking it up yet. I sent some text and facebook messages, reminding people I knew to pick it up. I had an author’s page up on facebook and made a general message: Hey everybody! The books are available at the bookstore! If you haven’t picked up your copy yet, head out there! And thank you for your support!
Then another month or so later, I was contacted by the store manager. He informed me the store was closing (the beginning of the end of printed media; do you hear my heart breaking?!?) and I needed to come pick up the rest of my books. When I got there, there were still several left unsold, and still some that hadn’t been picked up by my friends that had purchased them. I took the liberty to deliver to those that hadn’t picked it up, brushing off my embarrassment. After all, they showed up to my signing. They had contributed to my project. I was grateful. I told myself to get over it, and move on.
I wrote letters to independently owned bookstores throughout the state of California and Oregon, pleasantly introducing my little book and offering the owner a free copy to read to determine if it would be something they wouldn’t mind trying to sell off of their shelves. I received no responses. My amazon bank account resembled an underground cave filled with stalactites, filled with only the sound of random drips of water, echoing into the darkness.
My dream suddenly came to a deadening halt. It felt as if I had put so much hope into this little baby project of mine, and now nobody wanted to buy it, or even read it. They didn’t even want to be polite and peruse through it. I was crushed.
So, I stopped writing. Well, I stopped writing creatively. I took my book off Amazon, deleting it from all existence.
I did some basic freelance work for some local magazines and newspapers. But nothing that spoke to my soul. Nothing that felt like personal expression. My art went from Van Gogh (well, maybe more like Jackson Pollock) to house painter.
And then I stopped completely.
Life happened. Break-ups, moves, kidney donations, blah blah blah. And it wasn’t until recently after facing all the crappy things of life and getting myself to write again that I realized how important that sweet little baby book of mine was to me.
When I originally took it off the internet and stopped writing creatively, its because I felt jaded by the whole self-publishing experience. I can even quote myself saying I “hated” the entire experience, and almost felt as negatively about the book itself. I was angry that it wasn’t my big break. I was angry that it was such an shitty amateur attempt at making myself a great author. I was pissed that my friends and random bookstores and the internet had let me down by not making it a bigger and better experience.
Eventually, I realized that it had nothing to do with anyone but myself. It had nothing to do with my friends or the bookstores or the internet. I was the one that made the experience seem so lousy. And it wasn’t even a lousy experience. It was a phenomenal experience and I was so lucky to have such wonderful friends that loved me enough to SHOW UP. They supported me and my dream. I was the one that didn’t.
I put my book back up on Amazon. Go buy it. Buy it for yourself. Buy it for your friend. Buy it to support literature. Then share it with anyone and everyone or donate it to a library. Because. Maybe it’ll make you smile. Maybe it’ll be boring. Maybe there will be something in there that will touch a nerve within your gut that might inspire you to do something you love. I don’t know, it will mean something to you somehow, even if you hate it. Art evokes emotion. So, feel some.
The stories were written over a period of 10 years or so. Some are based on my own personal experiences, some are based on experiences of others. They all have a little fictional tweak to them. But they’re my heart and my heart has grown more since I wrote those stories. I love those stories. I love that book. So, onto the next one…
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/061...
December 21, 2018
First One’s Here!
Welcome to Un-Wally World. Park’s closed. The moose out front should’ve told ya....
That’s what it feels like sometimes. Like you’ve planned it out, packed your bags, filled the car up with gas, the map is marked (or googled, whatever), you go through Hell to get there, you show up and the parking lot is empty giving you prime parking, you get to the gate, and you’re sent away because of ‘repairs.’ The journey sent you to a closed destination. It was all for not. And now you have to get back into your car and start all over again on your way home, with no kitschy t-shirt or funny coffee mug to commemorate your fun family trip.
I didn’t want to go to college, but started to anyways because my parents told me I was ‘supposed’ to go. It was never about what I wanted to study. I wanted to study theatre and film, but was told that would be a waste of time and I wouldn’t make any money, so I should get a degree in something else as a fall back. If the time was right, then maybe I could make a little money doing what I loved. But really, I should be a teacher or computer tech or something else I could never imagine myself doing.
After getting my gen ed credits at the local community college, I enrolled in a REAL college about 600 miles away from my home. After only one single quarter, I hated it. I could NOT find a job for the life of me. I didn’t care for the type of people that were up there (dirty hippies that literally didn’t bathe in anything but patchouli and sandalwood oils), and in all actuality, I missed my family and my home.
So after that first semester, I moved back home and started over. The first time....
I didn’t want to go to back to school. Structured learning was not my forte. I wanted to get back into theatre. So I did. Then I fell in love with the director of a theatre group, and a year later, we moved to Los Angeles to start our careers in the film and television biz.
Starting my life over: time number 2.
For 4.5 years, I worked a shitty bank job, became completely disenchanted with the idea of becoming an actress, and got my first writing gig as a theatre reviewer. Some shows were amazing and a complete gift to watch and review. Some shows were such crap, I wanted to throw my keys onstage and curse the actors for ruining all of our lives by being at the heart of such a terrible piece of shit.
Then, my uncle died and for whatever reason, it opened my eyes to do something that would make me happy. I wanted to keep writing, and I was often typing out another short story about how misunderstood young women were during their journeys through pregnancy tests and mommy issues. My uncle’s life was cut short, and I didn’t know if he died satisfied with his life. Our family was shocked by his death and felt short-changed by his short existence. I wanted my life to be so complete, that nobody would feel short changed. Least of all, myself.
Life starting over: time number 3.
I enrolled myself in Massage Therapy school. I really don’t know why, other than at the time, it rang in my ear like a constant doorbell. I had to answer it or else it would never go away. I got through my schooling, I passed my licensing exams with flying colors, and started my first independent job at a little spa. Within three weeks, I learned that the other massage therapists stole clients from each other’s schedules, the owners were essentially stealing money from potential clients by selling relaxation packages that they didn’t ask us to honor, and another therapist came into my massage room wanting to kick my ass (seriously) because I used one of her business cards to write my name on and give to a client because my business cards hadn’t come in yet.
To top it all off, my 5.5 year relationship with the theatre group director had fizzled to a simple friendship and I wanted out. We ended it amicably, and I couldn’t find another massage job. The best option was for me to pack my things and get relicensed back at home. So that’s what I did.
Restart number 4. (For fuck’s sake)
Almost immediately I got a great little apartment and great massage job working at a great doctor’s office. Then my creepy next door neighbor kept coming over asking me if I wanted to come over for a few beers and a smoke, and when I would decline (‘cause, um, NO) he would then ask if I HAD any beers or cigarettes. Again, I would decline and shuffle out of my apartment as quickly as I could. My job ended up not paying me well and I struggled to pay my bills. I had to move back in with my parents (again), get a part-time job, then another, then another. I started dating a great guy that I had known from high school and it was going really well. But almost as suddenly as the relationship had started, the problems started, too.
I switched jobs to a busier doctor’s office, made more money, and even won Best Massage Therapist in the county in 2012. The relationship kept fizzling and we kept fighting, but for whatever asinine reason, we wouldn’t break up. For almost 4 years, we struggled to make the other one happy. Then one day, I just knew, and I ended it. I moved back in with my parents for the 74th time, and within a year, I had a mental breakdown. The money stopped rolling in, I was heartbroken, exhausted mentally, emotionally and physically. I had to stop. Everything. I quit my job and surrendered to rest and some minor financial support from my parents.
Do we hear number 5?!?
After one month of this uninspiring lifestyle, I started working in a flower shop. The colors and smells and constant smiles on customers faces was uplifting and relieving. I started coming back to life. I learned how often to water certain plants, names of roses, how to get lilies to open overnight. It was as if learning about all these little lives that grew and bloomed helped my own life to do the same. I started a new relationship, which bloomed as well. Things were on the up and up. My depression was manageable, I smiled often, I was in love. Every morning I’d get to work and I’d smell the heavenly aroma of fresh cut flowers and earth.
Feeling back up on my feet again, I felt the itch of another restart. Dear god, the itch…. I knew it was time to move. I brought this up with my man; he hesitated for a week or so, then agreed. Even more amazingly, he wanted us to move to San Francisco. Even MORE amazingly, he wanted to support us completely, meaning I didn’t have to work and could focus solely on my writing. And then even MORE amazingly, he paid for the entire trip for us to head up there for a three day weekend, intent on looking at as many places as possible in hopes that we would find the right fit. We found three. Hell, one of the apartment managers offered it to us the same day. We came home to ponder.
The very next day, my boyfriend said we were making a mistake moving in together. I ran off into the night, devastated. He dumped me a week later, the day after my grandmother died.
I decided to restart on my own. I HAD to do this. I had to try. I gave myself two options: either Seattle or the central coast, where I had luckily spent summers with my grandparents as a child. I figured it would be smarter and easier if I kept it more local and immediately began a job search. Within a couple more months, I was employed and had a place to live. Eager with my 6th new beginning (if you’re still keeping track), I went off, practically abandoning my old life and friends, needing some space to build myself and my new life up.
Then, my brother went into renal failure.
It was obvious and unconditional: he would get my kidney. There was no doubt or question in my mind. He grew incredibly sick incredibly fast, and my family struggled to keep it together. I put this new life of mine on hold to give every piece of energy I had to my brother and the rest of the family. His life was in my hands, in my abdomen, actually, and I was practically willing to cut the damn thing out myself.
As he got sicker and sicker, he developed a polyneuropathy disorder and lost the ability to walk. He was on dialysis for 12 hours a day, and it wasn’t working. We were referred to the Keck Kidney Center at USC. For over a year and a half, we waited for them to let us progress forward and start the compatibility testing necessary to determine if I was a good match. And they LITERALLY forgot about us. We didn’t receive phone calls or emails. Both my brother’s and my coordinators kept either quitting or moving on. We would leave messages, write emails, call to complain, and kept getting forgotten.
As my brother’s polyneuropathy got worse, everything was put on hold. All of our lives stopped solely to focus on what the fuck the next step would be to get him well. He was dying, and we weren’t sure how much longer he had. My brother was a healthy athlete, married to his longtime sweetheart, with a gorgeous little boy. No history of alcohol or drug abuse. He lost his first kidney as an infant, and after all this time, the second kidney failed. There was no rhyme or reason for the torture he was being subjected to. So we waited for the fucking shitty kidney center to call us back and give us the green light.
Then by chance, he was referred to Cedars-Sinai by his neurologist to deal with his polyneuropathy. At that referral appointment, that doctor referred him to the kidney transplant center. And six months later, both my brother and I were on the operating table, exchanging a body organ. I had saved his life. It was time to get back to mine.
Until my belly started bloating and I kept getting sick. I looked five months pregnant within 6 weeks, I couldn’t eat any food or drink any water, and I was in constant discomfort and pain in my abdomen. After a diagnosis of Chylous Ascites (a very rare and random surgical complication), my body was poked, prodded, drained, ad nauseam (pun fucking intended, trust me). Over the next six months, my belly was drained of over 50 pounds of fluid, I lost 30 pounds of my own, was hospitalized 3 times, had about 15 medical procedures done, was deprived food and put on IV nutrition for months, until I finally had to have exploratory surgery to fix the problem, which had a 50/50 chance of working.
It worked. Thank fucking god.
Six weeks later, I was able to eat solid foods again. I got a return to work date from my surgeon. It was time to get back to life.
Enter my second mental breakdown.
The anxiety became unbearable. The depression crashes practically daily. I had no idea how to go back to work like this. I couldn’t, I just fucking couldn’t. My boss had tried to be patient but had occasional anger flare ups, telling me I had to “make a choice”. The lack of compassion made me feel like I had ruined every single work relationship I had there. I couldn’t handle the thought of working for someone that treated me like that anymore. One night while taking a stroll with my boyfriend in the local cemetery, I literally snapped and ran away screaming that I couldn’t take it anymore. Screaming, you guys. FUCKING SCREAMING.
What was I supposed to do? My job was very physical: heavy lifting, gardening, running around the property. I had hardly gained any of the 30 pounds back and had no muscle left in me. There was no way I could go back to the job. And my boss…. I was afraid that if he said one rude comment to me, that I was going to either cuss him out like a little bitch or run away screaming as well. So at my boss’s behest, I made a choice. I resigned.
Restart number 7.
So, here I am. Unemployed. Living by the beach. Endlessly morally supported and encouraged by my boyfriend. Doing freelance writing and editing to make a buck or two. Trying to get this restart up and running before anything else shitty happens. And you know what I’ve learned? It never fucking stops. EVER. Life will never stop throwing bad shit into your face. But it also will give the good stuff, too. Sometimes, it’s all about timing. Sometimes, it’s all about love. Sometimes, it’s all about common sense. Sometimes, you just have to close your eyes and run through it and hope that when you open your eyes on the other side, you’re still in one piece.
I had a nightmare (or was it?) the night I resigned. One of my best friend’s (she actually helped me write my letter of resignation) and I were in a car, driving on a windy and icy road. When she hit a patch of black ice on a curve, we spun out of control and fell off the cliff. As the car fell through the air down to the unforeseen ground, we held each other closely and said I love you. I was grateful for the impending death, and I was grateful it was going to be with her. We waited for the sudden explosion. When it happened, it wasn’t a loud crashing sound. More like a stereo speaker being hooked up to the wrong cord. In the dream, I awoke in my neighborhood shopping center, aware I had died, and yet was brought back to life. To start over, yet again.
That’s what it feels like sometimes. Like you’ve planned it out, packed your bags, filled the car up with gas, the map is marked (or googled, whatever), you go through Hell to get there, you show up and the parking lot is empty giving you prime parking, you get to the gate, and you’re sent away because of ‘repairs.’ The journey sent you to a closed destination. It was all for not. And now you have to get back into your car and start all over again on your way home, with no kitschy t-shirt or funny coffee mug to commemorate your fun family trip.
I didn’t want to go to college, but started to anyways because my parents told me I was ‘supposed’ to go. It was never about what I wanted to study. I wanted to study theatre and film, but was told that would be a waste of time and I wouldn’t make any money, so I should get a degree in something else as a fall back. If the time was right, then maybe I could make a little money doing what I loved. But really, I should be a teacher or computer tech or something else I could never imagine myself doing.
After getting my gen ed credits at the local community college, I enrolled in a REAL college about 600 miles away from my home. After only one single quarter, I hated it. I could NOT find a job for the life of me. I didn’t care for the type of people that were up there (dirty hippies that literally didn’t bathe in anything but patchouli and sandalwood oils), and in all actuality, I missed my family and my home.
So after that first semester, I moved back home and started over. The first time....
I didn’t want to go to back to school. Structured learning was not my forte. I wanted to get back into theatre. So I did. Then I fell in love with the director of a theatre group, and a year later, we moved to Los Angeles to start our careers in the film and television biz.
Starting my life over: time number 2.
For 4.5 years, I worked a shitty bank job, became completely disenchanted with the idea of becoming an actress, and got my first writing gig as a theatre reviewer. Some shows were amazing and a complete gift to watch and review. Some shows were such crap, I wanted to throw my keys onstage and curse the actors for ruining all of our lives by being at the heart of such a terrible piece of shit.
Then, my uncle died and for whatever reason, it opened my eyes to do something that would make me happy. I wanted to keep writing, and I was often typing out another short story about how misunderstood young women were during their journeys through pregnancy tests and mommy issues. My uncle’s life was cut short, and I didn’t know if he died satisfied with his life. Our family was shocked by his death and felt short-changed by his short existence. I wanted my life to be so complete, that nobody would feel short changed. Least of all, myself.
Life starting over: time number 3.
I enrolled myself in Massage Therapy school. I really don’t know why, other than at the time, it rang in my ear like a constant doorbell. I had to answer it or else it would never go away. I got through my schooling, I passed my licensing exams with flying colors, and started my first independent job at a little spa. Within three weeks, I learned that the other massage therapists stole clients from each other’s schedules, the owners were essentially stealing money from potential clients by selling relaxation packages that they didn’t ask us to honor, and another therapist came into my massage room wanting to kick my ass (seriously) because I used one of her business cards to write my name on and give to a client because my business cards hadn’t come in yet.
To top it all off, my 5.5 year relationship with the theatre group director had fizzled to a simple friendship and I wanted out. We ended it amicably, and I couldn’t find another massage job. The best option was for me to pack my things and get relicensed back at home. So that’s what I did.
Restart number 4. (For fuck’s sake)
Almost immediately I got a great little apartment and great massage job working at a great doctor’s office. Then my creepy next door neighbor kept coming over asking me if I wanted to come over for a few beers and a smoke, and when I would decline (‘cause, um, NO) he would then ask if I HAD any beers or cigarettes. Again, I would decline and shuffle out of my apartment as quickly as I could. My job ended up not paying me well and I struggled to pay my bills. I had to move back in with my parents (again), get a part-time job, then another, then another. I started dating a great guy that I had known from high school and it was going really well. But almost as suddenly as the relationship had started, the problems started, too.
I switched jobs to a busier doctor’s office, made more money, and even won Best Massage Therapist in the county in 2012. The relationship kept fizzling and we kept fighting, but for whatever asinine reason, we wouldn’t break up. For almost 4 years, we struggled to make the other one happy. Then one day, I just knew, and I ended it. I moved back in with my parents for the 74th time, and within a year, I had a mental breakdown. The money stopped rolling in, I was heartbroken, exhausted mentally, emotionally and physically. I had to stop. Everything. I quit my job and surrendered to rest and some minor financial support from my parents.
Do we hear number 5?!?
After one month of this uninspiring lifestyle, I started working in a flower shop. The colors and smells and constant smiles on customers faces was uplifting and relieving. I started coming back to life. I learned how often to water certain plants, names of roses, how to get lilies to open overnight. It was as if learning about all these little lives that grew and bloomed helped my own life to do the same. I started a new relationship, which bloomed as well. Things were on the up and up. My depression was manageable, I smiled often, I was in love. Every morning I’d get to work and I’d smell the heavenly aroma of fresh cut flowers and earth.
Feeling back up on my feet again, I felt the itch of another restart. Dear god, the itch…. I knew it was time to move. I brought this up with my man; he hesitated for a week or so, then agreed. Even more amazingly, he wanted us to move to San Francisco. Even MORE amazingly, he wanted to support us completely, meaning I didn’t have to work and could focus solely on my writing. And then even MORE amazingly, he paid for the entire trip for us to head up there for a three day weekend, intent on looking at as many places as possible in hopes that we would find the right fit. We found three. Hell, one of the apartment managers offered it to us the same day. We came home to ponder.
The very next day, my boyfriend said we were making a mistake moving in together. I ran off into the night, devastated. He dumped me a week later, the day after my grandmother died.
I decided to restart on my own. I HAD to do this. I had to try. I gave myself two options: either Seattle or the central coast, where I had luckily spent summers with my grandparents as a child. I figured it would be smarter and easier if I kept it more local and immediately began a job search. Within a couple more months, I was employed and had a place to live. Eager with my 6th new beginning (if you’re still keeping track), I went off, practically abandoning my old life and friends, needing some space to build myself and my new life up.
Then, my brother went into renal failure.
It was obvious and unconditional: he would get my kidney. There was no doubt or question in my mind. He grew incredibly sick incredibly fast, and my family struggled to keep it together. I put this new life of mine on hold to give every piece of energy I had to my brother and the rest of the family. His life was in my hands, in my abdomen, actually, and I was practically willing to cut the damn thing out myself.
As he got sicker and sicker, he developed a polyneuropathy disorder and lost the ability to walk. He was on dialysis for 12 hours a day, and it wasn’t working. We were referred to the Keck Kidney Center at USC. For over a year and a half, we waited for them to let us progress forward and start the compatibility testing necessary to determine if I was a good match. And they LITERALLY forgot about us. We didn’t receive phone calls or emails. Both my brother’s and my coordinators kept either quitting or moving on. We would leave messages, write emails, call to complain, and kept getting forgotten.
As my brother’s polyneuropathy got worse, everything was put on hold. All of our lives stopped solely to focus on what the fuck the next step would be to get him well. He was dying, and we weren’t sure how much longer he had. My brother was a healthy athlete, married to his longtime sweetheart, with a gorgeous little boy. No history of alcohol or drug abuse. He lost his first kidney as an infant, and after all this time, the second kidney failed. There was no rhyme or reason for the torture he was being subjected to. So we waited for the fucking shitty kidney center to call us back and give us the green light.
Then by chance, he was referred to Cedars-Sinai by his neurologist to deal with his polyneuropathy. At that referral appointment, that doctor referred him to the kidney transplant center. And six months later, both my brother and I were on the operating table, exchanging a body organ. I had saved his life. It was time to get back to mine.
Until my belly started bloating and I kept getting sick. I looked five months pregnant within 6 weeks, I couldn’t eat any food or drink any water, and I was in constant discomfort and pain in my abdomen. After a diagnosis of Chylous Ascites (a very rare and random surgical complication), my body was poked, prodded, drained, ad nauseam (pun fucking intended, trust me). Over the next six months, my belly was drained of over 50 pounds of fluid, I lost 30 pounds of my own, was hospitalized 3 times, had about 15 medical procedures done, was deprived food and put on IV nutrition for months, until I finally had to have exploratory surgery to fix the problem, which had a 50/50 chance of working.
It worked. Thank fucking god.
Six weeks later, I was able to eat solid foods again. I got a return to work date from my surgeon. It was time to get back to life.
Enter my second mental breakdown.
The anxiety became unbearable. The depression crashes practically daily. I had no idea how to go back to work like this. I couldn’t, I just fucking couldn’t. My boss had tried to be patient but had occasional anger flare ups, telling me I had to “make a choice”. The lack of compassion made me feel like I had ruined every single work relationship I had there. I couldn’t handle the thought of working for someone that treated me like that anymore. One night while taking a stroll with my boyfriend in the local cemetery, I literally snapped and ran away screaming that I couldn’t take it anymore. Screaming, you guys. FUCKING SCREAMING.
What was I supposed to do? My job was very physical: heavy lifting, gardening, running around the property. I had hardly gained any of the 30 pounds back and had no muscle left in me. There was no way I could go back to the job. And my boss…. I was afraid that if he said one rude comment to me, that I was going to either cuss him out like a little bitch or run away screaming as well. So at my boss’s behest, I made a choice. I resigned.
Restart number 7.
So, here I am. Unemployed. Living by the beach. Endlessly morally supported and encouraged by my boyfriend. Doing freelance writing and editing to make a buck or two. Trying to get this restart up and running before anything else shitty happens. And you know what I’ve learned? It never fucking stops. EVER. Life will never stop throwing bad shit into your face. But it also will give the good stuff, too. Sometimes, it’s all about timing. Sometimes, it’s all about love. Sometimes, it’s all about common sense. Sometimes, you just have to close your eyes and run through it and hope that when you open your eyes on the other side, you’re still in one piece.
I had a nightmare (or was it?) the night I resigned. One of my best friend’s (she actually helped me write my letter of resignation) and I were in a car, driving on a windy and icy road. When she hit a patch of black ice on a curve, we spun out of control and fell off the cliff. As the car fell through the air down to the unforeseen ground, we held each other closely and said I love you. I was grateful for the impending death, and I was grateful it was going to be with her. We waited for the sudden explosion. When it happened, it wasn’t a loud crashing sound. More like a stereo speaker being hooked up to the wrong cord. In the dream, I awoke in my neighborhood shopping center, aware I had died, and yet was brought back to life. To start over, yet again.
First Ones Here!
Welcome to Un-Wally World. Park’s closed. The moose out front should’ve told ya....
That’s what it feels like sometimes. Like you’ve planned it out, packed your bags, filled the car up with gas, the map is marked (or googled, whatever), you go through Hell to get there, you show up and the parking lot is empty giving you prime parking, you get to the gate, and you’re sent away because of ‘repairs.’ The journey sent you to a closed destination. It was all for not. And now you have to get back into your car and start all over again on your way home, with no kitschy t-shirt or funny coffee mug to commemorate your fun family trip.
I didn’t want to go to college, but started to anyways because my parents told me I was ‘supposed’ to go. It was never about what I wanted to study. I wanted to study theatre and film, but was told that would be a waste of time and I wouldn’t make any money, so I should get a degree in something else as a fall back. If the time was right, then maybe I could make a little money doing what I loved. But really, I should be a teacher or computer tech or something else I could never imagine myself doing.
After getting my gen ed credits at the local community college, I enrolled in a REAL college about 600 miles away from my home. After only one single quarter, I hated it. I could NOT find a job for the life of me. I didn’t care for the type of people that were up there (dirty hippies that literally didn’t bathe in anything but patchouli and sandalwood oils), and in all actuality, I missed my family and my home.
So after that first semester, I moved back home and started over. The first time....
I didn’t want to go to back to school. Structured learning was not my forte. I wanted to get back into theatre. So I did. Then I fell in love with the director of a theatre group, and a year later, we moved to Los Angeles to start our careers in the film and television biz.
Starting my life over: time number 2.
For 4.5 years, I worked a shitty bank job, became completely disenchanted with the idea of becoming an actress, and got my first writing gig as a theatre reviewer. Some shows were amazing and a complete gift to watch and review. Some shows were such crap, I wanted to throw my keys onstage and curse the actors for ruining all of our lives by being at the heart of such a terrible piece of shit.
Then, my uncle died and for whatever reason, it opened my eyes to do something that would make me happy. I wanted to keep writing, and I was often typing out another short story about how misunderstood young women were during their journies through preganancy tests and mommy issues. My uncles life was cut short, and I didn’t know if he died satisfied with his life. Our family was shocked by his death and felt short-changed by his short existence. I wanted my life to be so complete, that nobody would feel short changed. Least of all, myself.
Life starting over: time number 3.
I enrolled myself in Massage Therapy school. I really don’t know why, other than at the time, it rang in my ear like a constant doorbell. I had to answer it or else it would never go away. I got through my schooling, I passed my licensing exams with flying colors, and started my first independent job at a little spa. Within three weeks, I learned that the other massage therapists stole clients from each other’s schedules, the owners were essentially stealing money from potential clients by selling relaxation packages that they didn’t ask us to honor, and another therapist came into my massage room wanting to kick my ass (seriously) because I used one of her business cards to write my name on and give to a client because my business cards hadn’t come in yet.
To top it all off, my 5.5 year relationship with the theatre group director had fizzled to a simple friendship and I wanted out. We ended it amicably, and I couldn’t find another massage job. The best option was for me to pack my things and get relicensed back at home. So that’s what I did.
Restart number 4. (For fuck’s sake)
Almost immediately I got a great little apartment and great massage job working at a great doctor’s office. Then my creepy next door neighbor kept coming over asking me if I wanted to come over for a few beers and a smoke, and when I would decline (‘cause, um, NO) he would then ask if I HAD any beers or cigarettes. Again, I would decline and shuffle out of my apartment as quickly as I could. My job ended up not paying me well and I struggled to pay my bills. I had to move back in with my parents (again), get a part-time job, then another, then another. I started dating a great guy that I had known from high school and it was going really well. But almost as suddenly as the relationship had started, the problems started, too.
I switched jobs to a busier doctor’s office, made more money, and even won Best Massage Therapist in the county in 2012. The relationship kept fizzling and we kept fighting, but for whatever assanine reason, we wouldn’t break up. Four almost 4 years, we struggled to make the other one happy. Then one day, I just knew, and I ended it. I moved back in with my parents for the 74th time, and within a year, I had a mental breakdown. The money stopped rolling in, I was heartbroken, exhausted mentally, emotionally and physically. I had to stop. Everything. I quit my job and surrendered to rest and some minor financial support from my parents.
Do we hear number 5?!?
After one month of this uninspiring lifestyle, I started working in a flower shop. The colors and smells and constant smiles on customers faces was uplifting and relieving. I started coming back to life. I learned how often to water certain plants, names of roses, how to get lilies to open overnight. It was as if learning about all these little lives that grew and bloomed helped my own life to do the same. I started a new relationship, which bloomed as well. Things were on the up and up. My depression was manageable, I smiled often, I was in love. Every morning I’d get to work and I’d smell the heavenly aroma of fresh cut flowers and earth.
Feeling back up on my feet again, I felt the itch of another restart. Dear god, the itch…. I knew it was time to move. I brought this up with my man; he hesitated for a week or so, then agreed. Even more amazingly, he wanted us to move to San Francisco. Even MORE amazingly, he wanted to support us completely, meaning I didn’t have to work and could focus solely on my writing. And then even MORE amazingly, he paid for the entire trip for us to head up there for a three day weekend, intent on looking at as many places as possible in hopes that we would find the right fit. We found three. Hell, one of the apartment managers offered it to us the same day. We came home to ponder.
The very next day, my boyfriend said we were making a mistake moving in together. I ran off into the night, devastated. He dumped me a week later, the day after my grandmother died.
I decided to restart on my own. I HAD to do this. I had to try. I gave myself two options: either Seattle or the central coast, where I had luckily spent summers with my grandparents as a child. I figured it would be smarter and easier if I kept it more local and immediately began a job search. Within a couple more months, I was employed and had a place to live. Eager with my 6th new beginning (if you’re still keeping track), I went off, practically abandoning my old life and friends, needing some space to build myself and my new life up.
Then, my brother went into renal failure.
It was obvious and unconditional: he would get my kidney. There was no doubt or question in my mind. He grew incredibly sick incredibly fast, and my family struggled to keep it together. I put this new life of mine on hold to give every piece of energy I had to my brother and the rest of the family. His life was in my hands, in my abdomen, actually, and I was practically willing to cut the damn thing out myself.
As he got sicker and sicker, he developed a polyneuropathy disorder and lost the ability to walk. He was on dialysis for 12 hours a day, and it wasn’t working. We were referred to the Keck Kidney Center at USC. For over a year and a half, we waited for them to let us progress forward and start the compatibility testing necessary to determine if I was a good match. And they LITERALLY forgot about us. We didn’t receive phone calls or emails. Both my brother’s and my coordinators kept either quitting or moving on. We would leave messages, write emails, call to complain, and kept getting forgotten.
As my brother’s polyneuropathy got worse, everything was put on hold. All of our lives stopped solely to focus on what the fuck the next step would be to get him well. He was dying, and we weren’t sure how much longer he had. My brother was a healthy athlete, married to his longtime sweetheart, with a gorgeous little boy. No history of alcohol or drug abuse. He lost his first kidney as an infant, and after all this time, the second kidney failed. There was no rhyme or reason for the torture he was being subjected to. So we waited for the fucking shitty kidney center to call us back and give us the green light.
Then by chance, he was referred to Cedars-Sinai by his neurologist to deal with his polyneuropathy. At that referral appointment, that doctor referred him to the kidney transplant center. And six months later, both my brother and I were on the operating table, exchanging a body organ. I had saved his life. It was time to get back to mine.
Until my belly started bloating and I kept getting sick. I looked five months pregnant within 6 weeks, I couldn’t eat any food or drink any water, and I was in constant discomfort and pain in my abdomen. After a diagnosis of Chylous Ascites (a very rare and random surgical complication), my body was poked, prodded, drained, ad nauseum (pun fucking intended, trust me). Over the next six months, my belly was drained of over 50 pounds of fluid, lost 30 pounds of my own, I was hospitalized 3 times, I had about 15 medical procedures done, was deprived food and put on IV nutrition for months, until I finally had to have exploratory surgery to fix the problem, which had a 50/50 chance of working.
It worked. Thank fucking god.
Six weeks later, I was able to eat solid foods again. I got a return to work date from my surgeon. It was time to get back to life.
Enter my second mental breakdown.
The anxiety became unbearable. The depression crashes practically daily. I had no idea how to go back to work like this. I couldn’t, I just fucking couldn’t. My boss had tried to be patient but had occasional anger flare ups, telling me I had to “make a choice”. The lack of compassion made me feel like I had ruined every single work relationship I had there. I couldn’t handle the thought of working for someone that treated me like that anymore. One night while taking a stroll with my boyfriend in the local cemetery, I literally snapped and ran away screaming that I couldn’t take it anymore. Screaming, you guys. FUCKING SCREAMING.
What was I supposed to do? My job was very physical: heavy lifting, gardening, running around the property. I had hardly gained any of the 30 pounds back and had no muscle left in me. There was no way I could go back to the job. And my boss…. I was afraid that if he said one rude comment to me, that I was going to either cuss him out like a little bitch or run away screaming as well. So at my boss’s behest, I made a choice. I resigned.
Restart number 7.
So, here I am. Unemployed. Living by the beach. Endlessly supported by my boyfriend. Doing freelance writing and editing to make a buck or two. Trying to get this restart up and running before anything else shitty happens. And you know what I’ve learned? It never fucking stops. EVER. Life will never stop throwing bad shit into your face. But it also will give the good stuff, too. Sometimes, it’s all about timing. Sometimes, it’s all about love. Sometimes, it’s all about common sense. Sometimes, you just have to close your eyes and run through it and hope that when you open your eyes on the other side, you’re still in one piece.
I had a nightmare (or was it?) the night I resigned. One of my best friend’s (she actually helped me write my letter of resignation) and I were in a car, driving on a windy and icy road. When she hit a patch of black ice on a curve, we spun out of control and fell off the cliff. As the car fell through the air down to the unforeseen ground, we held each other closely and said I love you. I was grateful for the impending death, and I was grateful it was going to be with her. We waited for the sudden explosion. When it happened, it wasn’t a loud crashing sound. More like a stereo speaker being hooked up to the wrong cord. In the dream, I awoke in my neighborhood shopping center, aware I had died, and yet was brought back to life. To start over, yet again.
That’s what it feels like sometimes. Like you’ve planned it out, packed your bags, filled the car up with gas, the map is marked (or googled, whatever), you go through Hell to get there, you show up and the parking lot is empty giving you prime parking, you get to the gate, and you’re sent away because of ‘repairs.’ The journey sent you to a closed destination. It was all for not. And now you have to get back into your car and start all over again on your way home, with no kitschy t-shirt or funny coffee mug to commemorate your fun family trip.
I didn’t want to go to college, but started to anyways because my parents told me I was ‘supposed’ to go. It was never about what I wanted to study. I wanted to study theatre and film, but was told that would be a waste of time and I wouldn’t make any money, so I should get a degree in something else as a fall back. If the time was right, then maybe I could make a little money doing what I loved. But really, I should be a teacher or computer tech or something else I could never imagine myself doing.
After getting my gen ed credits at the local community college, I enrolled in a REAL college about 600 miles away from my home. After only one single quarter, I hated it. I could NOT find a job for the life of me. I didn’t care for the type of people that were up there (dirty hippies that literally didn’t bathe in anything but patchouli and sandalwood oils), and in all actuality, I missed my family and my home.
So after that first semester, I moved back home and started over. The first time....
I didn’t want to go to back to school. Structured learning was not my forte. I wanted to get back into theatre. So I did. Then I fell in love with the director of a theatre group, and a year later, we moved to Los Angeles to start our careers in the film and television biz.
Starting my life over: time number 2.
For 4.5 years, I worked a shitty bank job, became completely disenchanted with the idea of becoming an actress, and got my first writing gig as a theatre reviewer. Some shows were amazing and a complete gift to watch and review. Some shows were such crap, I wanted to throw my keys onstage and curse the actors for ruining all of our lives by being at the heart of such a terrible piece of shit.
Then, my uncle died and for whatever reason, it opened my eyes to do something that would make me happy. I wanted to keep writing, and I was often typing out another short story about how misunderstood young women were during their journies through preganancy tests and mommy issues. My uncles life was cut short, and I didn’t know if he died satisfied with his life. Our family was shocked by his death and felt short-changed by his short existence. I wanted my life to be so complete, that nobody would feel short changed. Least of all, myself.
Life starting over: time number 3.
I enrolled myself in Massage Therapy school. I really don’t know why, other than at the time, it rang in my ear like a constant doorbell. I had to answer it or else it would never go away. I got through my schooling, I passed my licensing exams with flying colors, and started my first independent job at a little spa. Within three weeks, I learned that the other massage therapists stole clients from each other’s schedules, the owners were essentially stealing money from potential clients by selling relaxation packages that they didn’t ask us to honor, and another therapist came into my massage room wanting to kick my ass (seriously) because I used one of her business cards to write my name on and give to a client because my business cards hadn’t come in yet.
To top it all off, my 5.5 year relationship with the theatre group director had fizzled to a simple friendship and I wanted out. We ended it amicably, and I couldn’t find another massage job. The best option was for me to pack my things and get relicensed back at home. So that’s what I did.
Restart number 4. (For fuck’s sake)
Almost immediately I got a great little apartment and great massage job working at a great doctor’s office. Then my creepy next door neighbor kept coming over asking me if I wanted to come over for a few beers and a smoke, and when I would decline (‘cause, um, NO) he would then ask if I HAD any beers or cigarettes. Again, I would decline and shuffle out of my apartment as quickly as I could. My job ended up not paying me well and I struggled to pay my bills. I had to move back in with my parents (again), get a part-time job, then another, then another. I started dating a great guy that I had known from high school and it was going really well. But almost as suddenly as the relationship had started, the problems started, too.
I switched jobs to a busier doctor’s office, made more money, and even won Best Massage Therapist in the county in 2012. The relationship kept fizzling and we kept fighting, but for whatever assanine reason, we wouldn’t break up. Four almost 4 years, we struggled to make the other one happy. Then one day, I just knew, and I ended it. I moved back in with my parents for the 74th time, and within a year, I had a mental breakdown. The money stopped rolling in, I was heartbroken, exhausted mentally, emotionally and physically. I had to stop. Everything. I quit my job and surrendered to rest and some minor financial support from my parents.
Do we hear number 5?!?
After one month of this uninspiring lifestyle, I started working in a flower shop. The colors and smells and constant smiles on customers faces was uplifting and relieving. I started coming back to life. I learned how often to water certain plants, names of roses, how to get lilies to open overnight. It was as if learning about all these little lives that grew and bloomed helped my own life to do the same. I started a new relationship, which bloomed as well. Things were on the up and up. My depression was manageable, I smiled often, I was in love. Every morning I’d get to work and I’d smell the heavenly aroma of fresh cut flowers and earth.
Feeling back up on my feet again, I felt the itch of another restart. Dear god, the itch…. I knew it was time to move. I brought this up with my man; he hesitated for a week or so, then agreed. Even more amazingly, he wanted us to move to San Francisco. Even MORE amazingly, he wanted to support us completely, meaning I didn’t have to work and could focus solely on my writing. And then even MORE amazingly, he paid for the entire trip for us to head up there for a three day weekend, intent on looking at as many places as possible in hopes that we would find the right fit. We found three. Hell, one of the apartment managers offered it to us the same day. We came home to ponder.
The very next day, my boyfriend said we were making a mistake moving in together. I ran off into the night, devastated. He dumped me a week later, the day after my grandmother died.
I decided to restart on my own. I HAD to do this. I had to try. I gave myself two options: either Seattle or the central coast, where I had luckily spent summers with my grandparents as a child. I figured it would be smarter and easier if I kept it more local and immediately began a job search. Within a couple more months, I was employed and had a place to live. Eager with my 6th new beginning (if you’re still keeping track), I went off, practically abandoning my old life and friends, needing some space to build myself and my new life up.
Then, my brother went into renal failure.
It was obvious and unconditional: he would get my kidney. There was no doubt or question in my mind. He grew incredibly sick incredibly fast, and my family struggled to keep it together. I put this new life of mine on hold to give every piece of energy I had to my brother and the rest of the family. His life was in my hands, in my abdomen, actually, and I was practically willing to cut the damn thing out myself.
As he got sicker and sicker, he developed a polyneuropathy disorder and lost the ability to walk. He was on dialysis for 12 hours a day, and it wasn’t working. We were referred to the Keck Kidney Center at USC. For over a year and a half, we waited for them to let us progress forward and start the compatibility testing necessary to determine if I was a good match. And they LITERALLY forgot about us. We didn’t receive phone calls or emails. Both my brother’s and my coordinators kept either quitting or moving on. We would leave messages, write emails, call to complain, and kept getting forgotten.
As my brother’s polyneuropathy got worse, everything was put on hold. All of our lives stopped solely to focus on what the fuck the next step would be to get him well. He was dying, and we weren’t sure how much longer he had. My brother was a healthy athlete, married to his longtime sweetheart, with a gorgeous little boy. No history of alcohol or drug abuse. He lost his first kidney as an infant, and after all this time, the second kidney failed. There was no rhyme or reason for the torture he was being subjected to. So we waited for the fucking shitty kidney center to call us back and give us the green light.
Then by chance, he was referred to Cedars-Sinai by his neurologist to deal with his polyneuropathy. At that referral appointment, that doctor referred him to the kidney transplant center. And six months later, both my brother and I were on the operating table, exchanging a body organ. I had saved his life. It was time to get back to mine.
Until my belly started bloating and I kept getting sick. I looked five months pregnant within 6 weeks, I couldn’t eat any food or drink any water, and I was in constant discomfort and pain in my abdomen. After a diagnosis of Chylous Ascites (a very rare and random surgical complication), my body was poked, prodded, drained, ad nauseum (pun fucking intended, trust me). Over the next six months, my belly was drained of over 50 pounds of fluid, lost 30 pounds of my own, I was hospitalized 3 times, I had about 15 medical procedures done, was deprived food and put on IV nutrition for months, until I finally had to have exploratory surgery to fix the problem, which had a 50/50 chance of working.
It worked. Thank fucking god.
Six weeks later, I was able to eat solid foods again. I got a return to work date from my surgeon. It was time to get back to life.
Enter my second mental breakdown.
The anxiety became unbearable. The depression crashes practically daily. I had no idea how to go back to work like this. I couldn’t, I just fucking couldn’t. My boss had tried to be patient but had occasional anger flare ups, telling me I had to “make a choice”. The lack of compassion made me feel like I had ruined every single work relationship I had there. I couldn’t handle the thought of working for someone that treated me like that anymore. One night while taking a stroll with my boyfriend in the local cemetery, I literally snapped and ran away screaming that I couldn’t take it anymore. Screaming, you guys. FUCKING SCREAMING.
What was I supposed to do? My job was very physical: heavy lifting, gardening, running around the property. I had hardly gained any of the 30 pounds back and had no muscle left in me. There was no way I could go back to the job. And my boss…. I was afraid that if he said one rude comment to me, that I was going to either cuss him out like a little bitch or run away screaming as well. So at my boss’s behest, I made a choice. I resigned.
Restart number 7.
So, here I am. Unemployed. Living by the beach. Endlessly supported by my boyfriend. Doing freelance writing and editing to make a buck or two. Trying to get this restart up and running before anything else shitty happens. And you know what I’ve learned? It never fucking stops. EVER. Life will never stop throwing bad shit into your face. But it also will give the good stuff, too. Sometimes, it’s all about timing. Sometimes, it’s all about love. Sometimes, it’s all about common sense. Sometimes, you just have to close your eyes and run through it and hope that when you open your eyes on the other side, you’re still in one piece.
I had a nightmare (or was it?) the night I resigned. One of my best friend’s (she actually helped me write my letter of resignation) and I were in a car, driving on a windy and icy road. When she hit a patch of black ice on a curve, we spun out of control and fell off the cliff. As the car fell through the air down to the unforeseen ground, we held each other closely and said I love you. I was grateful for the impending death, and I was grateful it was going to be with her. We waited for the sudden explosion. When it happened, it wasn’t a loud crashing sound. More like a stereo speaker being hooked up to the wrong cord. In the dream, I awoke in my neighborhood shopping center, aware I had died, and yet was brought back to life. To start over, yet again.
October 27, 2012
4 Weeks Later....
so i've had tons of time to reflect and think about the trip. it's been a whole month since my return and i've made some decisions about this, that, and the other. here's my current insight, in case you're interested.
1. after a month off of not working so physically, my body felt more rested, but slightly still tired. after two days back at work, my body was ready to crash. i am tired of this. so after much consideration, i have decided i will not be renewing my massage license. it's been 7.5 years of helping others with their aches and pains, energy transference, healing ailments that weren't my own. i'm done. i haven't found anything new and haven't given notice or anything like that. i'm just not planning on keeping on with this. i still love it very much, but i've had enough of struggling financially and feeling like i'm 15 years older than i actually am. so as soon as something right comes along, i'm gonna take it and move on.
2. this trip was partially an audition to decide where i want to move next. i haven't much of a desire to stay in Bakersfield, never have. the only places i felt at home on this trip were in Humboldt (no surprise) and Lake Samish, WA. i felt at home in Humboldt since i've lived there before. it is beautiful and clean and lovely. but at the end of the day, it isn't home.
Lake Samish is friggin' awesome. but it's more of a long term goal kinda home thing. a house on the water is gonna go for about a half million dollars. considering i make enough right now to live with my parents indefinitely, i'm thinking Lake Samish will be a great Washington vacation home.....someday. it's beautiful now, it'll be beautiful then. i can wait.
home, sweet home.other than that, i think i've decided that i will be staying in California. for the nearest of futures, i will be in Bakersfield. i have moved 8 times in the last 7 years. i have purchased and sold two coffee tables, about 4 bookshelves, 4 beds, some lamps, some adorable sidetables, all sorts of crap. my storage has gone from a packed and stacked 10 x 10, to a half empty 5 x 5. i think when the time comes to actually MOVE, i'm just gonna start completely over. i can only get rid of so many memories at a time before i lose my mind. so for now, i'll be in my $1600 mattress in my brother's old room. and i'll be the first one to make fun of myself.
3. i still have a long ways to go to get past the breakup. i left a lotta pain in the middle of the Puget Sound, thank god. but i'm not interested in meeting anyone new or dating. just to be a good sport, i signed up for eHarmony, thinking maybe i was just being a coward about it. but a week and several episodes of anxiety later, i decided to call it off. i'm sorry to say that i just don't want to be in love again. without trying to sound so sarcastic and doubtful, i'm sure that someday i'll be happy with another man and all. but for now, i'd rather just be alone. if the right guy walked into my life and i fell good and hard for him, that'd be fantastic. i will not fight that if it happens. but i'm not going out to look for it. i don't want to. i'm going to wait a little longer before dragging myself through the mud again. i like who i am right now, i'd like to like myself a little while longer.
leaving behind...
4. i've questioned and re-evaluated my friendships and myself as a friend. so as not to offend anybody, i can only say that i'm choosing to loosen the reins on those that i feel negative about. i don't want to doctor what i say so the person i hang around with doesn't get offended. if they find me offensive, why are they friends with me? and i feel offended, why am i friends with them? basically, if i feel it's too laborious to be with someone, i just don't have the energy right now to make it through. i'm tired of giving when it ain't given back. that's all it was in my last relationship and i am worn out.
best love.
5. my family is the most important thing in the world to me. hands down.
6. i live completely inside of my head. this hasn't changed. but i REALLY live inside my head now. i've always believed that only YOU can make things happen. but for the first time in my life, i ACTUALLY believe it. i can't wait for life to come to me. it's time to make things happen. so the living inside my head thing is amplified right now as i process the several ways to make several things happen. it's like a big ass clock in there; tons of huge cogs, pendulums, springs, and dials, all spinning and swaying, moving together in rhythm. i have a lot more decisions to make and it's going to take quite a bit of time. but i am planning on making things happen now.
i was here.7. i AM capable of love.
lucky number seven. these are my daily thoughts. some of them anyways. i am SO glad and grateful i took this trip. i needed it more than anything. it cleared my head, made space for new thoughts. i saw some beautiful sights, had some great meals, some fantastic conversations. i met up with some wonderful old friends and kinda found myself in them again. not to mention making some awesome new connections. i remembered reasons why i am who i am and how i became her.
i highly recommend road tripping. getting lost is the best method to finding your way.
metta to you and yours.
1. after a month off of not working so physically, my body felt more rested, but slightly still tired. after two days back at work, my body was ready to crash. i am tired of this. so after much consideration, i have decided i will not be renewing my massage license. it's been 7.5 years of helping others with their aches and pains, energy transference, healing ailments that weren't my own. i'm done. i haven't found anything new and haven't given notice or anything like that. i'm just not planning on keeping on with this. i still love it very much, but i've had enough of struggling financially and feeling like i'm 15 years older than i actually am. so as soon as something right comes along, i'm gonna take it and move on.
2. this trip was partially an audition to decide where i want to move next. i haven't much of a desire to stay in Bakersfield, never have. the only places i felt at home on this trip were in Humboldt (no surprise) and Lake Samish, WA. i felt at home in Humboldt since i've lived there before. it is beautiful and clean and lovely. but at the end of the day, it isn't home.
Lake Samish is friggin' awesome. but it's more of a long term goal kinda home thing. a house on the water is gonna go for about a half million dollars. considering i make enough right now to live with my parents indefinitely, i'm thinking Lake Samish will be a great Washington vacation home.....someday. it's beautiful now, it'll be beautiful then. i can wait.
home, sweet home.other than that, i think i've decided that i will be staying in California. for the nearest of futures, i will be in Bakersfield. i have moved 8 times in the last 7 years. i have purchased and sold two coffee tables, about 4 bookshelves, 4 beds, some lamps, some adorable sidetables, all sorts of crap. my storage has gone from a packed and stacked 10 x 10, to a half empty 5 x 5. i think when the time comes to actually MOVE, i'm just gonna start completely over. i can only get rid of so many memories at a time before i lose my mind. so for now, i'll be in my $1600 mattress in my brother's old room. and i'll be the first one to make fun of myself.3. i still have a long ways to go to get past the breakup. i left a lotta pain in the middle of the Puget Sound, thank god. but i'm not interested in meeting anyone new or dating. just to be a good sport, i signed up for eHarmony, thinking maybe i was just being a coward about it. but a week and several episodes of anxiety later, i decided to call it off. i'm sorry to say that i just don't want to be in love again. without trying to sound so sarcastic and doubtful, i'm sure that someday i'll be happy with another man and all. but for now, i'd rather just be alone. if the right guy walked into my life and i fell good and hard for him, that'd be fantastic. i will not fight that if it happens. but i'm not going out to look for it. i don't want to. i'm going to wait a little longer before dragging myself through the mud again. i like who i am right now, i'd like to like myself a little while longer.
leaving behind...4. i've questioned and re-evaluated my friendships and myself as a friend. so as not to offend anybody, i can only say that i'm choosing to loosen the reins on those that i feel negative about. i don't want to doctor what i say so the person i hang around with doesn't get offended. if they find me offensive, why are they friends with me? and i feel offended, why am i friends with them? basically, if i feel it's too laborious to be with someone, i just don't have the energy right now to make it through. i'm tired of giving when it ain't given back. that's all it was in my last relationship and i am worn out.
best love.5. my family is the most important thing in the world to me. hands down.
6. i live completely inside of my head. this hasn't changed. but i REALLY live inside my head now. i've always believed that only YOU can make things happen. but for the first time in my life, i ACTUALLY believe it. i can't wait for life to come to me. it's time to make things happen. so the living inside my head thing is amplified right now as i process the several ways to make several things happen. it's like a big ass clock in there; tons of huge cogs, pendulums, springs, and dials, all spinning and swaying, moving together in rhythm. i have a lot more decisions to make and it's going to take quite a bit of time. but i am planning on making things happen now.
i was here.7. i AM capable of love. lucky number seven. these are my daily thoughts. some of them anyways. i am SO glad and grateful i took this trip. i needed it more than anything. it cleared my head, made space for new thoughts. i saw some beautiful sights, had some great meals, some fantastic conversations. i met up with some wonderful old friends and kinda found myself in them again. not to mention making some awesome new connections. i remembered reasons why i am who i am and how i became her.
i highly recommend road tripping. getting lost is the best method to finding your way.
metta to you and yours.
September 22, 2012
DAY 22: The Last Day of WITWCICSD?
Day 22...
good morning, Oakland. i'm sorry to say that i don't particularly care for you. most of California doesn't, really.
yeah. most people prefer Fresno to you, Oakland. sorry.1. woke up in my room super early. my room was at the end of the row next to the storage for all the cleaning supplies and sheets are. so i woke up to the door right behind my head opening and closing, opening and closing, opening and slamming. ironically enough, i felt i slept well and it woke me up at a reasonable hour. so i was up and checking out just after 10.
dust and desert. somebody's getting closer....
part of the reason why i drove so far yesterday was so that today's drive would be shorter. that drive into Bakersfield is not a pretty one. it's almost a downer because you're coming from so much lustrous and vibrant green trees all around you and transitioning to desert farming. you can SEE the air, it smells like manure, and it's friggin' hot. so today, instead of a 10 hour drive of that, it was about a 5 hour drive. much better.
looks about right.
2. after a completely uneventful but speedy drive, i arrived home, safe and sound, after 3 whole weeks away. nobody was home, my house was a ghost town. well, the weenie dogs were. one by one, dad, mom, then Matt and Ry came over and we all hung out and had a good visit. i gave away gifts, Ry gave me some awesome hugs.
tonight, rest and relax and catch up with some pals. tomorrow, a reflective blog. tonight, i get to sleep in my own bed. i'm so excited.
jiggity jig.
good morning, Oakland. i'm sorry to say that i don't particularly care for you. most of California doesn't, really.
yeah. most people prefer Fresno to you, Oakland. sorry.1. woke up in my room super early. my room was at the end of the row next to the storage for all the cleaning supplies and sheets are. so i woke up to the door right behind my head opening and closing, opening and closing, opening and slamming. ironically enough, i felt i slept well and it woke me up at a reasonable hour. so i was up and checking out just after 10.
dust and desert. somebody's getting closer....part of the reason why i drove so far yesterday was so that today's drive would be shorter. that drive into Bakersfield is not a pretty one. it's almost a downer because you're coming from so much lustrous and vibrant green trees all around you and transitioning to desert farming. you can SEE the air, it smells like manure, and it's friggin' hot. so today, instead of a 10 hour drive of that, it was about a 5 hour drive. much better.
looks about right.2. after a completely uneventful but speedy drive, i arrived home, safe and sound, after 3 whole weeks away. nobody was home, my house was a ghost town. well, the weenie dogs were. one by one, dad, mom, then Matt and Ry came over and we all hung out and had a good visit. i gave away gifts, Ry gave me some awesome hugs.
tonight, rest and relax and catch up with some pals. tomorrow, a reflective blog. tonight, i get to sleep in my own bed. i'm so excited.
jiggity jig.
September 21, 2012
DAY 21 of WITWCICSD?
Day 21....
man, a long day after a long trip. totally worth it.
morning rain rose.1. woke up at 6 and looked out the window. it had rained sometime during the night so the windows were dappled with drops and the street was scattered with puddles and wet spots. i saw a girl about my age come out of the apartment across the street all dressed in business attire with her coffee. at 6am, she straight up was out the door. damn.
allison left for work around 8. i was still up since 6, so i got up and got ready and headed out. i figured, why wait? it's an 8 hour drive to eureka. the earlier the better. i walked a few blocks to a starbucks in the rainy day weather. the air smelled great. walked back and was happy i walked instead of driving.
2. left portland a gray and rainy day. it was gorgeous and cold. i loved it. it took me just under 8 hours to get to eureka. on the way there, i drove by a huge moose grazing on the side of the highway. and i almost hit a black bear cub. it literally ran out in front of my car and i had to hit the brakes so i wouldn't hit it.
later on, Portland.
it was awesome, once again, to drive by my old school and apartment. i loved that place, even though i wasn't happy there.
slice of light.3. i felt ridiculously energized so i decided to keep driving. i figured i would drive about another 2 hours and find a hotel. 2 hours later, i wanted to keep going and began to entertain the idea of just driving through the night. i'd get home at about 2. so basically, i decided i'd get as far as willits or ukiah, then sanfrancisco. i'd see if i felt up for more driving. eventually, i figured i'd be better off getting a hotel. but i dusted about 3-4 hours of driving time tomorrow.
future husband.
i can't believe how excited i am to get home. ridiculous. this has been the best trip ever.
a completely different view from the last 3 weeks. 
man, a long day after a long trip. totally worth it.
morning rain rose.1. woke up at 6 and looked out the window. it had rained sometime during the night so the windows were dappled with drops and the street was scattered with puddles and wet spots. i saw a girl about my age come out of the apartment across the street all dressed in business attire with her coffee. at 6am, she straight up was out the door. damn. allison left for work around 8. i was still up since 6, so i got up and got ready and headed out. i figured, why wait? it's an 8 hour drive to eureka. the earlier the better. i walked a few blocks to a starbucks in the rainy day weather. the air smelled great. walked back and was happy i walked instead of driving.
2. left portland a gray and rainy day. it was gorgeous and cold. i loved it. it took me just under 8 hours to get to eureka. on the way there, i drove by a huge moose grazing on the side of the highway. and i almost hit a black bear cub. it literally ran out in front of my car and i had to hit the brakes so i wouldn't hit it.
later on, Portland. it was awesome, once again, to drive by my old school and apartment. i loved that place, even though i wasn't happy there.
slice of light.3. i felt ridiculously energized so i decided to keep driving. i figured i would drive about another 2 hours and find a hotel. 2 hours later, i wanted to keep going and began to entertain the idea of just driving through the night. i'd get home at about 2. so basically, i decided i'd get as far as willits or ukiah, then sanfrancisco. i'd see if i felt up for more driving. eventually, i figured i'd be better off getting a hotel. but i dusted about 3-4 hours of driving time tomorrow.
future husband.i can't believe how excited i am to get home. ridiculous. this has been the best trip ever.
a completely different view from the last 3 weeks.
DAY 20 of WITWCICSD?
DAY 20….
Goodbye, Kent. Goodbye, Washington. Thanks for the memories.Hello, Portland. The mini-San Francisco of Oregon.
last view of Kayse's place. it was overcast first thing in the morning.11. got up and saw the coolest thing ever: Randy Journey of Journey Air Conditioning in Bakerfield donated $1000.00 to the Moreland fundrazr account. I was floored. What a way to start the day. Thank you, Mr. Journey. You kick ass. Seriously.
22. I got ready and took off at noon. I feel ready to be home and wanted to head out sooner rather than later. It was a good drive. I said my goodbyes to all the bridges and highways.
bye bye washington. i love you.33. made it to Portland in a little over 3 hours. Got to Allison’s house. I’ve known Ali almost my whole life. Her brother Matt and my brother Matt used to play when they were kids. Ali and I became closer in our later teens, hanging out with the same crowd at coffee houses and easy going house parties. We had a good rap session (more adult talks) about heartbreak and life and a little bit of spirituality. It was good ties.
hello overcast Portland!44. some friends of hers invited us to go see the swift birds migrating at this park just outside of downtown Portland. Every year for about a month, these swifts migrate around this big chimney at this big school next to the Audobon Society building. How convenient. Remember that video of those birds floating in migration about year ago? Yeah, it was like that. not as many birds, but just as cool. The finale comes when a Peligrine Hawk shows up and tries to catch one. When he showed, the crowd oohd and ahhd, but he didn’t catch one. He swooped back in and got one and the crowd almost cheered. Then suddenly, all the swifts disappear. It’s like a weird bird game they play. All I could think of was “clever girl.”
more swifts.
swifts.5. we went back to her friends’ house and had a glass of wine and talked music. They introduced me to some new ones that I gotta check out. They sounded awesome. A good wine, some good music, and playing with their kitten, Nigel. Great way to wrap up the night.
vicious.......ly adorable!66. We came back to Allison’s around 9:30. She went to bed, and now I’m writing before I get up early to head to Nor Cal in the morning. I’m gonna drive until I can’t drive no more, thinking about making it past Eureka and into Ferndale, maybe even Willits. We’ll see how my patience is working by that point.
I’m happy to be going home. I WANT to go home. How unheard of is that? On this trip, everyone I encounter is both and advocate for their city/advocate against Bakersfield. It’s not the city I miss, it’s my family, the blood relatives as well as my adopted members (you know who you are). I miss those faces and voices, I miss late night talks and laughing with them all about the stupid things. I’m looking forward to hugging my nephew and sleeping with my puppy. And I’m really looking forward to telling certain people about certain adventures or things I’ve seen on this trip that have reminded me about them.
I feel like myself again. It’ll be nice to see all those people feeling like myself again. It might even be a new light that some people haven’t seen before, or in a while. i’ll just wear the Scream mask. That way it won’t frighten people as much when I take it off. wait, no- I’m gonna wear a Freddy Krueger mask. Old school; respect your roots.
Unfortunately, you guys won’t get to read this blog until the following night. But I assure you, I didn’t laze about this time. You’ll just get the pleasure of two blogs to read at once instead of one. I hope I don’t lose my fanbase.
September 20, 2012
DAY 19 of WITWCICSD?
DAY 19....
hello again, Kent! how have you been?
1. woke up to a foggy day. first overcast day this entire trip on the NW coast.
it's so COLD up here, Bakersfield!
2. got up, did some writing and had some time to kill before i headed out to see Amy in Maple Valley. so i said F this, and took a nap. it was awesome.
3. headed out to Amy's on a very short and lovely drive. got there right when she got home with all her boys. Jack is almost 4, the twins Rhys and Cole are 13 months and officially walking. i don't know how she does it. these 3 little guys were everywhere and she was on it from top to bottom. she didn't bat an eye, she didn't have one complaint. she has so much energy and patience and dedication and love as a mother.
heading into the boondocks of Maple Valley.
no complaints here.her husband is out of town this week, so she has been at this completely alone. she deserves a medal. a big fat bright shiny medal made out of pure gold with a dark green ribbon. she deserves 6, one for each kid, one for each pregnancy, and one extra just because. Amy, you are amazing and i admire you so much. you are a phenomenal mother and are doing a phenomenal job at raising your wonderful and bright boys. whenever i make enough money, i'm hiring you three of the best, well known, well referenced nannies ever and i'm sending you and Adam away for 10 days. i'll hang out at your house and make sure everything goes well.
Jack wanted to show me the engine (old mailbox)
to his playset which he fuels with rocks.
i told him to put bills in it and see what happens.anyways, amy and i have been friends since high school and have kept in touch over the years as our distance grew. so we had some time to catch up, i got to hang out with her kids, then we had some really good grownup talk about life, spirituality, love. plus, i had two beers. such a fantastic way to spend my last day here in WA. love you, Amy.
4. headed home to spend my last evening here with Kayse. she's had a rough week and needed some listening to. so we hung out for a while, getting out frustrations. it's always nice to see people as real human beings. we all have our stresses. it's so good to get them out and share with those that love you. love you, Kayse.
i've been on vacation for 19 days. this is a trip of a trip. it has been filled to the brim with some of the most deep and meaningful conversations i've ever had in my life with some of the best people i have ever known.
as i disembark tomorrow on my journey home, i hope to continue to feel lighter and less burdened. i think i've grown a little bit. i have still have plenty of shit goin' on, but i'm in a much better place than i was 19 days ago.
don't you dare say anything. this is just GaGa in action. can't wait to see how i feel when i get home. much love to all. especially you.
hello again, Kent! how have you been?
1. woke up to a foggy day. first overcast day this entire trip on the NW coast.
it's so COLD up here, Bakersfield!2. got up, did some writing and had some time to kill before i headed out to see Amy in Maple Valley. so i said F this, and took a nap. it was awesome.
3. headed out to Amy's on a very short and lovely drive. got there right when she got home with all her boys. Jack is almost 4, the twins Rhys and Cole are 13 months and officially walking. i don't know how she does it. these 3 little guys were everywhere and she was on it from top to bottom. she didn't bat an eye, she didn't have one complaint. she has so much energy and patience and dedication and love as a mother.
heading into the boondocks of Maple Valley. no complaints here.her husband is out of town this week, so she has been at this completely alone. she deserves a medal. a big fat bright shiny medal made out of pure gold with a dark green ribbon. she deserves 6, one for each kid, one for each pregnancy, and one extra just because. Amy, you are amazing and i admire you so much. you are a phenomenal mother and are doing a phenomenal job at raising your wonderful and bright boys. whenever i make enough money, i'm hiring you three of the best, well known, well referenced nannies ever and i'm sending you and Adam away for 10 days. i'll hang out at your house and make sure everything goes well.
Jack wanted to show me the engine (old mailbox)to his playset which he fuels with rocks.
i told him to put bills in it and see what happens.anyways, amy and i have been friends since high school and have kept in touch over the years as our distance grew. so we had some time to catch up, i got to hang out with her kids, then we had some really good grownup talk about life, spirituality, love. plus, i had two beers. such a fantastic way to spend my last day here in WA. love you, Amy.
4. headed home to spend my last evening here with Kayse. she's had a rough week and needed some listening to. so we hung out for a while, getting out frustrations. it's always nice to see people as real human beings. we all have our stresses. it's so good to get them out and share with those that love you. love you, Kayse.
i've been on vacation for 19 days. this is a trip of a trip. it has been filled to the brim with some of the most deep and meaningful conversations i've ever had in my life with some of the best people i have ever known.
as i disembark tomorrow on my journey home, i hope to continue to feel lighter and less burdened. i think i've grown a little bit. i have still have plenty of shit goin' on, but i'm in a much better place than i was 19 days ago.
don't you dare say anything. this is just GaGa in action. can't wait to see how i feel when i get home. much love to all. especially you.
September 19, 2012
DAY 18 of WITWCICSD?
DAY 19...
Goodbye La Conner, i have to pay Anacortes a little visit. i have to see an old friend about a fish.
Anita's living room. waking up to this is pretty nice.
i can haz a cup of coffee? 2 sugars please.
1. now i had told anita i'd probably get up around 9, but i woke up around 8ish and had to go back to sleep. my doozy headache kept me up for a little and had drained me. so i slugged back to bed and woke up after 10. she was working in her home office so i got up and went back out on her porch to do some writing. i love this patio. there was a little kitten out there, playing in the leaves and trying to catch bugs and birds. Anita's not a cat person, so it took a bit of strength for me not to just grab the thing and toss it into Anita's office and close the door. my family does things like that with animals. we tie balloons to their tails and lay in bed, and eventually, a balloon floats into the room. it's awesome.
2. i'm out there and Anita brings me breakfast on a tray! how wonderful is this woman?!
i shall miss my writing studio at Anita's.3. got ready, packed up, and headed out to Anacortes to visit an old friend. he said to come back at 6:30. went back to Anita's to kill time. she had to go pick up her granddaughter and would be gone for the rest of the afternoon so we said our final goodbye and had our last hug. i did some laundry, some writing, organized my luggage. i went outside to sit on the porch and have a cigarette. i sat down and was placing my phone down next to me when i heard something. i looked up, and it was a fawn. a couple months old, all scruffy and little. it saw me as i slowly stood up to go inside and get my camera but it didnt run.
mom, this lady is taking pictures of me!
excuse me, bitch, you gotta problem? back off my baybayi came back out with my camera and saw its mama. these things were about 6 feet away from me, just munching away on Anita's landscape. i took some pictures and talked to them. they stayed in the yard for about a half hour. it was a nice visit. they say seeing a deer is symbolic of gentleness and sensitivity and a connection to the Earth. perhaps it's time to be gentle with my heart and keep my feet on the ground. perhaps it's hunting season and the deer were hiding for their lives. either way, they were cuter than Bambi.
4. drove back into Anacortes. i was there to see an old friend that i met five years ago: Bandana Mike Staum, the man that gave me my lotus tattoo. Jess and I went to see him while on vacay in Samish Island in 2007 and he and I had an immediate spiritual connection. i tend to get along and have a better rapport with men. maybe it comes from being so close to my dad. i don't know. but from the very start that i shook the man's hand all that time ago, i felt in sync with his energy. he did my tattoo, and a few days later he did jessi's. and the entire time we were with him, we talked about spirituality, being a good person, love, how we are all one. very eastern philosophy. he inspired me to look even more into that direction and i am grateful for that. he is an amazing man and a phenomenal artist. and once again, he has inspired me further.
i can't even tell you how happy i was to
see this sign again.father, you won't like this part, but you know that i am an honest person and i am sharing my experience of this trip. sorry.
i went to see mike to get another tattoo. i had been thinking of getting a koi fish for years and only decided more recently that it would be the right time to do it on this trip. so i found two beautiful pictures that i couldn't decide on. problem was i couldn't decide on what color i wanted the koi. although i like black, black koi are there to attract bad luck so it doesn't get to you. when a black koi dies, it means that some major bad luck was coming at you but the fish absorbed it instead and saved you from it. i didn't want anything on my body to absorb bad luck and die. so i decided on just a basic outlined koi. mike drew it out perfectly, took no time doing it, and it is perfect. so perfect, that i think i'm actually going to name it mike.
kois are symbolic of swimming against the stream, going against the grain. i am not a traditional person, especially in the city i live in. i subscribe to eastern thought and philosophy and medicine. i am NOT conservative. i am an artist. i am 33 and unmarried with no children and in Bakersfield, that makes me a pariah. i've heard it for years. and i am proud of all of this. so i wanted to mark this occasion of this trip to the North and this last year with a koi swimming upwards, against the stream. thank you Mike, i love him, he is perfect. namaste, old friend.
i've taken better pictures, but Mike wasn't in any of them.
so here you go.5. drove back to Kayse's, back to Kent. she and Brian were already in bed, so i hung around online, and went to bed.
i feel like it is time to go home. i feel like i got everything i could get from going that far North. i achieved what i hoped for. i shed some grief, i saw some sights, i tried new beers, saw some killer whales, got a tattoo.
Bye Bye La Conner, for realsies this time.
all in all, a very pleasant weekend. i'm coming home, now. i hope i bring all this peace back with me.
Goodbye La Conner, i have to pay Anacortes a little visit. i have to see an old friend about a fish.
Anita's living room. waking up to this is pretty nice.
i can haz a cup of coffee? 2 sugars please.1. now i had told anita i'd probably get up around 9, but i woke up around 8ish and had to go back to sleep. my doozy headache kept me up for a little and had drained me. so i slugged back to bed and woke up after 10. she was working in her home office so i got up and went back out on her porch to do some writing. i love this patio. there was a little kitten out there, playing in the leaves and trying to catch bugs and birds. Anita's not a cat person, so it took a bit of strength for me not to just grab the thing and toss it into Anita's office and close the door. my family does things like that with animals. we tie balloons to their tails and lay in bed, and eventually, a balloon floats into the room. it's awesome.
2. i'm out there and Anita brings me breakfast on a tray! how wonderful is this woman?!
i shall miss my writing studio at Anita's.3. got ready, packed up, and headed out to Anacortes to visit an old friend. he said to come back at 6:30. went back to Anita's to kill time. she had to go pick up her granddaughter and would be gone for the rest of the afternoon so we said our final goodbye and had our last hug. i did some laundry, some writing, organized my luggage. i went outside to sit on the porch and have a cigarette. i sat down and was placing my phone down next to me when i heard something. i looked up, and it was a fawn. a couple months old, all scruffy and little. it saw me as i slowly stood up to go inside and get my camera but it didnt run.
mom, this lady is taking pictures of me!
excuse me, bitch, you gotta problem? back off my baybayi came back out with my camera and saw its mama. these things were about 6 feet away from me, just munching away on Anita's landscape. i took some pictures and talked to them. they stayed in the yard for about a half hour. it was a nice visit. they say seeing a deer is symbolic of gentleness and sensitivity and a connection to the Earth. perhaps it's time to be gentle with my heart and keep my feet on the ground. perhaps it's hunting season and the deer were hiding for their lives. either way, they were cuter than Bambi.4. drove back into Anacortes. i was there to see an old friend that i met five years ago: Bandana Mike Staum, the man that gave me my lotus tattoo. Jess and I went to see him while on vacay in Samish Island in 2007 and he and I had an immediate spiritual connection. i tend to get along and have a better rapport with men. maybe it comes from being so close to my dad. i don't know. but from the very start that i shook the man's hand all that time ago, i felt in sync with his energy. he did my tattoo, and a few days later he did jessi's. and the entire time we were with him, we talked about spirituality, being a good person, love, how we are all one. very eastern philosophy. he inspired me to look even more into that direction and i am grateful for that. he is an amazing man and a phenomenal artist. and once again, he has inspired me further.
i can't even tell you how happy i was to see this sign again.father, you won't like this part, but you know that i am an honest person and i am sharing my experience of this trip. sorry.
i went to see mike to get another tattoo. i had been thinking of getting a koi fish for years and only decided more recently that it would be the right time to do it on this trip. so i found two beautiful pictures that i couldn't decide on. problem was i couldn't decide on what color i wanted the koi. although i like black, black koi are there to attract bad luck so it doesn't get to you. when a black koi dies, it means that some major bad luck was coming at you but the fish absorbed it instead and saved you from it. i didn't want anything on my body to absorb bad luck and die. so i decided on just a basic outlined koi. mike drew it out perfectly, took no time doing it, and it is perfect. so perfect, that i think i'm actually going to name it mike.
kois are symbolic of swimming against the stream, going against the grain. i am not a traditional person, especially in the city i live in. i subscribe to eastern thought and philosophy and medicine. i am NOT conservative. i am an artist. i am 33 and unmarried with no children and in Bakersfield, that makes me a pariah. i've heard it for years. and i am proud of all of this. so i wanted to mark this occasion of this trip to the North and this last year with a koi swimming upwards, against the stream. thank you Mike, i love him, he is perfect. namaste, old friend.
i've taken better pictures, but Mike wasn't in any of them. so here you go.5. drove back to Kayse's, back to Kent. she and Brian were already in bed, so i hung around online, and went to bed.
i feel like it is time to go home. i feel like i got everything i could get from going that far North. i achieved what i hoped for. i shed some grief, i saw some sights, i tried new beers, saw some killer whales, got a tattoo.
Bye Bye La Conner, for realsies this time.all in all, a very pleasant weekend. i'm coming home, now. i hope i bring all this peace back with me.
