I don't get why "normal" is a word. What is "normal," really?
After feeling lost since Grampa was in the hospital, then in the process of mourning his passing, I've been trying to get back to normal and I realized that I really don't know what that would be. So I've just returned to my "normal" work schedule, which is different each week, and have dived back into life. My.... "normal" life.
Which has thus far consisted of:
Having my coworker ask someone to put their digital camera away yesterday when he caught the man taking pictures. I believe people aren't really allowed to take pictures here without getting permission ahead of time, so that's why he did so. Then when I went on my hour break, a man approached me and asked if he could take my picture. I figured it was the same man from work, so I wasn't surprised and I kept walking down the busy pedestrian mall and said no. He lagged behind me and said, "Are you sure???" like maybe I was missing out on this great opportunity of having someone who I happen to know spends his free time doing drugs (the last time I hung out downtown on my break, he was fighting with a woman about his drug use) take a picture of just me. I told him I was sure I didn't want my picture taken by him on his camera.
Later, I told my coworker that whoever he talked to about the camera had approached me to take my picture. Then I described him. Turns out.... they were two different people. Is it normal for people to go around randomly taking pictures?? Is it normal for someone to be asked to have their picture taken by a creepy druggie?
Today, a band was set up on a street corner a couple of blocks from work. This is kind of a cool "new" for me. Last year, I didn't work downtown... actually, right about now, I was about to change positions at work to help start covering floods because, fortunately, I didn't work somewhere that was flooded out. Unfortunately, I also didn't work somewhere that was located somewhere super cool like I do now. So during today's break, I followed the sound of the funky music and decided to sip my soda and listen. Though sometimes, even if I'm by myself, I might feel like swaying a little or bobbing my head 'cause I am all about the dancing. But today I just wanted to prop up against a building and take in the chill music. So I found my spot, propped, and sipped the soda. A minute later, some woman danced her way right next to me, literally 6 inches away, and invaded my Chill Zone with her dance moves. Totally awkward. Totally ruined my zone. There is definitely a Personal Space Code and she definitely invaded mine with her dancing all by herself. Why didn't she join the others who were dancing by themselves in their spacious area? Normal?
Ruined.
I went to the Java House, grabbed a coffee and listened to the end of a singer's performance while I read emails on my iPod. Normal. For me.
Speaking of today, I also did that thing where you wake up and just chill because you know you set the alarm and it hasn't gone off, yet. I was happy that I had some extra time to really wake up and get some happy thoughts going in my head before my day really started. I didn't look at the clock, because I didn't want to know how early it was. I just wanted to wait for my iPod to tell me it was time to get ready. I laid around... and laid... and laid...... Finally I decided to peek at how very early it was. And I discovered that my iPod alarm had gone off a half hour before, but the volume was off! I was supposed to leave right at that exact minute to get to work right on time. So I threw clothes on, made the dog pee on a car, threw him in his kennel, parked in a parking garage instead of for free on a street a few blocks away, and got to work 15 minutes late, tripping up the steps and landing on a recent wound on my shin that ended up hurting for an hour. And dropping everything that I had to pick up on my way to the desk... twice.
Normal?
I don't think there is a normal. I think there is just life and you can choose to look at it and see the humor or whine about it.
Why on earth would a druggie want to take a picture of me? For all I know, he still took a picture of my butt, but I know it isn't posted on the internet 'cause he comes here to the library to use the computer. I've taken pictures of strangers, but my friends and I are discreet about it... we giggle and stand in front of the stranger and pretend we're taking pictures of ourselves. ;-)
I felt totally awkward standing next to the lady who decided to dance in my space, but I'm always thinking that people should bust moves in public, alone or not. I just need to be careful what I wish for, 'cause I don't want them to dance ON me.
I "slept" in, fell on my wound, dropped everything like the klutz that I am... I was a comedic movie this morning. But everything was all set for our patrons when they came in. No one would have known I was late if it wasn't such a good story for me to tell them... and if I didn't want some sympathy for the pain I endured for the first hour.
There is no normal for me to fall back into... just a life to move ahead with.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
I Miss Him
For those who don't know, my grandfather passed away just over a week ago.
To just call him a grandfather seems so... well, it hardly defines what he was to me. He was my surrogate daddy, my buddy, an incredible part of my support system. When I was hurting, it showed in his face just how much he hurt for me and hoped I'd get better. When I was succeeding, he was so proud that it made me feel like I accomplished 10 times more than what I had just done. It didn't matter if it was just that I had (finally) learned to make a good pot of coffee. He made me feel like I had just figured out something brand new, better than anyone else could do. Of course, when I did bigger accomplishments, like a writing or television job, he made me feel like a huge deal. But when those didn't work out, he didn't make me feel like a failure. He made me feel hopeful.
He was always cold, so he often wore cashmere sweaters. My head hit perfectly at his shoulder, so when we hugged, I could snuggle right into the soft fabric and feel protected. I never wanted to let go.
He didn't like his smile, but seeing it and hearing his low laugh, often with a soft snort, just lit me up. His eyes would twinkle and the smile was usually there because I said something silly or because he was picking on me or my cousin who is my age.
He had many passions. Sports, rocks (he owned quarries), family, photography... but he told me that nature was his religion. He loved to take all of his kids, grandkids and great-grandkids out to his enormous farm for a day trip. And I loved going. He showed me how to appreciate every little detail and I always knew that when he was gone, that's where I would find him. In the lightest breeze, in a falling leaf, in a rolling hill, in the sunset, in fluttering butterflies... I know that's where I'll see him.
I'm so blessed to have had the love that he gave me. To think that I'm his youngest grandchild and I'm 26 and got to have him this long... and he was healthy and as active as a middle-aged man until the two and a half weeks that he was in the hospital... he didn't have to suffer. He never had to feel old. That's something he never wanted and started fearing. He golfed in March when we went to California, he went to his big farm every week until he went to the hospital. He never got old.
To just call him a grandfather seems so... well, it hardly defines what he was to me. He was my surrogate daddy, my buddy, an incredible part of my support system. When I was hurting, it showed in his face just how much he hurt for me and hoped I'd get better. When I was succeeding, he was so proud that it made me feel like I accomplished 10 times more than what I had just done. It didn't matter if it was just that I had (finally) learned to make a good pot of coffee. He made me feel like I had just figured out something brand new, better than anyone else could do. Of course, when I did bigger accomplishments, like a writing or television job, he made me feel like a huge deal. But when those didn't work out, he didn't make me feel like a failure. He made me feel hopeful.
He was always cold, so he often wore cashmere sweaters. My head hit perfectly at his shoulder, so when we hugged, I could snuggle right into the soft fabric and feel protected. I never wanted to let go.
He didn't like his smile, but seeing it and hearing his low laugh, often with a soft snort, just lit me up. His eyes would twinkle and the smile was usually there because I said something silly or because he was picking on me or my cousin who is my age.
He had many passions. Sports, rocks (he owned quarries), family, photography... but he told me that nature was his religion. He loved to take all of his kids, grandkids and great-grandkids out to his enormous farm for a day trip. And I loved going. He showed me how to appreciate every little detail and I always knew that when he was gone, that's where I would find him. In the lightest breeze, in a falling leaf, in a rolling hill, in the sunset, in fluttering butterflies... I know that's where I'll see him.
I'm so blessed to have had the love that he gave me. To think that I'm his youngest grandchild and I'm 26 and got to have him this long... and he was healthy and as active as a middle-aged man until the two and a half weeks that he was in the hospital... he didn't have to suffer. He never had to feel old. That's something he never wanted and started fearing. He golfed in March when we went to California, he went to his big farm every week until he went to the hospital. He never got old.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Take Five
Wow, I just... am the worst blogger ever! I haven't even been on here since I last wrote. Sheesh! It's that whole "sad things are happening and I don't want to write about sad stuff" problem. It's been a rough year. I keep wondering if a black cat has crossed my path or if I have walked under a ladder... all I can think of is that I walked in front of a black cat. I don't know what to make of that.
But still, I don't want to pour out The Sad on my blog. This is meant for entertaining stories or mundane thoughts that I turn into something huge. Perhaps something sentimental when I'm in the mood.
I think I would like to make an addendum to my last blog. I still felt incomplete, because, sure, a beggar yelled that I was still a good person when he asked for spare change and I pointed out that I didn't have my purse. But I hadn't done anything for him. It just made me feel validated enough to stop, turn around, and pathetically yell the most genuine, "Thank you!!"
So today, my brother and I had lunch downtown before I had to go to work and we still had another hour when we were finished. I had only drunk half of my soda and my brother wanted to go get coffee while we waited for my time for work to come. I will never turn down a chance at a latte, so since we were standing in Beggar Central and I spotted one of the regulars, I decided this was my shining moment. At first, I thought he was the beggar who feared me, then I remembered that he always wears bright clothes. This was a different one, but a regular, nonetheless. My brother knows the whole story, so I told him it was time for me, at last, to offer someone less fortunate something that I had. It took me a second to get the guts, because I didn't want to offend him, since he wasn't "on the clock" asking for anything. I also didn't want to be turned down again (Ah! Rejection!!). My brother sat back on a bench while I walked towards the man. I approached him with my soda reached out and said, "Do you want this? I'm just going to throw it away, otherwise." He said, "Yeah..." and took it then asked, "Do you have any smokes?"
So... while I finally accomplished my adolescent dream of giving something to someone who had less than I had, it really wasn't quite what I expected. Then again, I didn't really give him something nutritious or helpful, like fruit or new clothes. Just an unhealthy, half full (not half empty!!) cup of soda. But at least I didn't throw it away right there in front of a mall full of penniless people.
Maybe volunteering at a shelter would be more fulfilling than doing this on my own.
But still, I don't want to pour out The Sad on my blog. This is meant for entertaining stories or mundane thoughts that I turn into something huge. Perhaps something sentimental when I'm in the mood.
I think I would like to make an addendum to my last blog. I still felt incomplete, because, sure, a beggar yelled that I was still a good person when he asked for spare change and I pointed out that I didn't have my purse. But I hadn't done anything for him. It just made me feel validated enough to stop, turn around, and pathetically yell the most genuine, "Thank you!!"
So today, my brother and I had lunch downtown before I had to go to work and we still had another hour when we were finished. I had only drunk half of my soda and my brother wanted to go get coffee while we waited for my time for work to come. I will never turn down a chance at a latte, so since we were standing in Beggar Central and I spotted one of the regulars, I decided this was my shining moment. At first, I thought he was the beggar who feared me, then I remembered that he always wears bright clothes. This was a different one, but a regular, nonetheless. My brother knows the whole story, so I told him it was time for me, at last, to offer someone less fortunate something that I had. It took me a second to get the guts, because I didn't want to offend him, since he wasn't "on the clock" asking for anything. I also didn't want to be turned down again (Ah! Rejection!!). My brother sat back on a bench while I walked towards the man. I approached him with my soda reached out and said, "Do you want this? I'm just going to throw it away, otherwise." He said, "Yeah..." and took it then asked, "Do you have any smokes?"
So... while I finally accomplished my adolescent dream of giving something to someone who had less than I had, it really wasn't quite what I expected. Then again, I didn't really give him something nutritious or helpful, like fruit or new clothes. Just an unhealthy, half full (not half empty!!) cup of soda. But at least I didn't throw it away right there in front of a mall full of penniless people.
Maybe volunteering at a shelter would be more fulfilling than doing this on my own.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Meghan and the Beggar
Part One: Meghan Gets Inspired.
Once upon a time, Little Meghan was in middle school when a teacher told a touching story. See, whenever Meghan went to big cities with her dad and he was solicited by beggars for money, he just walked passed them and Meghan felt a little bad. She felt sorry for the homeless people and scared for them. How did they become homeless? Were they going to be okay? Some even told stories about being parents and needing to take care of their children. But Meghan's dad told her that he didn't know where the money would go. It could quite possibly go to drugs or alcohol and that's why he didn't give them money, so then Little Meghan understood.
But one day, her teacher told a story about living in the big city and running into a beggar. The beggar asked for money. Instead, the teacher went across the street to McDonald's, ordered a meal, and gave the meal the the beggar. The beggar appreciated that move so much that Little Meghan's teacher did this everyday. This way, the teacher was helping the beggar and knew how the money was being spent. Little Meghan dreamed that someday, she would be able to do the same thing.
Part Two: Meghan Makes Her Attempt.
Adult Meghan got a job in downtown Iowa City, where much of the city's beggars hang out. There is one in particular who caught Meghan's attention. On one very cold day, he was standing near her job repeating, "Can you help me? Anything will do." Meghan was in a hurry that day, but she knew she would see him again and she knew... this was the beggar for whom she would buy food... or maybe, because it was so cold, a cup of coffee.
She saw him a few times before her day came. He had actually changed his location on this day. She was in a different part of the downtown area, grabbing lunch, when she saw a beggar on one side of the street, and her regular beggar on the other side saying his line. She didn't really notice the beggar near her, since he wasn't saying anything. She was just planning her big move, the one she had been planning since middle school. She crossed the street to approach him. He said his line, "Can you help me? Anything will do." Meghan's heart swelled. The temperature was only 9 degrees and he wasn't even wearing gloves. Coffee was just what he needed. She smiled and said, "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"
The beggar looked at her and scrunched up his face. It was as if she had asked if he wanted a worm sandwich with extra dirt. With the disgusted look still on his face, he grumbled, "no." Meghan wouldn't even have minded if he said that he didn't like coffee and tried to negotiate hot chocolate or maybe a pair of gloves. But the look on his face. The disgusted no. That's not at all what Meghan had imagined for 15 years! So she shrugged and said, "Okay, sorry." And continued to her car, feeling a little bad that she hadn't asked the other beggar if he wanted coffee.
Part 3: The Beggar Gets His
Seeing as how the beggar usually sets up shop outside of Meghan's job, it was inevitable that she would run into him again. A couple of weeks after their first encounter, Meghan grabbed dinner to go after work, then had to walk past her job to get to her car. There he was. Meghan noticed something different this time. The beggar had changed his lines to, "Can you help me? I'm getting hungry." He repeated this over and over, no matter how far people were. So when Meghan approached him and he asked her, "Can you help me? I'm getting hungry." Meghan responded, "Last time, you turned me down." and kept walking.
Part 4: The Beggar Knows Meghan
Meghan decided to take a walk on her break from work. It was another cold day, the beggar's favorite type to use to stand outside and beg. But Meghan really needed some fresh air and exercise. So she stepped outside of her job and there he was, a quarter of a block away, using his new line. "Can you help? I'm getting hungry. Can you help? I'm getting hungry. Can you help? I'm getting hungry." He continued this and right as Meghan approached he said, "Can y-- *gasp*" He stopped himself for a minute until Meghan had walked several steps away. Then he continued on.
This isn't really what I imagined myself doing. I have a warm heart and saw myself trying to help those in need. Of course, when I look in his face and see his messed up lip, I can see that he has a drug problem that probably got him in this situation in the first place. But I wasn't exactly aiming to make people in need fear me. My goal was to choose a person in need and do a good deed. Help them stay warm, or get nourishment or something. I'm known for being kind. What went wrong??
Once upon a time, Little Meghan was in middle school when a teacher told a touching story. See, whenever Meghan went to big cities with her dad and he was solicited by beggars for money, he just walked passed them and Meghan felt a little bad. She felt sorry for the homeless people and scared for them. How did they become homeless? Were they going to be okay? Some even told stories about being parents and needing to take care of their children. But Meghan's dad told her that he didn't know where the money would go. It could quite possibly go to drugs or alcohol and that's why he didn't give them money, so then Little Meghan understood.
But one day, her teacher told a story about living in the big city and running into a beggar. The beggar asked for money. Instead, the teacher went across the street to McDonald's, ordered a meal, and gave the meal the the beggar. The beggar appreciated that move so much that Little Meghan's teacher did this everyday. This way, the teacher was helping the beggar and knew how the money was being spent. Little Meghan dreamed that someday, she would be able to do the same thing.
Part Two: Meghan Makes Her Attempt.
Adult Meghan got a job in downtown Iowa City, where much of the city's beggars hang out. There is one in particular who caught Meghan's attention. On one very cold day, he was standing near her job repeating, "Can you help me? Anything will do." Meghan was in a hurry that day, but she knew she would see him again and she knew... this was the beggar for whom she would buy food... or maybe, because it was so cold, a cup of coffee.
She saw him a few times before her day came. He had actually changed his location on this day. She was in a different part of the downtown area, grabbing lunch, when she saw a beggar on one side of the street, and her regular beggar on the other side saying his line. She didn't really notice the beggar near her, since he wasn't saying anything. She was just planning her big move, the one she had been planning since middle school. She crossed the street to approach him. He said his line, "Can you help me? Anything will do." Meghan's heart swelled. The temperature was only 9 degrees and he wasn't even wearing gloves. Coffee was just what he needed. She smiled and said, "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"
The beggar looked at her and scrunched up his face. It was as if she had asked if he wanted a worm sandwich with extra dirt. With the disgusted look still on his face, he grumbled, "no." Meghan wouldn't even have minded if he said that he didn't like coffee and tried to negotiate hot chocolate or maybe a pair of gloves. But the look on his face. The disgusted no. That's not at all what Meghan had imagined for 15 years! So she shrugged and said, "Okay, sorry." And continued to her car, feeling a little bad that she hadn't asked the other beggar if he wanted coffee.
Part 3: The Beggar Gets His
Seeing as how the beggar usually sets up shop outside of Meghan's job, it was inevitable that she would run into him again. A couple of weeks after their first encounter, Meghan grabbed dinner to go after work, then had to walk past her job to get to her car. There he was. Meghan noticed something different this time. The beggar had changed his lines to, "Can you help me? I'm getting hungry." He repeated this over and over, no matter how far people were. So when Meghan approached him and he asked her, "Can you help me? I'm getting hungry." Meghan responded, "Last time, you turned me down." and kept walking.
Part 4: The Beggar Knows Meghan
Meghan decided to take a walk on her break from work. It was another cold day, the beggar's favorite type to use to stand outside and beg. But Meghan really needed some fresh air and exercise. So she stepped outside of her job and there he was, a quarter of a block away, using his new line. "Can you help? I'm getting hungry. Can you help? I'm getting hungry. Can you help? I'm getting hungry." He continued this and right as Meghan approached he said, "Can y-- *gasp*" He stopped himself for a minute until Meghan had walked several steps away. Then he continued on.
This isn't really what I imagined myself doing. I have a warm heart and saw myself trying to help those in need. Of course, when I look in his face and see his messed up lip, I can see that he has a drug problem that probably got him in this situation in the first place. But I wasn't exactly aiming to make people in need fear me. My goal was to choose a person in need and do a good deed. Help them stay warm, or get nourishment or something. I'm known for being kind. What went wrong??
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
How Do You Pack for a Hospital Stay?
So next week, I will be staying at the hospital for a test called a VEEG. I've had one before, so I'm not very scared. The first time, I was terrified and wanted my mom with me 24/7, the poor thing. Every time she got up to go get some food or just get a break and go home for a while, I would cry the moment I saw her get ready to stand. This time, I realize that it isn't a trip to Jamaica, but I don't need to subject anyone else to the hospital for such long hours.
Basically, wires are attached to my head and a camera is watching me, so I can't go much further than my bed, except when I need the restroom. When that happens, I'm not allowed to walk alone, because they're taking me off of all my medication and I'm going to have many seizures, possibly the type where I fall and am unconscious, though that didn't happen last time. So, the bottom line is that I won't feel well and I can't travel far.
When I pack for a vacation, I know exactly what to pack. I'm not an over-packer, so I pack an outfit for each day, pajamas, unmentionables, dressy outfits for each dressy occasion, make up, decide if I need more than one pair of casual and dressy shoes, toiletries, accessories and hair ties. Maybe a baseball cap for days when I don't want to do my hair. If I'm flying, my carry-on luggage has one magazine, pencils, a notebook and a drawing pad. And now, it'll have my iPod. The end. I'm set.
But what about this hospital stay? I know that I will wear pajamas and that the shirts have to button down. Oddly, though I have three pairs of pajamas like this, I cannot find the tops to two of them. This is curious, because I usually don't like the button down tops and just wear the pants with a t-shirt. So wouldn't the tops be in my drawers? Who stole my button down PJ tops?
Next on the list, I obviously need unmentionables. Then toiletries.
The hard part is figuring out what to bring to keep myself entertained. When it's a vacation, you are going somewhere to be entertained. For this, I need to entertain myself, away from home, confined to a bed.
I have to consider that at first, I'll feel reasonably fine. I don't feel the best these days, but I'm well enough to work, so I'll feel well enough that I'll want something to keep me busy... I could do crafts and read and draw. I was hoping I could write, but I've had a year and a half long writer's block, so I don't know about that. I'll want stuff do to if I'm feeling well, 'cause I don't really have the patience to watch TV all the livelong day. My iPod Touch has games and a movie on it... I specifically asked for it with the knowledge that I'd have a VEEG and perhaps other hospital stays and (hopefully) recovery from brain surgery.
But what happens when I start feeling withdrawls from my medication and the seizures kick in? Do I just listen to music on my iPod? Lay there and watch reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond? But what about during the day? I hate daytime television and when I don't feel well, I can't focus on reading. Maybe I'll feel so sick that it won't be hard to sleep. But one day, I have to stay awake for 24 hours. Is there anything good on TV during the day? Maybe some I Love Lucy on TV Land or something? Lucille Ball has saved me more than I could ever explain.
Maybe I should find an audiobook to put on my iPod for the part when I don't feel well. I like hearing stories when I don't feel well, but can't fall asleep. Yeaaaaah, that's a good idea.
So we've got drawing, crafts, reading, iPod games and some TV for when I'm feeling relatively well (once Oprah hits at 4, I'm good for TV for the rest of the day)... music, audio books, and naps for when I feel more sick. Now I think next week could possibly fly by. :)
If only I could find the button down tops of my pajamas. hmph.
Basically, wires are attached to my head and a camera is watching me, so I can't go much further than my bed, except when I need the restroom. When that happens, I'm not allowed to walk alone, because they're taking me off of all my medication and I'm going to have many seizures, possibly the type where I fall and am unconscious, though that didn't happen last time. So, the bottom line is that I won't feel well and I can't travel far.
When I pack for a vacation, I know exactly what to pack. I'm not an over-packer, so I pack an outfit for each day, pajamas, unmentionables, dressy outfits for each dressy occasion, make up, decide if I need more than one pair of casual and dressy shoes, toiletries, accessories and hair ties. Maybe a baseball cap for days when I don't want to do my hair. If I'm flying, my carry-on luggage has one magazine, pencils, a notebook and a drawing pad. And now, it'll have my iPod. The end. I'm set.
But what about this hospital stay? I know that I will wear pajamas and that the shirts have to button down. Oddly, though I have three pairs of pajamas like this, I cannot find the tops to two of them. This is curious, because I usually don't like the button down tops and just wear the pants with a t-shirt. So wouldn't the tops be in my drawers? Who stole my button down PJ tops?
Next on the list, I obviously need unmentionables. Then toiletries.
The hard part is figuring out what to bring to keep myself entertained. When it's a vacation, you are going somewhere to be entertained. For this, I need to entertain myself, away from home, confined to a bed.
I have to consider that at first, I'll feel reasonably fine. I don't feel the best these days, but I'm well enough to work, so I'll feel well enough that I'll want something to keep me busy... I could do crafts and read and draw. I was hoping I could write, but I've had a year and a half long writer's block, so I don't know about that. I'll want stuff do to if I'm feeling well, 'cause I don't really have the patience to watch TV all the livelong day. My iPod Touch has games and a movie on it... I specifically asked for it with the knowledge that I'd have a VEEG and perhaps other hospital stays and (hopefully) recovery from brain surgery.
But what happens when I start feeling withdrawls from my medication and the seizures kick in? Do I just listen to music on my iPod? Lay there and watch reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond? But what about during the day? I hate daytime television and when I don't feel well, I can't focus on reading. Maybe I'll feel so sick that it won't be hard to sleep. But one day, I have to stay awake for 24 hours. Is there anything good on TV during the day? Maybe some I Love Lucy on TV Land or something? Lucille Ball has saved me more than I could ever explain.
Maybe I should find an audiobook to put on my iPod for the part when I don't feel well. I like hearing stories when I don't feel well, but can't fall asleep. Yeaaaaah, that's a good idea.
So we've got drawing, crafts, reading, iPod games and some TV for when I'm feeling relatively well (once Oprah hits at 4, I'm good for TV for the rest of the day)... music, audio books, and naps for when I feel more sick. Now I think next week could possibly fly by. :)
If only I could find the button down tops of my pajamas. hmph.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The masterpiece that wasn't
The purpose of this blog is to help me keep up with the writing and sometimes to keep friends and long-distance relatives up-to-date on what is going on in my life... Mostly, I just want to get my talent for writing back. It's in here somewhere. It used to come so easily, then I stopped, and now it's difficult for me to write stories the way I used to.
So this weekend I was alone here at my home and thought I'd take the time to live how I used to, if I wasn't feeling to sick. Back in the day, on night's when I wasn't feeling sick, I did my homework (mostly writing) at my (former) favorite coffee shop downtown. They haven't done anything to bump themselves a notch from the favorite position. I've just gone to more coffee shops since those days and enjoy the others more. Anyway, so I thought I'd get all cozied up in a spot there, put pen to paper, 'cause I am NOT a computer writer.... everything always starts with a pen or pencil and eventually ends up on the computer... and see what masterpiece happened that I could edit and eventually send to someone.
So I went to the coffee shop. I ordered a latte and some baked good and found the best spot that I could. Unfortunately, the couches and plush chairs were taken. Those are my favorite spots, but you have to work with what's there. And what was there was a tiny table in the middle of the room. I sat my pink purse and my "creative bag" (read: black bag with the Beatles "Abbey Road" photo in silver on the side) on one chair and sat down in the other chair with my tasty coffee and chocolatey baked good in front of me. Around me, every other person, except for two ladies who were visiting, had an Apple laptop in front of them. No joke. But I still confidently pulled my notebook and pen out of my bag. We artists all have our way of doing our work, yes?
And mine began with being distracted by my coffee and the chocolatey goodness of the baked good. I could only write one terrible sentence before the baked thingy was gone. When that was finally out of my way, I slowly wrote another sentence, but I was distracted because the ladies who were chatting were speaking an Oriental language and it was so beautiful to listen to them say something I couldn't understand in such animated ways and laugh. I would wonder if they were talking about travel, school, boys, work, kids? But I tried to at least look like I was thinking about my writing. Then I actually did think about my writing and wrote a third sentence, but to write something well, I need to be very emotionally involved, and it's so hard for me to do that when I'm distracted by conversation and just as those women left, the man at the table that was practically connected to mine was joined by another man. So as I tried to talk myself into focusing to see if my sentences even made any sense, if they drew any emotion out at all, it turned out that these men spoke what appeared to be Spanish, but could have been Portuguese. Probably Spanish. They had an animated conversation and after a while, words like muchacha and bonita were being thrown about as I noticed they were looking at me, but trying to act like they weren't.
By then, my masterpiece wasn't going to happen. I couldn't stop eavesdropping on conversations that I couldn't understand and eventually getting paranoid that these foreign languages, as beautiful as they both sounded, were all about me.
So I got four sentences of a poem done, then started writing a letter before I finished my coffee.
Me with my striped notebook, surrounded by people with their wireless internet accessible laptops. Am I the only one under 40 who is attached to notebooks?
So this weekend I was alone here at my home and thought I'd take the time to live how I used to, if I wasn't feeling to sick. Back in the day, on night's when I wasn't feeling sick, I did my homework (mostly writing) at my (former) favorite coffee shop downtown. They haven't done anything to bump themselves a notch from the favorite position. I've just gone to more coffee shops since those days and enjoy the others more. Anyway, so I thought I'd get all cozied up in a spot there, put pen to paper, 'cause I am NOT a computer writer.... everything always starts with a pen or pencil and eventually ends up on the computer... and see what masterpiece happened that I could edit and eventually send to someone.
So I went to the coffee shop. I ordered a latte and some baked good and found the best spot that I could. Unfortunately, the couches and plush chairs were taken. Those are my favorite spots, but you have to work with what's there. And what was there was a tiny table in the middle of the room. I sat my pink purse and my "creative bag" (read: black bag with the Beatles "Abbey Road" photo in silver on the side) on one chair and sat down in the other chair with my tasty coffee and chocolatey baked good in front of me. Around me, every other person, except for two ladies who were visiting, had an Apple laptop in front of them. No joke. But I still confidently pulled my notebook and pen out of my bag. We artists all have our way of doing our work, yes?
And mine began with being distracted by my coffee and the chocolatey goodness of the baked good. I could only write one terrible sentence before the baked thingy was gone. When that was finally out of my way, I slowly wrote another sentence, but I was distracted because the ladies who were chatting were speaking an Oriental language and it was so beautiful to listen to them say something I couldn't understand in such animated ways and laugh. I would wonder if they were talking about travel, school, boys, work, kids? But I tried to at least look like I was thinking about my writing. Then I actually did think about my writing and wrote a third sentence, but to write something well, I need to be very emotionally involved, and it's so hard for me to do that when I'm distracted by conversation and just as those women left, the man at the table that was practically connected to mine was joined by another man. So as I tried to talk myself into focusing to see if my sentences even made any sense, if they drew any emotion out at all, it turned out that these men spoke what appeared to be Spanish, but could have been Portuguese. Probably Spanish. They had an animated conversation and after a while, words like muchacha and bonita were being thrown about as I noticed they were looking at me, but trying to act like they weren't.
By then, my masterpiece wasn't going to happen. I couldn't stop eavesdropping on conversations that I couldn't understand and eventually getting paranoid that these foreign languages, as beautiful as they both sounded, were all about me.
So I got four sentences of a poem done, then started writing a letter before I finished my coffee.
Me with my striped notebook, surrounded by people with their wireless internet accessible laptops. Am I the only one under 40 who is attached to notebooks?
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
In just one year...
So much changes in just one year. One year ago, the husband and I had rented our house out and were living with my mom hoping to get awesome jobs in an awesome city that wasn't too far from home base, preferably Iowa City. I had been feeling the best that I thought I'd ever feel and figured it was time to get started on my career, so I was applying in television, radio, public relations and marketing in every city from Springfield, IL to Omaha, NE.
I got many responses from many cities, then had to think if I actually wanted to live in such towns as Mason City or was I just applying to get the "Sorry, we don't want you"'s out of the way and find my way towards "We love ya, when can you start?"
The goofiest job interview was definitely in Springfield. It was for "promotions." The way it was described, I was going to be promoting child safety at big events in great locations, sometimes traveling to Chicago to give the presentations! It took three interviews to get this job, so I knew it had to be quite the big deal. It was the first interview where I was told about the events and that our main goal was to get the word out about child safety... and that if I was good enough, I could even be the manager of a new business in some awesome city (California, anyone?) within a year. This was sounding good and they called me back for the second interview.
I was all dressed up and ready to help give a presentation at the event. I was to job shadow someone, and then halfway through, start doing the presentation, myself. I was pretty confident. I gave thousands of presentations in college and if I caught on to what we were doing for the parents of these kids, I knew I could feel passionate about it. I was told that the event was about an hour away... and halfway there, I decided to ask exactly where we were going. A college hall? A hotel ballroom? Were they providing the computer for the slideshow? Did we have the free helmets and car seats and the information about how to use them properly?
Um.
The "event" was at the front door of Home Depot. Our "promotion" was to sell fairly unnecessary items (read- mugs and stickers) to anyone using whatever technique we could. Guilt, dancing, singing, flirting, it didn't matter. Worst of all, 80% of what we sold was the paycheck, but it looked like we were donating 100% of the money to a charity for children. It really felt like I was selling my soul to get people with hearts who really didn't want the items, but didn't know how to say "no" because they thought all of their money was going to help a charity, not just a small portion. It felt terrible. By the end of that "interview," the person I was shadowing was in love with me. She kept saying I did a great job (insult?) and that she wanted me to come back for a third interview. As much as I wanted a "real" job, I also wanted an honest job and told her that I couldn't see myself doing that. She truly didn't see what was wrong with it. She even thought she could retire in her 30s because she worked 6 days a week, 12 hours a day... but when I calculated what she made in a year, she makes what the average person makes... there'll be no extra early retirement for that girl.
But a week after that, I got my dream call. A television station wanted me to work for them in the traffic department. I had no clue what that meant, but if a door was going to open at a TV station, I wanted to slip my foot in there. I'd wanted that since I was 10 or 12. I had an interview set up, and right as I was about to take off for it, I got a call from SHARON saying that a "family emergency had come up" and she couldn't meet with me. I suspect now that her baby was sick. We moved the interview to the following week and everything felt right straight from the beginning. I met with both of the traffic managers from Fox and CBS, because they are a family here in the Iowa City viewing area, and SHARON carried the interview. My favorite part is that they were going under new management, so the interviewing process was new to her. She was supposed to ask specific questions that were written down and she did precisely that with a pause after each word and then she'd look up at me proudly and expectantly. I felt relaxed in the presence of her and the other manager and felt like we hit it off from the moment we met. As soon as we left the interview, I got in the car where my husband and mother-in-law were waiting, because we were apartment shopping that day (Kevin had just learned that he had a job, so we were definitely moving, whether I got the TV job or not) and I shrugged and said, "I think I got the job."
Twenty minutes later, Sharon called and said, "The thing is... we like you and want to hire you." We worked out a few specifics and I was set to begin my first job in television. That was a year ago in March. By April, I worked in traffic, which, by the way, is basically making television run smoothly... assigning commercials to the client's specifications and preventing dead air... and I also worked as a production assistant for the noon news, which was my actual dream job. When 11:15 came around and it was time for me to prepare for that job, I couldn't have been more pleased. I thought I rocked the headset pretty well, the director and anchor were awesome and we were always dancing and singing in the studio. Those are memories I'll always keep.
By June, things got pretty rough. The flood hit and I was suddenly doing more production than traffic and before I knew what was happening, I was told that we were starting a morning show and I was the production assistant for it. We had no one else to be PA, so we had other people from other departments do the things that I couldn't do from the floor. With the flood closing the interstate, the director, a commercial producer and I drove crazy routes starting at 2 AM just to get to work and start a show at 5 AM and finish everything by 1 and get home by 2:30ish. When the Interstate opened up after the flood, we could leave closer to 3 and be home by 1:30...
... but my health was not happy. It wasn't very happy when I started working 40 hours, anyway, but I ignored it as much as possible by going to bed by 8 and hardly moving on the weekends. But when I had to be asleep at 6 PM, up around 2:30 and under more pressure for a show that we were doing on the fly without enough staff, my health couldn't take it. I didn't want to admit that it was too much, but I finally did and left my job. That was the hardest thing I had to do in 2008. What was harder is that it left me wondering what I really want to do with my life. I had a good experience there. I loved who I worked with, I did what I always dreamed I would do, but I didn't feel complete. I'm going through that thing I think a lot of 20-somethings go through where you try things and discover they aren't what you thought and need to try something more to discover more about yourself until you discover who it is you really are and what it is you truly love.
After a break in the summer to get my health back on track as much as possible, I took one of the most laidback jobs you can imagine. I'm tucked in a far back wall of the library and help people get study rooms, computers, and I keep the magazine area clean. When someone has a problem and they're stressing me out, it is my job to send them to someone else to take care of it. I work parttime with a great group of people and never feel stressed out there. I get plenty of rest. Everything my brain demands.
By fall, I discovered that this isn't the best that I can feel. There's a chance that I can feel better, and that chance is brain surgery. It rolls off the tongue now, but it used to be scary to say. I don't know, yet, if I'm a candidate, but in a couple of weeks I will begin undergoing tests to see if I am. Best case- I am a candidate, I'll have the surgery, I'll spend months in recovery and I'll be a new girl with new opportunities placed in front of her. Worst case, I'm not a candidate, but we can try treatments that I haven't been made aware of that could improve my life a little more and I will peruse opportunities that best fit the lifestyle that I have so I can feel like I'm living life to the fullest even if I'm not the typical 26 year old.
I had no clue I'd be doing this one year ago. I was just hoping to move out of my mom's house to a bigger city doing a careery job that I loved. I wonder what I'll be doing in January 2010?
I got many responses from many cities, then had to think if I actually wanted to live in such towns as Mason City or was I just applying to get the "Sorry, we don't want you"'s out of the way and find my way towards "We love ya, when can you start?"
The goofiest job interview was definitely in Springfield. It was for "promotions." The way it was described, I was going to be promoting child safety at big events in great locations, sometimes traveling to Chicago to give the presentations! It took three interviews to get this job, so I knew it had to be quite the big deal. It was the first interview where I was told about the events and that our main goal was to get the word out about child safety... and that if I was good enough, I could even be the manager of a new business in some awesome city (California, anyone?) within a year. This was sounding good and they called me back for the second interview.
I was all dressed up and ready to help give a presentation at the event. I was to job shadow someone, and then halfway through, start doing the presentation, myself. I was pretty confident. I gave thousands of presentations in college and if I caught on to what we were doing for the parents of these kids, I knew I could feel passionate about it. I was told that the event was about an hour away... and halfway there, I decided to ask exactly where we were going. A college hall? A hotel ballroom? Were they providing the computer for the slideshow? Did we have the free helmets and car seats and the information about how to use them properly?
Um.
The "event" was at the front door of Home Depot. Our "promotion" was to sell fairly unnecessary items (read- mugs and stickers) to anyone using whatever technique we could. Guilt, dancing, singing, flirting, it didn't matter. Worst of all, 80% of what we sold was the paycheck, but it looked like we were donating 100% of the money to a charity for children. It really felt like I was selling my soul to get people with hearts who really didn't want the items, but didn't know how to say "no" because they thought all of their money was going to help a charity, not just a small portion. It felt terrible. By the end of that "interview," the person I was shadowing was in love with me. She kept saying I did a great job (insult?) and that she wanted me to come back for a third interview. As much as I wanted a "real" job, I also wanted an honest job and told her that I couldn't see myself doing that. She truly didn't see what was wrong with it. She even thought she could retire in her 30s because she worked 6 days a week, 12 hours a day... but when I calculated what she made in a year, she makes what the average person makes... there'll be no extra early retirement for that girl.
But a week after that, I got my dream call. A television station wanted me to work for them in the traffic department. I had no clue what that meant, but if a door was going to open at a TV station, I wanted to slip my foot in there. I'd wanted that since I was 10 or 12. I had an interview set up, and right as I was about to take off for it, I got a call from SHARON saying that a "family emergency had come up" and she couldn't meet with me. I suspect now that her baby was sick. We moved the interview to the following week and everything felt right straight from the beginning. I met with both of the traffic managers from Fox and CBS, because they are a family here in the Iowa City viewing area, and SHARON carried the interview. My favorite part is that they were going under new management, so the interviewing process was new to her. She was supposed to ask specific questions that were written down and she did precisely that with a pause after each word and then she'd look up at me proudly and expectantly. I felt relaxed in the presence of her and the other manager and felt like we hit it off from the moment we met. As soon as we left the interview, I got in the car where my husband and mother-in-law were waiting, because we were apartment shopping that day (Kevin had just learned that he had a job, so we were definitely moving, whether I got the TV job or not) and I shrugged and said, "I think I got the job."
Twenty minutes later, Sharon called and said, "The thing is... we like you and want to hire you." We worked out a few specifics and I was set to begin my first job in television. That was a year ago in March. By April, I worked in traffic, which, by the way, is basically making television run smoothly... assigning commercials to the client's specifications and preventing dead air... and I also worked as a production assistant for the noon news, which was my actual dream job. When 11:15 came around and it was time for me to prepare for that job, I couldn't have been more pleased. I thought I rocked the headset pretty well, the director and anchor were awesome and we were always dancing and singing in the studio. Those are memories I'll always keep.
By June, things got pretty rough. The flood hit and I was suddenly doing more production than traffic and before I knew what was happening, I was told that we were starting a morning show and I was the production assistant for it. We had no one else to be PA, so we had other people from other departments do the things that I couldn't do from the floor. With the flood closing the interstate, the director, a commercial producer and I drove crazy routes starting at 2 AM just to get to work and start a show at 5 AM and finish everything by 1 and get home by 2:30ish. When the Interstate opened up after the flood, we could leave closer to 3 and be home by 1:30...
... but my health was not happy. It wasn't very happy when I started working 40 hours, anyway, but I ignored it as much as possible by going to bed by 8 and hardly moving on the weekends. But when I had to be asleep at 6 PM, up around 2:30 and under more pressure for a show that we were doing on the fly without enough staff, my health couldn't take it. I didn't want to admit that it was too much, but I finally did and left my job. That was the hardest thing I had to do in 2008. What was harder is that it left me wondering what I really want to do with my life. I had a good experience there. I loved who I worked with, I did what I always dreamed I would do, but I didn't feel complete. I'm going through that thing I think a lot of 20-somethings go through where you try things and discover they aren't what you thought and need to try something more to discover more about yourself until you discover who it is you really are and what it is you truly love.
After a break in the summer to get my health back on track as much as possible, I took one of the most laidback jobs you can imagine. I'm tucked in a far back wall of the library and help people get study rooms, computers, and I keep the magazine area clean. When someone has a problem and they're stressing me out, it is my job to send them to someone else to take care of it. I work parttime with a great group of people and never feel stressed out there. I get plenty of rest. Everything my brain demands.
By fall, I discovered that this isn't the best that I can feel. There's a chance that I can feel better, and that chance is brain surgery. It rolls off the tongue now, but it used to be scary to say. I don't know, yet, if I'm a candidate, but in a couple of weeks I will begin undergoing tests to see if I am. Best case- I am a candidate, I'll have the surgery, I'll spend months in recovery and I'll be a new girl with new opportunities placed in front of her. Worst case, I'm not a candidate, but we can try treatments that I haven't been made aware of that could improve my life a little more and I will peruse opportunities that best fit the lifestyle that I have so I can feel like I'm living life to the fullest even if I'm not the typical 26 year old.
I had no clue I'd be doing this one year ago. I was just hoping to move out of my mom's house to a bigger city doing a careery job that I loved. I wonder what I'll be doing in January 2010?
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