So that she knows I'm not dead. Yes, that would be you Alissa (not Alyssa). See, I'm not dead yet.
As I type this, I am getting high. And that is no joke.
I've been on a blog break. This is that obvious information for my two devoted readers. But just because I have been absent does not mean that I have not been thinking. I am always thinking. One of my former professors with whom I developed a friendship used to tell me that I had a "busy brain" that could never be satisfied by mundane entrapment and that it would be up to me to make sure I didn't waste my "beautiful, busy brain."
We don't talk anymore. Mostly because I stopped feeling worthy of her friendship.
I won't continue with the me-beating on this post. I have many more posts between now and age 35.
So, what has life given me, to give to you? Proceed.
I have begun a countdown. In 248 days I will leave this town again. But this time I hope for good. I don't yet know where I am going, I just know that where I am is not where I want to be. It's not where I'm supposed to be. This is something I feel deeply and irreversibly. In two weeks before the 248th day I will have quit my current job. What to say about this current job? Being underemployed and under-compensated (again) have been easier to endure this time around. It's easy because I know I am leaving.
Remember, I work for a company that makes t-shirts. They make t-shirts and embroider things. That's what they do. Even so, these people behave as though the heavens themselves will spiral into the Earth's core if something goes "wrong." Would you like an example? I ran out of work to do. I ran out of work because everything they give me is nothing. But I accept the tasks to pass the time. That is it. I thought I'd found something to do. A stack of work orders needed replenishing and I needed something to do. So, I thought I might try and restock these work orders. And what happens? One of the salespeople who probably wouldn't piss on me if I were on fire walked by me and said, "No, no, you are NOT supposed to be touching those. Nobody touches those but ME! I've been here six years and someone always touches this and messes it up. There's a sign RIGHT THERE!" Remember, I am wearing some really fucked up broken glasses, and well the sign is the size of a postage stamp.
Ummm . . . right. So I attempted to explain. "Oh, I'm sorry I just didn't want to be idle."
I later learned that this all-important task was off-limits to me because there are numbers that must be put into spreadsheets to ensure that the work orders are received in time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SPREADSHEETS!!!!!!!!!
Okay. Fine. So just say that. She probably could say it if she ever said more than two words to me. She came in afterward and wanted me to know she wasn't "gettin' on me" but that the work order process was her "kick."
If they only knew. If they only knew I was counting the days.
Where To go?
The only thing that keeps me waking up is knowing that eventually I'll be gone again. If it were any other time I'd be even more depressed than my usual depressive self and wondering if I should go with pills or try the steak knife. Instead, I am considering the following (pardon me, I know I am being repetitive):
*Southeast Asia for a month and then with the leftover savings a move on to a mundane life in (Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Detroit, Cleveland, Bozeman, or some other similar sized story with cheap rent).
*Skip Southeast Asia for now and moving to a possibly more exciting life in (Chicago, Brooklyn, San Francisco, Boston, or some other similar city with not-so cheap rent). Just so you know, San Francisco is at the TOP of this list. I wouldn't just live in the Bay Area this time, I'd take on The City.
*Southeast Asia for a more than just a month with a return to a place I don't like so that I can make more money yet again to leave (yet again).
These are my options. I wake up with them on my mind.
Who To Love?
Last night, sober, I sent TO1 a text message. I am watching his favorite baseball team when I do it. He had a blue Beta called Dodger. The poor fish had been alive for over four years. A beta.
The first night after TO1 and I were together he introduced me to Dodger. I looked into the murky bowl and said, "You should change his water!" When I came back over later that night the water had been changed.
The text read: "Tell Dodger's "Dad" that someone he once knew in the span of a life flash said, 'Go Dodgers.'"
I fly back to California on the 24th. I want to see him. But I know he doesn't want to see me. If life were like the movies I could walk up to his doorstep, hug him, say I'm sorry, and at least get a friend. Where I'd lost a lover, I would have found a way to salvage a friend.
Today I learned that the local, overpriced organic store across the street from my job is now allowing mix and match 6packs. This new policy has been the only thing I have been genuinely excited about in a long, long time. Seriously.
So I excitedly bought myself a mix-match of IPAs from Oregon, California, and Colorado, and took the long-ass bus ride home (remember I live in a crap town with crap public transportation) to watch the Veep debates. My honest assessment? Palin held her own. I was hoping to watch her get reamed, absolutely positively humiliated even; but no, she is a quick study. And that, more than I care to admit, frightens me. It really, really frightens me.
If you have friends who are not registered to vote, encourage them to register. I hope you won't tell them who to vote for, but at least ask that they get their asses out to choose. Oh, but do your part to inform them. Please, for the love of any type of justice, don't let them fly blind.
Alright. That's me right now. More later I guess.
Alissa (not Alyssa) . . . I'm so glad to have your blogs to read again. I'm going to design a type of paper for resumes and it's going to be called CCE . . . for Cock and Balls Elegance.
Goodnight Blogosphere, I'm going to smoke more weed and sleep.