I spent most of the day sleeping today. My plan to change careers and become more spiritually centered is hitting very rough seas. I thought I would stay wrapped up in blankets to bide my time until the waves passed.
I've decided to go back into health care. I need to make money. Maybe I was just flirting with the whole blue collar thing. Anyway, real blue collar jobs make a shit load of money, and I wasn't even clearing a turd.
It'll be good to make some money again, and doing what I know very well. Although, right now I'm not doing anything, and it is making me incredibly sad.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
how f'd up is that!?
It really is amazing how some of us survived our childhoods. And it's abso - fucking- lutely true that what doesn't kill us, makes us stronger...which really means what didn't destroy our souls only strengthened our spirits. death is being alive and walking around in darkness, bringing nothing but darkness to others.
My own darkness: horrible lights and music. Off the shoulder halter tops worn by mothers who sit and smoke pot with their sixteen year old daughters. Daughters who end up having sex with their mother's boyfriends. It's cool to sit and smoke with them when you're thirteen. You can swear and talk about sex and drugs and not follow any moral code. No rules. One cool mom. One sleazy boyfriend and one very, very frightened sixteen year old. Thirteen year olds who get to leave and go back to their single parent households where their mothers are not home. You sit and smoke and blast Rick Springfield out the window and hang out with Dave down the street because all of you have a crush on him, despite the fact that he's an alcoholic.
You move away and become good again, but your sister is smoking and drinking and doing drugs. She's always bringing her friends around with cases of beer. You don't want to be ridiculed, so you grab a beer...you hate it, but force yourself to drink anyway. Your choice of drink had always been liquor, but you were away from those you drank. Here you are again. Mother even less. Alcoholic neighbor who is twenty- eight is making the moves on you in your room. You remind him that you are fourteen and a friend.
maybe fifteen will be better...ha!
Whatever. There are stories out there way worse. It doesn't mean anything. If you are here, not on drugs, drunk or married to any of the above, that's a strengthened spirit. If you have a strengthened spirit, then the only thing that you can do is laugh and say "I can't believe I survived that!" and move on. Move on.
My own darkness: horrible lights and music. Off the shoulder halter tops worn by mothers who sit and smoke pot with their sixteen year old daughters. Daughters who end up having sex with their mother's boyfriends. It's cool to sit and smoke with them when you're thirteen. You can swear and talk about sex and drugs and not follow any moral code. No rules. One cool mom. One sleazy boyfriend and one very, very frightened sixteen year old. Thirteen year olds who get to leave and go back to their single parent households where their mothers are not home. You sit and smoke and blast Rick Springfield out the window and hang out with Dave down the street because all of you have a crush on him, despite the fact that he's an alcoholic.
You move away and become good again, but your sister is smoking and drinking and doing drugs. She's always bringing her friends around with cases of beer. You don't want to be ridiculed, so you grab a beer...you hate it, but force yourself to drink anyway. Your choice of drink had always been liquor, but you were away from those you drank. Here you are again. Mother even less. Alcoholic neighbor who is twenty- eight is making the moves on you in your room. You remind him that you are fourteen and a friend.
maybe fifteen will be better...ha!
Whatever. There are stories out there way worse. It doesn't mean anything. If you are here, not on drugs, drunk or married to any of the above, that's a strengthened spirit. If you have a strengthened spirit, then the only thing that you can do is laugh and say "I can't believe I survived that!" and move on. Move on.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
You Are Now Leaving Paradise
I can’t say it was time wasted. I learned a lot during my short time at Paradise Gardens and Farm. I still wonder if I were a different person, if I could of stayed and put up with the extreme personality of the Farmer’s wife. Again I was faced with a difficult person, and I wondered what I was supposed to learn from this experience. Silence? Humility? Was I supposed to be the stronger person? Was I supposed to become aware of my weakness in the face of such difficulty? Am I to expect that I will bail when faced with what seems to be the impossible. Steven, the other ex-intern, would give a definitive “NO! She was an impossible woman.”
Like I said, it wasn’t time wasted. I walked onto my future internship and everything was familiar. Differences: bovine are humongous - I mean their heads are the size of baby goats…baby goats with very pointy horns that have 800 pounds behind them to give you a good spearing. “Don’t let them get you up against the fence” was the advice of the lead farmer, when trying to turn one of the cows around to go into the milking pallor. I play this image out in my head. “The fence is potentially the way out. Okay, well if it weren’t for the fact that the gate is locked. So, I should fight the urge, when the animal’s head is down, horns charging towards me, and you not to run towards the fence. Okay. Got it. Yeah, right.”
Currently I’m staying at my brother’s and sharing a finished den with my seventeen year old niece. This has given me a clear reminder why I don’t have children…and possibly insight into why my mother beat the shit out of my sister when we were younger. Okay, maybe not. It’s not good to beat your children, no matter how much you want to, or how much they may deserve it! I’ve wanted to clock her on several occasions and sometimes when I think of her shitty attitude, I want to clock her when I see her, which would probably cause her confusion, but elicit complete understanding from her mother. “No matter how much you want to or how much they deserve it. Restrain, restrain, restrain.” This is my mantra.
I’m nervous about my future. “What do you hope to do after you finish the internship?” A constant question I get when people ask, “So, what are you doing now?” My reply. “I have no idea.” That sounds rational. I hope it takes the edge of the absurd reply when I say it with complete confidence.
I stopped by my Uncle’s family farm. It full of reminders of days long past. His cousin is now running the farm, and it looks like he’s in need of help. Maybe that could be something I do part time. He said he was, but people always say that until you start giving them what they asked for. No one, including myself, likes to be told what to do. Ego.
I left paradise. It wasn’t mine. I know that uncertainty and unlimited potential is my path to my own paradise. Without a doubt. No need for fingers crossed.
Like I said, it wasn’t time wasted. I walked onto my future internship and everything was familiar. Differences: bovine are humongous - I mean their heads are the size of baby goats…baby goats with very pointy horns that have 800 pounds behind them to give you a good spearing. “Don’t let them get you up against the fence” was the advice of the lead farmer, when trying to turn one of the cows around to go into the milking pallor. I play this image out in my head. “The fence is potentially the way out. Okay, well if it weren’t for the fact that the gate is locked. So, I should fight the urge, when the animal’s head is down, horns charging towards me, and you not to run towards the fence. Okay. Got it. Yeah, right.”
Currently I’m staying at my brother’s and sharing a finished den with my seventeen year old niece. This has given me a clear reminder why I don’t have children…and possibly insight into why my mother beat the shit out of my sister when we were younger. Okay, maybe not. It’s not good to beat your children, no matter how much you want to, or how much they may deserve it! I’ve wanted to clock her on several occasions and sometimes when I think of her shitty attitude, I want to clock her when I see her, which would probably cause her confusion, but elicit complete understanding from her mother. “No matter how much you want to or how much they deserve it. Restrain, restrain, restrain.” This is my mantra.
I’m nervous about my future. “What do you hope to do after you finish the internship?” A constant question I get when people ask, “So, what are you doing now?” My reply. “I have no idea.” That sounds rational. I hope it takes the edge of the absurd reply when I say it with complete confidence.
I stopped by my Uncle’s family farm. It full of reminders of days long past. His cousin is now running the farm, and it looks like he’s in need of help. Maybe that could be something I do part time. He said he was, but people always say that until you start giving them what they asked for. No one, including myself, likes to be told what to do. Ego.
I left paradise. It wasn’t mine. I know that uncertainty and unlimited potential is my path to my own paradise. Without a doubt. No need for fingers crossed.
i can't remember where i put my keys. how am i expected to keep a daily journal?
It's raining today. In fact, severe storm warnings have been issued for the entire Jefferson County. To the south of us, tornado warnings. This is my kind of weather. And they said nothing ever happens out here.
I was just out in the harvest shed making pans out of aluminum foil so I may properly water my seedlings growing in their flats. For those of you who think this sounds quaint, you really need to get your collective heads out of your collective asses. It would be better if I were able to purchase shallow aluminum pans. In this place of Paradise, suggestions such as aluminum pans are not welcome. Just one of many disappoints of my internship.
The other intern and I took a trip to the city on our day off, and successfully whipped each other into a frenzy on how the farmer's wife is thoroughly blowing our bliss as budding farmer and cheese person...should we stay, or should we go? Sigh.
Before drifting off to sleep last night, and in the light of day, we both came to the same conclusion - stay. We've also committed ourselves to one another to get us through the difficult moments. "What would be a difficult moment?" you might ask. Well, yesterday morning I made her cry. I told her that it was really difficult to share ideas with her and then she began to cry. Any suggestion you make, she likes to emphatically shut you down. Through her fake tears she told me how we (the underpaid interns) are not offering her enough credit and validation for all of the work she does. Sigh.
Now, those of you who really know me will not be surprised to hear that my sympathy meter barely budged. And then came the "You've got to be fucking kidding me" expression on my face that didn't help matters any.
So, I ask myself, "Where is my responsibility in future interactions? If I'm going to make this work, how do I need to change?" I don't like the answer, mostly because none of the answers involved digging in my heels and standing my ground. Grrrr!
Other than living with crazy, I love what I'm doing. I love getting my overalls dirty, my muck boots and shoes mucky and getting love from tiny goats with tiny feet, eyes and mouths that nibble at your pants, hair and fingers. When I go to visit the city, coming back is always a spiritual moment. I see my first barn sitting atop a rolling hill and, crazy not withstanding, all is right with the world - all is as it should be.
I was just out in the harvest shed making pans out of aluminum foil so I may properly water my seedlings growing in their flats. For those of you who think this sounds quaint, you really need to get your collective heads out of your collective asses. It would be better if I were able to purchase shallow aluminum pans. In this place of Paradise, suggestions such as aluminum pans are not welcome. Just one of many disappoints of my internship.
The other intern and I took a trip to the city on our day off, and successfully whipped each other into a frenzy on how the farmer's wife is thoroughly blowing our bliss as budding farmer and cheese person...should we stay, or should we go? Sigh.
Before drifting off to sleep last night, and in the light of day, we both came to the same conclusion - stay. We've also committed ourselves to one another to get us through the difficult moments. "What would be a difficult moment?" you might ask. Well, yesterday morning I made her cry. I told her that it was really difficult to share ideas with her and then she began to cry. Any suggestion you make, she likes to emphatically shut you down. Through her fake tears she told me how we (the underpaid interns) are not offering her enough credit and validation for all of the work she does. Sigh.
Now, those of you who really know me will not be surprised to hear that my sympathy meter barely budged. And then came the "You've got to be fucking kidding me" expression on my face that didn't help matters any.
So, I ask myself, "Where is my responsibility in future interactions? If I'm going to make this work, how do I need to change?" I don't like the answer, mostly because none of the answers involved digging in my heels and standing my ground. Grrrr!
Other than living with crazy, I love what I'm doing. I love getting my overalls dirty, my muck boots and shoes mucky and getting love from tiny goats with tiny feet, eyes and mouths that nibble at your pants, hair and fingers. When I go to visit the city, coming back is always a spiritual moment. I see my first barn sitting atop a rolling hill and, crazy not withstanding, all is right with the world - all is as it should be.
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