I don't want to do anything

It all seems so pointless.

Delusions of Grandeur

I worked so hard just to have a choice, and now it's sinking in that choice was just an illusion, a desert oasis. 'Round and 'round I spin my hamster wheel along with everyone else, complaining about the greener grass in the distance, waking up this morning and realizing that I really am 30 years old. And NO one actually much better off than me, not really. How do I get off this thing?!? I CAN'T WAKE UP!!!!

We all have paths that make us. Sometimes I get all congratulatory because it feels like I am right on mine. But it seems like most of the time I waste contemplating the paths of others, how they got on it, what it must be like, why it's their path. Wish, wish, wish. I busy myself with pain to gain. Ingrained is the idea that I don't get what I don't deserve...I must be too indulgent still. When it's quiet, I am still nobody to myself.

Plus, why does the negative seem more impactful than the positive?

I have no faith. I think I need to change and make everything on my own. I think...too much. Everything I do is just another means to another means. I don't plan in terms of final goals. They have always seemed too remote. So many dreams.

Also, I've totally isolated myself. Just how am I going to live any life like that?

I get so close. I leap across the finish line and totally glaze over it. Then I am so far away again.

You know what's messed up?

On Tuesday driving home from school, I had this fantastic concept for an art project/show whereby I make super realistic sculptures of objects and.... YEA! Because today is only FRIDAY AFTERNOON and I ALREADY FORGOT THE REST OF THE BRILLIANT CONCEPT! Obviously, I was never going to execute it (specially now) but I am so extremely disheartened by the incredible lack of permanence in my brain. If I can't even remember "brilliant" ideas, how am I ever going to...well, do anything?

Me against the brutes

Apparently I am a mean bitch. As hard as I've worked and constantly work on being self-aware, a small pattern has been made apparent to me that I am "mean." I have to comment that those who, by my judgement, since we're openly passing it, are chauvinistic, brute and uncultured at best. I admit I secretly never cared for them, or felt at odds with them from the start, and perhaps those kept attitudes affected my demeanor around them. Perhaps I was guarded and defensive, which could be misconstrued as "mean.' I also admit that I almost accused these idiots, sorry, *people* of being passive aggressive, or at least projecting their own self-loathing for being less than agreeable, since I only ever find out after they had taken it upon themselves to justify some ill-chosen way in which they acted. However, I suppose you could construe this blog and other gripes as equally passive aggressive, etc. I don't claim to know. I can almost guarantee, though, that it doesn't bother them that anyone could think they are worth being guarded or defensive around, and that the matter would not be easily open to discussion. So I remain irked, offended and hurt. Yes, hurt, because at the core I am a very compassionate person who let others dictate how I should be and was still was thought of as "mean."

Limbo

I'm not as excited as I once (very recently) was. For an unmeasurable, seemingly infinite moment, I was gifted a cloud of wondrous optimism. I existed always with a deep satisfaction, confident that my own endurance had earned me contentment, certain of the future's potential. Strangers literally and constantly stopped to ask me exactly why I was so happy. No joke.

I was warned not to overstay in this perfect life, was told to continue to focus on pinpointing what really meant something to me. But I let it get stale. This last chapter had ended up to be so great that I lingered when I ought to have turned the page.

I'm still here. I should have begun my new chapter with my trip to the Philippines. Instead, I think I robbed myself of the whole experience by refusing to let go of the last. While I was there, I never really felt that I was there. It was easy to blame jet lag, the time difference, the weather, the change in diet, the overwhelming emotions, culture shock....in the end, I think it was me.

Follow me

I was a "graphic designer" for like 8 years. What I mean is that I went to OCC and got an AA and was able to get an entry-level job putting together ads and crap on the buzzword software, if you will, that allows you to put "graphic designer" on your resume and business cards. It paid decently and I was lucky they liked me so much during the long dark tunnel I was working my way through during the time.

Halfway though that, when, if all things had been fair (which they rarely are), I should have been seeking higher-level employment in my field, an ongoing freelance gig fell in my lap in the form of designing and producing a women's magazine. It was a monthly publication, and I made twice the hourly wage as my day gig, so it was a nice steady supplemental thing.

Three years later, and I mean TOO late(r), I really needed to get moving out of my current job situation. The women's magazine was in the position to hire me full time-ish. It was not a good idea, but I did it, if for anything but to gain momentum. I said it was a temporary swing from one tree to the next.

I quit the stable but boring entry-level job. I production managed the magazine to splendor and got paid. Two months later, the magazine shut down. The reason why had nothing to do with me, but the result did.

The publisher of the magazine and I had always been extra-carricularly involved in this whole local food movement/organization. We decided to dedicate focused efforts towards developing our local organization. She continued to pay me because she was, in a way, obligated (since I JUST quit my real job to work on her now defunct magazine). There was a transition phase. I worked from home a lot. We made progress. I felt fine about it, sometimes even excited.

Then she started wigging out about not keeping track of me while still paying me, that's my version of the story anyway. I think what I had been hesitant of, but had gone along with, finally caught up to her...which is that I was paid staff of our two-woman non-profit organization. I imagine in those terms, I was rediculously overpaid, as well.

So then I was made to trek to her home twice a week to do exactly what I was more effective at doing at home. I know this doesn't sound all that bad, but I never bargained to work out of someone else's home, specially not this one. It is chaotic and a waste of gas, and I squat at the toilet like a public restroom to make an example of the level of disarray.

To make matters worse, I need more cash so that I may attend my bro's Filipino wedding in February. So I applied for jobs I dreaded being offered. More fake graphic design. To my surprise, I was both not offered any of them nor was I upset about it. Bad economy, and I get picky all of a sudden. So then I got this waitressing job at Macy's. The food is horrendous but the purpose is threefold. 1.) They close at like 8 every night so I never have to work late. 2.) Waitressing is the only thing I can do that will come close to the money I can make fake designing. 3.) I don't know anything about waitressing, and this place seemed just small and accessible enough to get in the game. 4.) Macy's is trying hard to capitalize on the food spectatorship of late trend. Signage touts them as "a food business." I told the interviewer who I was and where I was coming from, and she introduced me to the regionals who develop the chef events and Culinary Council. This may, ironically, lead me someplace.