One thing I'm notorious for is apologizing too much. If I said I were 'sorry' for not posting all these months while I was busy studying (i.e. being a student), it would be fruitless. I'm really only sorry to myself, because it's not like someone's hanging onto my every word here. I hope not. That would be incredibly unhealthy.
Anyway.
Loads of stuff has happened since...what was it, late September? But I'm not sure anything that has happened is relevant to this blog. Granted, I'm still a Student Seeking Purpose, for now.
But the fact of the matter is, I'm not going to be a college student for too much longer--though, as you know, I shudder to think of LAUD. In less than five months--God willing that I pass my comps and my remaining credits--I'll be out. A graduate.
So begins the Great Job Search of 2012. Never too early to start looking, of course. The area of business that keeps coming back to me is Human Resources. Literally anytime I search for a position anywhere, it leads me to that department of a company. But to be honest, it's not what I want.
Not that I'm completely sure of what I ultimately want out of a professional career. Still want to be a writer. That's not going to change.
Now, recently, I have come to another 'grand realization' about myself. That is, I'm actually pretty good at event-planning. Somehow I'm good about thinking everything through, and being practical about budgets and--naturally--the realm of possibility. Sure, I'm still learning how to handle monolithic logistics (bussing 150+ students across Dallas and back in an efficient manner, e.g.), but I'm learning.
You never really stop being a student, after all. I failed to mention that before, that I do realize that. I'm going to graduate in May, sure, and I don't have (immediate, anyway) plans to attend graduate school, or even more school at all.
I just exited my most successful semester of college a few weeks ago; little did I know, between forcing myself to write a twenty-page paper and watching all the seasons of Frasier, something good was happening. Is it possible to work your best from multi-tasking? I'm always, always multi-tasking (a cloaked form of procrastination, as it is often in my case).
The thing is, last semester, I never really stopped. Yes, I vegged out. But when I vegged, I was doing something. Probably watching a show while I played Minesweeper or made dinner. It's what I do. Call me crazy (I am, sort of), but I consider this stuff as thought-stimulating and therefore good for my brain. Not sure about any scientific studies or anything, of course.
Also, with November always comes National Novel Writing Month. Which I shouldn't participate in, of course. I didn't 'compete' against myself this year, but almost every day during that month, I wrote a few pages of a novel that's just slightly bending the truth of what actually occurred in my life during that time. Changed names, made up things that happened between other people when I wasn't around them...and so on. If it's actually publish-able--I don't think that's a word--as it stands, then it would be a novella. It's about 10,000 words. Hardly a short story, even. But it's mostly a true story, at least. My friend Allie is the only soul who's read it so far. I don't know what's "allowed" as far as non-fiction goes, especially since some of this is fictitious.
Oh well.
Where was I going with this? Don't remember. Posting gratia posting?
I'm very, very nervous about my last semester coming up. Second week back, we have the first round of English major comprehensive exams, and we delve right into our Senior Novel project. Then I have to put on the Valentine's dance since I'm the Socials director of student programming. Then the second batch of comprehensive exams, more Novel, spring break, more Novel, oh and I have these OTHER CLASSES. And of course I'm also putting on Spring Formal, which is our biggest off-campus event, aside from the Groundhog festival. Formal is farther away, distance-wise. Gosh I'm nervous. And I'm not sure when our project presentations are. Or what my job search will look like then.
Sigh.
Christine out. For now.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Is This Off-Topic?
I knew it would come to this at some point. --I'm posting to procrastinate. Figures.
I hope I didn't offend or freak out anyone by my last post, I was feeling a bit empowered as a female, while simultaneously frustrated at many things; don't ask me how that works, it's a mystery even to me, and I'm experiencing it first-hand.
I've been under-the-weather the past few days, only just recovered now. I had to miss all four of my classes, one session apiece. And now I have to catch up. With an annotated paper proposal and an exam tomorrow. Oh, joy.
I can't believe I've been back at school for almost a month. It hardly feels that way, academically speaking. Socially speaking, I'm not surprised at all. So much has happened already, with that side of things. Not that I'll get into specifics. I don't do that anymore. Well, that's a lie. I'm such a gossip-monger. One of my guy friends used another candid term for what I am, but I won't disclose that here.
Ahem. Anyway.
Since I've been under-the-weather (I'm saying it this way because it seems classier than saying 'I've been sick'), I have been keeping up with new shows pretty religiously. But I suppose that's my entertainment blog's subject matter...I should update that. I've seen every premiere I remotely cared about, and I've only reviewed one. Surprisingly, the only one I have reviewed so far was New Girl with Zooey Deschanel. More surprisingly, not my favorite. Not even close. And I could have bet money, I was so convinced it would be, since I adore that girl. But alas. I am so off-topic.
But to be off-topic, you actually have to be on-topic in the first place, and I don't think a topic was ever clearly stated.
There was a huge but brief storm tonight. I was walking across the main part of campus and suddenly the wind blew up and debris was everywhere and I thought for sure a tornado was going to suck me up into the sky. I prayed for my life, and thankfully it worked out.
--Question: Is it wrong to have eye candy? Because I think I have some now, and I'm quite enjoying it. It's probably wrong.
Oh, well. I really should get back to studying.
Christine out.
PS: I love The Office. I've been re-watching season four this week. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5GXUs_-YTg&feature=related
I hope I didn't offend or freak out anyone by my last post, I was feeling a bit empowered as a female, while simultaneously frustrated at many things; don't ask me how that works, it's a mystery even to me, and I'm experiencing it first-hand.
I've been under-the-weather the past few days, only just recovered now. I had to miss all four of my classes, one session apiece. And now I have to catch up. With an annotated paper proposal and an exam tomorrow. Oh, joy.
I can't believe I've been back at school for almost a month. It hardly feels that way, academically speaking. Socially speaking, I'm not surprised at all. So much has happened already, with that side of things. Not that I'll get into specifics. I don't do that anymore. Well, that's a lie. I'm such a gossip-monger. One of my guy friends used another candid term for what I am, but I won't disclose that here.
Ahem. Anyway.
Since I've been under-the-weather (I'm saying it this way because it seems classier than saying 'I've been sick'), I have been keeping up with new shows pretty religiously. But I suppose that's my entertainment blog's subject matter...I should update that. I've seen every premiere I remotely cared about, and I've only reviewed one. Surprisingly, the only one I have reviewed so far was New Girl with Zooey Deschanel. More surprisingly, not my favorite. Not even close. And I could have bet money, I was so convinced it would be, since I adore that girl. But alas. I am so off-topic.
But to be off-topic, you actually have to be on-topic in the first place, and I don't think a topic was ever clearly stated.
There was a huge but brief storm tonight. I was walking across the main part of campus and suddenly the wind blew up and debris was everywhere and I thought for sure a tornado was going to suck me up into the sky. I prayed for my life, and thankfully it worked out.
--Question: Is it wrong to have eye candy? Because I think I have some now, and I'm quite enjoying it. It's probably wrong.
Oh, well. I really should get back to studying.
Christine out.
PS: I love The Office. I've been re-watching season four this week. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5GXUs_-YTg&feature=related
Friday, September 23, 2011
Not Now, No
A short post.
Some food for thought:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1209556/500-Days-Summer-Revenge-writing-film-girl-dumped-you.html
Maybe you haven't seen that movie, though.
Some girls don't want to be in relationships? What? Are they mad?
No, they're quite sensible. Not that Summer Finn in the movie was sensible, necessarily, but she figured love out eventually, when it hit her like a ton of bricks.
Recently--and I mean very recently, yesterday late in the evening, if I recall correctly--I realized I don't need all that right now. Not that one should ever 'need' that; one should always strive to be complete in and of herself.
I work best in that way by distracting myself. I get involved, I focus on seemingly random things, and, most of the time, I hang with my girls on a Saturday night instead of putting myself out there.
So I'm already fighting half the battle, distractions are great because they don't give you any time to think of the 'space' that might be filled with, say, a 'significant other,' or what have you (or what have you not, -haha-). But there's still the matter of a healthy mentality to take on. This mentality needs to be a self-exercise, a self-restraint.
A self-reminder. No, I don't need someone right now. I shouldn't 'need' someone ever. I don't have time for another person in that way in the current state of the complicated equation that is my insane senior year life.
Because that's right, you know. I simply don't have time. Oh, I'd certainly make time, if there were someone to make time for. That's the kind of person I am. The kind of friend I am. I'm extremely loyal, dutiful even. It's one of the few virtues I practice regularly.
I also have an awful habit of being too forward. Hopefully this self-realization will help me in quashing that habit.
I suppose all of that wasn't very clear. I ought to sleep.
I must credit one of my friends for inspiration on the whole being sensible thing. She's doing this 'no-dating-for-a-year' deal with herself. Amen, sister. Though I have to say, I'd have to be asked out on dates for that to apply to me, anyway. That wasn't a darkly stated remark, I'm laughing. Okay, it was a little dark. But I'm amused.
Christine out.
PS: Oh, and I wish I were going to the Maroon 5 concert Friday night. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suRsxpoAc5w
Sunday, September 11, 2011
A Sense of History
I honestly didn't realize it was 9/11 until about 30 seconds ago. Well, really realize it, anyway.
Sometimes I worry myself that I don't have a sense of history; that I'm buying into the mentality that, well, life goes on, and there isn't anything anyone can do about it.
But you see, those things are true. Life does go on. There isn't anything we can do about that. It's a fact of life that it will continue regardless, isn't it?
So, we're supposed to be mourning, I guess? I think I'm done mourning. I cried my little eyes out that day, ten years ago, in the sixth grade, when it happened. I can't believe they let us watch that on the television during school. And then my mother came to pick me up, because before that happened, I was feeling ill and told my teacher I needed to go home.
Maybe I felt ill because I innately knew something was terribly, horribly wrong? Hindsight is twenty-twenty, or even better vision, because you can see the significance of the minutest details if you look back meticulously.
So I am remembering, after all. It didn't take much, and there isn't much to remember from a sixth grader's perspective, but I'm doing it anyway.
I'm not very good at mourning. At focusing on awful things that happened years ago. Because I prefer to think of happier things. In recent years, I've looked more to the future than to the past. Looking to the future can make you paranoid.
Looking to the past can make you depressed. But so can looking at the present, depending on your perspective.
For the moment, all I know is I have loads of homework, and not enough time in which to do it--not to mention compiling a budget request for the club I'm president of this year, sending in an evaluation of my recent Socials event, and writing a review of a local museum exhibit. So I "shouldn't" even be writing this post.
I keep getting distracted from everything, and definitely from writing this. I'm kind of at work right now. It's just answering phones--but someone's got to do it. And I just had a fifteen-minute conversation with a man who's trying to meet up with a friend, who is in class right now (???), for lunch, but she doesn't have a cell phone. So I guess he's just going to creep on her with the information I gave him? I hope I'm not being an enabler, or anything. I only gave him general University information...
Anyway.
Christine out.
Sometimes I worry myself that I don't have a sense of history; that I'm buying into the mentality that, well, life goes on, and there isn't anything anyone can do about it.
But you see, those things are true. Life does go on. There isn't anything we can do about that. It's a fact of life that it will continue regardless, isn't it?
So, we're supposed to be mourning, I guess? I think I'm done mourning. I cried my little eyes out that day, ten years ago, in the sixth grade, when it happened. I can't believe they let us watch that on the television during school. And then my mother came to pick me up, because before that happened, I was feeling ill and told my teacher I needed to go home.
Maybe I felt ill because I innately knew something was terribly, horribly wrong? Hindsight is twenty-twenty, or even better vision, because you can see the significance of the minutest details if you look back meticulously.
So I am remembering, after all. It didn't take much, and there isn't much to remember from a sixth grader's perspective, but I'm doing it anyway.
I'm not very good at mourning. At focusing on awful things that happened years ago. Because I prefer to think of happier things. In recent years, I've looked more to the future than to the past. Looking to the future can make you paranoid.
Looking to the past can make you depressed. But so can looking at the present, depending on your perspective.
For the moment, all I know is I have loads of homework, and not enough time in which to do it--not to mention compiling a budget request for the club I'm president of this year, sending in an evaluation of my recent Socials event, and writing a review of a local museum exhibit. So I "shouldn't" even be writing this post.
I keep getting distracted from everything, and definitely from writing this. I'm kind of at work right now. It's just answering phones--but someone's got to do it. And I just had a fifteen-minute conversation with a man who's trying to meet up with a friend, who is in class right now (???), for lunch, but she doesn't have a cell phone. So I guess he's just going to creep on her with the information I gave him? I hope I'm not being an enabler, or anything. I only gave him general University information...
Anyway.
Christine out.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Where Oh Where...
Could someone please tell me where the summer has run off to? I move back to school in just a week. The first half of summer goes by slowly, nicely, as if one were taking a leisurely stroll in a forest full of possibilities.
"Oh, I could actually finish that story I've been working on."
"Oh, I could finally make that collage of my semester abroad (which I bought the supplies for a whole year ago), to hang up in my room, complete with souvenirs and pictures and everything."
"Oh, I could probably work on and finish that oil painting of the isle Capri that I started three summers ago, I've got plenty of time for that!"
"Oh, I could definitely clean out my closet of all that crummy, trashable stuff at the bottom and maximize on space in my room."
"Oh, I could read Madame Bovary. I could read I, Claudius. I could read Dracula. I could read A Tale of Two Cities. I could read Ulysses. I could read The Name of the Rose. I could read The Brothers Karamazov. I can choose the novel for my senior project!!"
And so on, and so forth.
I've done parts of some of these things. I've done none of the rest of these things. Started Madame Bovary, finished This Side of Paradise, which wasn't on the list. Read a plethora of Meg Cabot books, and they're quite fun, but academically speaking a 'waste of time.' Worked on my stories a bit, worked on my oil painting for a week in the beginning of the summer, then stopped.
I have a theory that the second half of the summer, let's say starting around July 15th, goes by much more quickly than the first half. You blink at that time and then it's time to go back to school. The theory is that the space-time continuum somehow speeds up in that month/month and a half.
Think about it. You know it's true.
Anyway. I have goals for the new academic year. One of them is to dress more professionally on a daily basis. Wearing khakis/slacks instead of jeans, wearing more of my skirts, different shoes than tennis shoes, nicer shirts without so much writing on them, or graphics, etc. We'll see how that goes.
Other goals are more vague. Some of them are personal, but most are professional. I should also have a goal to make dean's list again, since that only just happened for the first time last semester. But sometimes I feel like that was a fluke, given how distracted I was then. Of course, for once Latin wasn't dragging me down, but pulling me up.
It's going to be interesting not having a Latin class this year. Finally, after 7 years of studying it. It usually lowers my GPA...
Anyway. Since I said a couple days ago that I hadn't been writing, of course I wrote a bit later that evening. That's how it works, isn't it? Some of this one story (probably a novella, not a whole novel, the way it's turning out) wherein the main character tells a group of new friends about her various failed, would-be romances from the past five years. I take some situations from my real life to make up her stories, but I'm hoping to make it more exciting than what really happened, of course. Does anything quite so exciting ever happen in real life?--I'm starting to wonder.
My birthday's coming up. The 17th. I'm feeling rather old lately. Compared to what? I don't know. I'll be 22. The song "Countdown" by Phoenix comes to mind... "Do you remember when / 21 years was old?" As in, when you were a little kid, I'm interpreting that to mean. You've probably heard "Lisztomania" by Phoenix on the radio. They're a French band, did you know? They're pretty cool.
Anyway. I can't seem to shake the whole LAUD thing. I can't stop being a student...seeking purpose...much like I can't stop breathing. I guess it's part of me, the whole quest. It's a bit exhausting. I've been going through a different job possibility each day. Most recently, librarian assistant, greeting card writer, and (again) secretary/administrative assistant.
We shall see.
Christine out.
"Oh, I could actually finish that story I've been working on."
"Oh, I could finally make that collage of my semester abroad (which I bought the supplies for a whole year ago), to hang up in my room, complete with souvenirs and pictures and everything."
"Oh, I could probably work on and finish that oil painting of the isle Capri that I started three summers ago, I've got plenty of time for that!"
"Oh, I could definitely clean out my closet of all that crummy, trashable stuff at the bottom and maximize on space in my room."
"Oh, I could read Madame Bovary. I could read I, Claudius. I could read Dracula. I could read A Tale of Two Cities. I could read Ulysses. I could read The Name of the Rose. I could read The Brothers Karamazov. I can choose the novel for my senior project!!"
And so on, and so forth.
I've done parts of some of these things. I've done none of the rest of these things. Started Madame Bovary, finished This Side of Paradise, which wasn't on the list. Read a plethora of Meg Cabot books, and they're quite fun, but academically speaking a 'waste of time.' Worked on my stories a bit, worked on my oil painting for a week in the beginning of the summer, then stopped.
I have a theory that the second half of the summer, let's say starting around July 15th, goes by much more quickly than the first half. You blink at that time and then it's time to go back to school. The theory is that the space-time continuum somehow speeds up in that month/month and a half.
Think about it. You know it's true.
Anyway. I have goals for the new academic year. One of them is to dress more professionally on a daily basis. Wearing khakis/slacks instead of jeans, wearing more of my skirts, different shoes than tennis shoes, nicer shirts without so much writing on them, or graphics, etc. We'll see how that goes.
Other goals are more vague. Some of them are personal, but most are professional. I should also have a goal to make dean's list again, since that only just happened for the first time last semester. But sometimes I feel like that was a fluke, given how distracted I was then. Of course, for once Latin wasn't dragging me down, but pulling me up.
It's going to be interesting not having a Latin class this year. Finally, after 7 years of studying it. It usually lowers my GPA...
Anyway. Since I said a couple days ago that I hadn't been writing, of course I wrote a bit later that evening. That's how it works, isn't it? Some of this one story (probably a novella, not a whole novel, the way it's turning out) wherein the main character tells a group of new friends about her various failed, would-be romances from the past five years. I take some situations from my real life to make up her stories, but I'm hoping to make it more exciting than what really happened, of course. Does anything quite so exciting ever happen in real life?--I'm starting to wonder.
My birthday's coming up. The 17th. I'm feeling rather old lately. Compared to what? I don't know. I'll be 22. The song "Countdown" by Phoenix comes to mind... "Do you remember when / 21 years was old?" As in, when you were a little kid, I'm interpreting that to mean. You've probably heard "Lisztomania" by Phoenix on the radio. They're a French band, did you know? They're pretty cool.
Anyway. I can't seem to shake the whole LAUD thing. I can't stop being a student...seeking purpose...much like I can't stop breathing. I guess it's part of me, the whole quest. It's a bit exhausting. I've been going through a different job possibility each day. Most recently, librarian assistant, greeting card writer, and (again) secretary/administrative assistant.
We shall see.
Christine out.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Someone Who Finishes
http://www.timothyhallinan.com/writers.php
If you read that page, well, you'll understand the dismay I felt when I first read it. "A writer is someone who finishes."
It's a self-help website about how to finish that novel you've been working on. Or in my case, several. My stuff ranges from 30,000 words long (my Toni McGuire mystery; my fictional biography of sci-fi/fantasy nerd Timothy Goldwyn) down to 1,000-3,000 words long (a flashback, semi-nonfictitious story I'm writing; a story about a young British chap who travels around the US for a year), but I consider all of it to be, one day, eventually...finishable. I'm not sure if that word's in the OED, but I just made it up under my poetic license. I guess I do that often.
I haven't written more than a single paragraph for...weeks. Unless you count e-mails and chat conversations and notes to oneself and lists for packing and the store. Which I don't. The other day is when I wrote my measly 2-sentence paragraph from my fictional biography.
Out of context, the paragraph means nothing to anyone. And it was merely written because I felt I simply had to write a few lines after hearing Frank Sinatra's 'It Had to Be You.' I felt like I had to write a whole movie just so there could be a scene wherein that song could be featured.
Which I'll be the first to admit is ridiculous. But writers are allowed to be ridiculous. Right?
I'm so not a writer. It's pretty depressing how much I am not a writer. If I were a writer, I'd be making more time to write. If I were a writer, I'd be writing.
I suppose I'm writing this blog post. That doesn't count either, though.
I've been incredibly busy. I'm planning this Greek Fest party at my university. It has the promise of being epic, if I can get everything in order efficiently. I'm helping with new student orientation. That's going to be an insane few days. I need to talk to the other Swing officers, about our first meeting of the year. Being president is going to be insane as well. Of course. Not to mention being student coordinator of telecommunications...
Life is too busy. I didn't even say anything to the effect of my home life. It's busy, too. And I'm trying to finalize my living situation when I go back to school. Thankfully I figured that out mostly on Monday. Still, I really hate unknowns. They freak me out more than anything.
I'm being boring, aren't I? That's too bad. I haven't posted in forever, so I was hoping to be interesting this time around.
I've been debating whether or not to post parts of my stories on here. I always get afraid that some creep is going to happen upon my blog and proceed to steal what I've written. And then I can never publish it. The aim I would have in posting anything would be to get some general feedback. Do I need to keep going the way I'm going? Or do a complete re-write? Recently I came to the horribly shocking realization that writing 'is' re-writing. I hope I can do that. We'll see. Maybe?
I don't know what else to say. I'm done with my summer job. I hope I never have to work there ever again. I can't take it, honestly...
In other news, finally got a credit card company to give me a card, despite my apparently low credit score. I detest the fact that you have a credit score even before you start using an actual credit card.
Let's play out to Frank, shall we? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ipJ2P8duaY
Christine out.
If you read that page, well, you'll understand the dismay I felt when I first read it. "A writer is someone who finishes."
It's a self-help website about how to finish that novel you've been working on. Or in my case, several. My stuff ranges from 30,000 words long (my Toni McGuire mystery; my fictional biography of sci-fi/fantasy nerd Timothy Goldwyn) down to 1,000-3,000 words long (a flashback, semi-nonfictitious story I'm writing; a story about a young British chap who travels around the US for a year), but I consider all of it to be, one day, eventually...finishable. I'm not sure if that word's in the OED, but I just made it up under my poetic license. I guess I do that often.
I haven't written more than a single paragraph for...weeks. Unless you count e-mails and chat conversations and notes to oneself and lists for packing and the store. Which I don't. The other day is when I wrote my measly 2-sentence paragraph from my fictional biography.
Out of context, the paragraph means nothing to anyone. And it was merely written because I felt I simply had to write a few lines after hearing Frank Sinatra's 'It Had to Be You.' I felt like I had to write a whole movie just so there could be a scene wherein that song could be featured.
Which I'll be the first to admit is ridiculous. But writers are allowed to be ridiculous. Right?
I'm so not a writer. It's pretty depressing how much I am not a writer. If I were a writer, I'd be making more time to write. If I were a writer, I'd be writing.
I suppose I'm writing this blog post. That doesn't count either, though.
I've been incredibly busy. I'm planning this Greek Fest party at my university. It has the promise of being epic, if I can get everything in order efficiently. I'm helping with new student orientation. That's going to be an insane few days. I need to talk to the other Swing officers, about our first meeting of the year. Being president is going to be insane as well. Of course. Not to mention being student coordinator of telecommunications...
Life is too busy. I didn't even say anything to the effect of my home life. It's busy, too. And I'm trying to finalize my living situation when I go back to school. Thankfully I figured that out mostly on Monday. Still, I really hate unknowns. They freak me out more than anything.
I'm being boring, aren't I? That's too bad. I haven't posted in forever, so I was hoping to be interesting this time around.
I've been debating whether or not to post parts of my stories on here. I always get afraid that some creep is going to happen upon my blog and proceed to steal what I've written. And then I can never publish it. The aim I would have in posting anything would be to get some general feedback. Do I need to keep going the way I'm going? Or do a complete re-write? Recently I came to the horribly shocking realization that writing 'is' re-writing. I hope I can do that. We'll see. Maybe?
I don't know what else to say. I'm done with my summer job. I hope I never have to work there ever again. I can't take it, honestly...
In other news, finally got a credit card company to give me a card, despite my apparently low credit score. I detest the fact that you have a credit score even before you start using an actual credit card.
Let's play out to Frank, shall we? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ipJ2P8duaY
Christine out.
Monday, July 18, 2011
YYYYAAAAAWWWWP!
"I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world." - Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass
You probably remember that inspiring scene from Dead Poets Society.
I kind of want to yawp like Todd Anderson was finally able to, but I guess that would scare my family, not to mention the rest of my neighborhood, half to death. So I'm settling for a virtual 'YAWP' today. Though it won't be nearly as gratifying as an actual one would.
I just got home a little while ago after a 9+ hour day at work. The truck comes in on Monday morning at 6am, so we have to stock till we drop. On the fourth of July, no one was allowed to go home until the entire store had been stocked up.
Anyway, today is the most stock I've ever done, at least by myself. I did almost the whole Unspeakable Aisle by my lonesome, with a bit of help from a male coworker, who was a good sport about it, and probably did a lot more than me today, so I have no place complaining.
I started out the day feeling a bit unwell (though somehow I kept up my 4-weeks-old tradition of Taco Bell Mondays for lunch), and before I got off I was stocking the strong-smelling shampoos and conditioners, so now I have a headache. It was hard to keep myself awake driving home, especially also since the sky is actually overcast in Austin right now. WHY WON'T IT RAIN? We've been in a constant drought all summer long.
There are quite a few reasons to YAWP today. And just in general.
1. Stocking
2. Headache
3. The drought
4. The e-mail I just got when I got home
5. Yesterday at JCPenney's
6. The false alarm
7. Awkward encounters of the other kind (not the third; I mean a gent, if you could call him that)
8. The ongoing search of the student for purpose
9. People on the road in cars who shouldn't be driving
10. The horrid state of the order of my room (or, the chaos that is my room) which I just can't seem to clear up
1, 2, and 3 have been explained already. YAWP.
9 and 10 are self-explanatory, I think. YAWP.
4. I can't say much about my e-mail for fear of offending anyone involved, though I am only really mad at myself for lack of creativity and for waiting so long to figure things out. I'm mad at myself and the situation, not anyone else but me. Basically I had what I thought was a great idea for an event, but it won't be possible for a few reasons. So now I need a new one. And my head hurts so much, and I'm working at 7am tomorrow. I do NOT have the capacity to troubleshoot this problem right now. YAWP.
5. Oh my God, so yesterday I drove to the mall to get a few important things for my roommate's and my off-campus apartment (which we'll move into in about a month). Went to JCP because they're having a Home Dept sale the 17-19th. (I recommend going! Though hopefully you won't have an experience similar to mine.) Picked up a 16-pc non-stick pots/pans set, went over to the checkout, and was the second person in line.
One of the two cashiers was just bagging stuff for someone who had already paid, but had Disappeared, and I was quite confused. This other lady who Hadn't Been in Line, but apparently felt she had been waiting as long as or longer than me, went to that cashier when she was done. The woman took ten minutes to checkout. The other cashier was dealing with a Problem customer who was insisting that she owned a JCP charge card when it was quite obvious she didn't (I know these people, and loathe them)--the whole time I was waiting, mind you.
Eventually, about ten minutes into my wait-time, I had to put down the box of pots (my arms are still sore from that today). Then I instantly (of course, because that's how the universe works) had to pick them up again, because Hadn't Been in Line just finished checking out. I was making my move to the cash register when another lady, whom I later realized was the customer who had Disappeared, just walks up to the free cashier and the cashier asks if she's ready. My jaw drops, and I set down my pot-set rather harshly. The other cashier is still dealing with the Problem customer, and I feared there was no hope I'd ever get home on time to the communal birthday party we were having for four family members that afternoon. Disappeared took just as long to check out as Hadn't Been in Line. Finally I got to check out, and the cashier didn't apologize for Disappeared taking my spot in line, as I would have, had it been me cashiering (it happens all the time where I work, but I guess the world isn't full of apologetic people like me...). But whatever. Then, at the end of my transaction, Disappeared reappears! From behind a pillow display tower! With a third round of things to buy! I high-tailed it out of there, dismissing the cashier's weak offer of sending the pots upstairs, because, honestly, then I would have had to wait for THAT, too. YAWP, indeed!
6. So I thought my alarm went off this morning, and I'm not quite sure why I thought so. Anyway, go to my bathroom to get ready for work, and get as far as washing my face, when I glance at the bathroom clock. 2:25am. I curse under my breath. I check all the other clocks in my room. Yep. 2:25am and I thought it had been 6:30am. No wonder I felt as if I hadn't gotten enough sleep. Of course, I ended up not getting enough sleep, still. I never get enough sleep. YAWP.
7. About two weeks into my summer job, the first time I was working until 11pm (you get a little loopy working that late, in my experience), around 10:15pm this Scruffy-looking guy comes into the store, reeking of cigarette smoke, and wants to buy a pack of Camel Blues, or Camel Lights, as they used to call them until recently. He looks older than he actually is (from the smoking I guess), so instead of asking him for his I.D. I just asked for his birthday, though I usually just make them up (because we have to put them in the system and I get tired of making them up...I end up making most people's birthdays in 1970...that's nice to some, mean to others...but they don't have to know). He was actually an 89er like me, and I told him that I was. I'm nice to all my customers, so I must have smiled at him before sending him on his way.
Scruffy comes back in about ten minutes later, when I don't have any customers. He says, "Well, so, I just knew I'd be kicking myself if I didn't at least ask, do you have a boyfriend? Because, you're just really nice and you have a beautiful speaking voice."
So Scruffy wanted to go out with me. Meep. Not that I would know from experience, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like dating a cigarette smoker. Especially one so dependent on them. I told him I was flattered.
But I lied and said, "Why, yes, I do have a boyfriend, actually. Sorry." Hey, he gave me the opportunity to say if I did, by asking. Otherwise, had he just asked me out, point-blank, I don't know what I would have said. Let's just say it probably wouldn't have been so kind and gentle a way of letting someone down.
Anyway, he came in again the other day, and I realized by his outfit that he waited tables at the nearby pizzeria. Awkward. He came to me and asked for Camel Blues again. Awkward. I pretended like I didn't remember him. Cowardly, but saved myself from more awkwardness. Anyway. YAWP.
8. More of the same, if you've read my first post, 'Grand Realization.' But even more-so than the same. Thought seriously about law school, for a day (as in, must not have been that seriously...guess I'll just leave that field to my friend James, who's way better at it than I'd ever hope to be). Thought about being an assistant librarian, this weekend. Nixed it when I found out you actually need a background in library sciences to be one. So I'd have to go to school some more for that, too. Thinking now about being an administrative assistant. Or a receptionist. Are those the same thing nowadays? I feel as if I keep hearing about them interchangeably. Anyway. Still want to be an author. That's not going to change. Of course, now I heard that "A writer is someone who finishes." More on that another time...but very disheartening. YAWP.
And here we are. Since I won't be expounding on 9 and 10. But I already said that.
I kind of want to quit my job, but that wouldn't be very economical of me. I'm pretty stressed out lately. I'd list the things that are getting me down, but I've YAWP'd enough about all that other stuff.
Note: I am a generally happy person. I promise. I just have my limits, and one of the purposes of this blog is to let it out when those limits have been reached.
Anyway.
Christine out.
PS: How great was that Harry Potter movie?? Right?! (That was a rhetorical statement.)
You probably remember that inspiring scene from Dead Poets Society.
I kind of want to yawp like Todd Anderson was finally able to, but I guess that would scare my family, not to mention the rest of my neighborhood, half to death. So I'm settling for a virtual 'YAWP' today. Though it won't be nearly as gratifying as an actual one would.
I just got home a little while ago after a 9+ hour day at work. The truck comes in on Monday morning at 6am, so we have to stock till we drop. On the fourth of July, no one was allowed to go home until the entire store had been stocked up.
Anyway, today is the most stock I've ever done, at least by myself. I did almost the whole Unspeakable Aisle by my lonesome, with a bit of help from a male coworker, who was a good sport about it, and probably did a lot more than me today, so I have no place complaining.
I started out the day feeling a bit unwell (though somehow I kept up my 4-weeks-old tradition of Taco Bell Mondays for lunch), and before I got off I was stocking the strong-smelling shampoos and conditioners, so now I have a headache. It was hard to keep myself awake driving home, especially also since the sky is actually overcast in Austin right now. WHY WON'T IT RAIN? We've been in a constant drought all summer long.
There are quite a few reasons to YAWP today. And just in general.
1. Stocking
2. Headache
3. The drought
4. The e-mail I just got when I got home
5. Yesterday at JCPenney's
6. The false alarm
7. Awkward encounters of the other kind (not the third; I mean a gent, if you could call him that)
8. The ongoing search of the student for purpose
9. People on the road in cars who shouldn't be driving
10. The horrid state of the order of my room (or, the chaos that is my room) which I just can't seem to clear up
1, 2, and 3 have been explained already. YAWP.
9 and 10 are self-explanatory, I think. YAWP.
4. I can't say much about my e-mail for fear of offending anyone involved, though I am only really mad at myself for lack of creativity and for waiting so long to figure things out. I'm mad at myself and the situation, not anyone else but me. Basically I had what I thought was a great idea for an event, but it won't be possible for a few reasons. So now I need a new one. And my head hurts so much, and I'm working at 7am tomorrow. I do NOT have the capacity to troubleshoot this problem right now. YAWP.
5. Oh my God, so yesterday I drove to the mall to get a few important things for my roommate's and my off-campus apartment (which we'll move into in about a month). Went to JCP because they're having a Home Dept sale the 17-19th. (I recommend going! Though hopefully you won't have an experience similar to mine.) Picked up a 16-pc non-stick pots/pans set, went over to the checkout, and was the second person in line.
One of the two cashiers was just bagging stuff for someone who had already paid, but had Disappeared, and I was quite confused. This other lady who Hadn't Been in Line, but apparently felt she had been waiting as long as or longer than me, went to that cashier when she was done. The woman took ten minutes to checkout. The other cashier was dealing with a Problem customer who was insisting that she owned a JCP charge card when it was quite obvious she didn't (I know these people, and loathe them)--the whole time I was waiting, mind you.
Eventually, about ten minutes into my wait-time, I had to put down the box of pots (my arms are still sore from that today). Then I instantly (of course, because that's how the universe works) had to pick them up again, because Hadn't Been in Line just finished checking out. I was making my move to the cash register when another lady, whom I later realized was the customer who had Disappeared, just walks up to the free cashier and the cashier asks if she's ready. My jaw drops, and I set down my pot-set rather harshly. The other cashier is still dealing with the Problem customer, and I feared there was no hope I'd ever get home on time to the communal birthday party we were having for four family members that afternoon. Disappeared took just as long to check out as Hadn't Been in Line. Finally I got to check out, and the cashier didn't apologize for Disappeared taking my spot in line, as I would have, had it been me cashiering (it happens all the time where I work, but I guess the world isn't full of apologetic people like me...). But whatever. Then, at the end of my transaction, Disappeared reappears! From behind a pillow display tower! With a third round of things to buy! I high-tailed it out of there, dismissing the cashier's weak offer of sending the pots upstairs, because, honestly, then I would have had to wait for THAT, too. YAWP, indeed!
6. So I thought my alarm went off this morning, and I'm not quite sure why I thought so. Anyway, go to my bathroom to get ready for work, and get as far as washing my face, when I glance at the bathroom clock. 2:25am. I curse under my breath. I check all the other clocks in my room. Yep. 2:25am and I thought it had been 6:30am. No wonder I felt as if I hadn't gotten enough sleep. Of course, I ended up not getting enough sleep, still. I never get enough sleep. YAWP.
7. About two weeks into my summer job, the first time I was working until 11pm (you get a little loopy working that late, in my experience), around 10:15pm this Scruffy-looking guy comes into the store, reeking of cigarette smoke, and wants to buy a pack of Camel Blues, or Camel Lights, as they used to call them until recently. He looks older than he actually is (from the smoking I guess), so instead of asking him for his I.D. I just asked for his birthday, though I usually just make them up (because we have to put them in the system and I get tired of making them up...I end up making most people's birthdays in 1970...that's nice to some, mean to others...but they don't have to know). He was actually an 89er like me, and I told him that I was. I'm nice to all my customers, so I must have smiled at him before sending him on his way.
Scruffy comes back in about ten minutes later, when I don't have any customers. He says, "Well, so, I just knew I'd be kicking myself if I didn't at least ask, do you have a boyfriend? Because, you're just really nice and you have a beautiful speaking voice."
So Scruffy wanted to go out with me. Meep. Not that I would know from experience, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like dating a cigarette smoker. Especially one so dependent on them. I told him I was flattered.
But I lied and said, "Why, yes, I do have a boyfriend, actually. Sorry." Hey, he gave me the opportunity to say if I did, by asking. Otherwise, had he just asked me out, point-blank, I don't know what I would have said. Let's just say it probably wouldn't have been so kind and gentle a way of letting someone down.
Anyway, he came in again the other day, and I realized by his outfit that he waited tables at the nearby pizzeria. Awkward. He came to me and asked for Camel Blues again. Awkward. I pretended like I didn't remember him. Cowardly, but saved myself from more awkwardness. Anyway. YAWP.
8. More of the same, if you've read my first post, 'Grand Realization.' But even more-so than the same. Thought seriously about law school, for a day (as in, must not have been that seriously...guess I'll just leave that field to my friend James, who's way better at it than I'd ever hope to be). Thought about being an assistant librarian, this weekend. Nixed it when I found out you actually need a background in library sciences to be one. So I'd have to go to school some more for that, too. Thinking now about being an administrative assistant. Or a receptionist. Are those the same thing nowadays? I feel as if I keep hearing about them interchangeably. Anyway. Still want to be an author. That's not going to change. Of course, now I heard that "A writer is someone who finishes." More on that another time...but very disheartening. YAWP.
And here we are. Since I won't be expounding on 9 and 10. But I already said that.
I kind of want to quit my job, but that wouldn't be very economical of me. I'm pretty stressed out lately. I'd list the things that are getting me down, but I've YAWP'd enough about all that other stuff.
Note: I am a generally happy person. I promise. I just have my limits, and one of the purposes of this blog is to let it out when those limits have been reached.
Anyway.
Christine out.
PS: How great was that Harry Potter movie?? Right?! (That was a rhetorical statement.)
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Bad Days > Good Days?
Why is it that telling stories about bad days is infinitely more interesting than telling stories about good days?
Maybe because it makes us feel better to treat the bad stuff lightly, later, as a sort of joke.
Okay, I thought I was going somewhere with that. The real reason I decided to post again was because I realized I hadn't posted for almost a week.
I just cleaned out all the drawers in my dresser, in hopes of eliminating all the clothes I no longer wear. It was actually a lot to give away, and my motivation behind doing so was selfish. I want new clothes! Is that wrong?
Yeah, kind of. But at least I'm being honest about it?
Perhaps that fails to redeem me. Oh, well.
I went to Half Price Books for the first time yesterday. I already want to go back. Unfortunately, the reason for my visit was school-related, so I could see if they had the correct editions of my books for class. They had one, Travesties by Tom Stoppard, which is in fact a play. It's all right, most of my books are going to be brand new from Amazon, and I can't resist that new-book smell. Two of them came in already, and I just want to read them because they're gorgeous.
That could possibly be almost as bad as judging a book as bad from its cover. What I'm doing is, essentially, judging books by their covers, but just that they will be amazing, instead of horrible or boring.
I was looking for a French textbook on a low shelf in the Languages section at the store, and I couldn't find it, so I stood up. And what stood me in the face, but for the Writing/Getting Published section. Four solid shelves of self-help books pertaining to what I've been thinking about so often these days.
And I went a bit spastic, going through all the titles and not knowing which one to choose (because of course upon finding the section I knew I must buy one of them, as long as it was under four dollars).
Then I saw the book Sparknotes put out on writing short stories (and I have, actually, finished three short stories and begun more since), and it was $3.98, so I went for it.
And it hasn't been very helpful. I've skimmed it, and handed it off to my sister Sarah (aka Food Nut, on blogspot), who will benefit from it, she says.
I went to Barnes & Noble later in the day, after bringing my other sister to her piano lesson. Saw the new Meg Cabot book, and it took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to purchase it. I don't understand the kind of power that woman's writing has over me, she's not nearly the crème de la crème of the writers in contemporary literature!
Sigh. What else?
I can't seem to stop writing lately. Great, now that I said that, I'm sure I've jinxed myself. Awesome. But yesterday I managed to write about a thousand words in one sitting, which is better than I usually do.
I keep getting so distracted while I'm writing this post, gosh.
In other news, I don't know what kind of job I'll be getting in LAUD, but I hope to God I'll be able to pay off my student loans at a good clip. Just thinking of that since I had to get this year's financial aid sorted out recently.
Is a day 'bad' if you're just kind of bored? Or full of ennui? Ennui is a type of boredom, but an extreme kind. The French kind. Okay, now I'm just being silly. This isn't an interesting post at all.
I think I'll just blame the 97-degree heat (I feel as if it's hotter than that, though), and the fact that I have to wake up at 5:30am tomorrow, for my ennui and general discontent, and call this lamest-post-ever a wrap.
Christine out.
PS: Keep hearing this song on the radio, and I kind of like it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YuSg4mts9E It's a bit haunting.
Maybe because it makes us feel better to treat the bad stuff lightly, later, as a sort of joke.
Okay, I thought I was going somewhere with that. The real reason I decided to post again was because I realized I hadn't posted for almost a week.
I just cleaned out all the drawers in my dresser, in hopes of eliminating all the clothes I no longer wear. It was actually a lot to give away, and my motivation behind doing so was selfish. I want new clothes! Is that wrong?
Yeah, kind of. But at least I'm being honest about it?
Perhaps that fails to redeem me. Oh, well.
I went to Half Price Books for the first time yesterday. I already want to go back. Unfortunately, the reason for my visit was school-related, so I could see if they had the correct editions of my books for class. They had one, Travesties by Tom Stoppard, which is in fact a play. It's all right, most of my books are going to be brand new from Amazon, and I can't resist that new-book smell. Two of them came in already, and I just want to read them because they're gorgeous.
That could possibly be almost as bad as judging a book as bad from its cover. What I'm doing is, essentially, judging books by their covers, but just that they will be amazing, instead of horrible or boring.
I was looking for a French textbook on a low shelf in the Languages section at the store, and I couldn't find it, so I stood up. And what stood me in the face, but for the Writing/Getting Published section. Four solid shelves of self-help books pertaining to what I've been thinking about so often these days.
And I went a bit spastic, going through all the titles and not knowing which one to choose (because of course upon finding the section I knew I must buy one of them, as long as it was under four dollars).
Then I saw the book Sparknotes put out on writing short stories (and I have, actually, finished three short stories and begun more since), and it was $3.98, so I went for it.
And it hasn't been very helpful. I've skimmed it, and handed it off to my sister Sarah (aka Food Nut, on blogspot), who will benefit from it, she says.
I went to Barnes & Noble later in the day, after bringing my other sister to her piano lesson. Saw the new Meg Cabot book, and it took every ounce of self-restraint I had not to purchase it. I don't understand the kind of power that woman's writing has over me, she's not nearly the crème de la crème of the writers in contemporary literature!
Sigh. What else?
I can't seem to stop writing lately. Great, now that I said that, I'm sure I've jinxed myself. Awesome. But yesterday I managed to write about a thousand words in one sitting, which is better than I usually do.
I keep getting so distracted while I'm writing this post, gosh.
In other news, I don't know what kind of job I'll be getting in LAUD, but I hope to God I'll be able to pay off my student loans at a good clip. Just thinking of that since I had to get this year's financial aid sorted out recently.
Is a day 'bad' if you're just kind of bored? Or full of ennui? Ennui is a type of boredom, but an extreme kind. The French kind. Okay, now I'm just being silly. This isn't an interesting post at all.
I think I'll just blame the 97-degree heat (I feel as if it's hotter than that, though), and the fact that I have to wake up at 5:30am tomorrow, for my ennui and general discontent, and call this lamest-post-ever a wrap.
Christine out.
PS: Keep hearing this song on the radio, and I kind of like it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YuSg4mts9E It's a bit haunting.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Novel Seeking Ending
It's one of my days off. I love these days. I feel as if I have all the time in the world to spend on absolutely nothing.
If only that were true. Hey, even future bestselling authors (I'm not conceited, I'm just hopeful) are told by their fathers that they have to clean their rooms. Heck, especially future bestselling authors. We're a disorganized bunch, aren't we?
Anyway. As you can tell, I'm procrastinating from all the cleaning I ought to be doing.
Just got back from errands for Mom. And potentially a secret mission for my dad and my sister Emily's birthday next week. They actually have the same birthday. There's a lot of that in my family. I was almost born on my grandpa's birthday, and my cousin was almost born on my uncle's birthday.
Damn, I wish I had something more interesting to say. This is all just talk. No less, and certainly no more.
Lately I've been writing a novel. Well, two. Well, more like five or six, I just can't seem to stick to anything.
Mainly I'm working on the mystery novel I started when I was a sophomore/junior in high school. One of those stories I began in the summer. Anyway, I was looking at patching up the bits of it I've actually written (about 29,000 words altogether; I tend to write entire scenes at once, but not necessarily in order--I write whatever comes to me at the moment, so first maybe I write a climactic scene and then I go back and work on the status quo of the main character--I'm insanely out of order when I'm inspired).
And then, like a bolt out of the blue, the storyline of its sequel hit me. Just, hit me. It's all I could think about for a few hours, and I wrote bits and pieces of it, and now I'm inclined to believe this sequel is quite possibly going to be better, more interesting, and easier to write. More will be at stake. So actually it's brilliant.
One problem. Because there has to be a problem, if the idea seems so wonderful. A big problem, actually.
I have to finish writing the original story first. That doesn't seem so bad, does it? I mean, patch it up, write up the scenes that are missing, edit it and re-write the parts that need work, get an agent, have them find a publisher who'll take it, see if it's successful. Then maybe a sequel.
Okay, no, that's not at all how I work! I've already started the sequel, of course! Because I can't help myself, and I can never leave well enough alone. That's me. I meddle even with my own stuff.
One might ask if I could make the sequel the first one, somehow, but so much of what happens in the first novel, which is not entirely exciting, is necessary to the understanding of the proposed sequel.
God, I'm confusing myself.
Anyway. I'm one of those insomniatic writers. I don't achieve full inspiration until about 12:30am. And then it's time for bed.
Well, take care, you reader you. May you not be plagued with these anxious thoughts and imaginations.*
Christine out.
* Sort of a quote -- but not really -- from St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of writers. Also, my Confirmation saint. Even though he's a man and I'm not.
If only that were true. Hey, even future bestselling authors (I'm not conceited, I'm just hopeful) are told by their fathers that they have to clean their rooms. Heck, especially future bestselling authors. We're a disorganized bunch, aren't we?
Anyway. As you can tell, I'm procrastinating from all the cleaning I ought to be doing.
Just got back from errands for Mom. And potentially a secret mission for my dad and my sister Emily's birthday next week. They actually have the same birthday. There's a lot of that in my family. I was almost born on my grandpa's birthday, and my cousin was almost born on my uncle's birthday.
Damn, I wish I had something more interesting to say. This is all just talk. No less, and certainly no more.
Lately I've been writing a novel. Well, two. Well, more like five or six, I just can't seem to stick to anything.
Mainly I'm working on the mystery novel I started when I was a sophomore/junior in high school. One of those stories I began in the summer. Anyway, I was looking at patching up the bits of it I've actually written (about 29,000 words altogether; I tend to write entire scenes at once, but not necessarily in order--I write whatever comes to me at the moment, so first maybe I write a climactic scene and then I go back and work on the status quo of the main character--I'm insanely out of order when I'm inspired).
And then, like a bolt out of the blue, the storyline of its sequel hit me. Just, hit me. It's all I could think about for a few hours, and I wrote bits and pieces of it, and now I'm inclined to believe this sequel is quite possibly going to be better, more interesting, and easier to write. More will be at stake. So actually it's brilliant.
One problem. Because there has to be a problem, if the idea seems so wonderful. A big problem, actually.
I have to finish writing the original story first. That doesn't seem so bad, does it? I mean, patch it up, write up the scenes that are missing, edit it and re-write the parts that need work, get an agent, have them find a publisher who'll take it, see if it's successful. Then maybe a sequel.
Okay, no, that's not at all how I work! I've already started the sequel, of course! Because I can't help myself, and I can never leave well enough alone. That's me. I meddle even with my own stuff.
One might ask if I could make the sequel the first one, somehow, but so much of what happens in the first novel, which is not entirely exciting, is necessary to the understanding of the proposed sequel.
God, I'm confusing myself.
Anyway. I'm one of those insomniatic writers. I don't achieve full inspiration until about 12:30am. And then it's time for bed.
Well, take care, you reader you. May you not be plagued with these anxious thoughts and imaginations.*
Christine out.
* Sort of a quote -- but not really -- from St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of writers. Also, my Confirmation saint. Even though he's a man and I'm not.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Grand Realization
So I'm a noob. To this blogging thing, anyway. All right, that's a lie. I used to blog on Xanga years ago with my misadventures in baby-sitting, but then I quit my gig and therefore didn't need to vent about the horrible woman I was working for any longer.
Anyway. I tend to say 'anyway' a lot. I hope that won't be a problem. Or distracting. Of course now that I said something about it, that's going to be distracting.
Anyway. Today I was talking with my dear friend Allie about LAUD (my own shortened form of 'Life After UD'--life after college). LAUD is coming up, and much too fast. I'm going to be a senior this coming year, and I'm terrified about my prospects as far as the 'after-life' of college goes.
It seems that half the people we know at school (Allie included) are taking the GRE this summer, fully intent on going to graduate school right after we, well, graduate.
I found myself in a similar state a few weeks ago. I was PMSing like crazy, got super depressed, and was on my way to the mall for retail therapy (okay, just buying a pair of requisite khaki pants for my CVS uniform) when I accidentally missed the turn-lane to merge onto the correct highway. I happened upon (well, I knew it was there, truth be told) a Barnes and Noble. I parked, went in, and made a beeline for the testing books section. Before I scarcely knew what I was doing, I had gotten to the front registers and was purchasing the Princeton Review's guide to the new 2012 GRE. For a stint, that made me feel better. As if, that were my grand purpose, you know? My plan. A plan.
Went to the mall, tried on about twenty pairs of pants until I found a viable option for work, and looked at myself in the dressing room mirror. I seriously didn't know that girl in the mirror, with the bags under her eyes, and the gross-looking hair (if there's one physical feature I'll claim any worthiness to it's my hair. It's a naturally-straight smattering of gold, red, and brown strands, and I've never done anything to it--usually it behaves with conditioner and I'll have a decent hair day), and the flushed cheeks.
God, I can't tell a story without never-ending tangents.
Basically, I looked like a wet dog. It was disgusting. So, feeling sorry for myself, I indulged at the Steak and Shake in the food court. Felt kind of pathetic, just hanging around the mall by my lonesome...it's not fun to go there yourself, really, even though in theory it seems it would be.
I got home in about an hour and announced my GRE book purchase to my parents. They were a bit surprised, if I recall correctly, and wondered, 'well, what are you going to do if you go to grad school? Do you really want to go? Or is it just a way to put off deciding, because you're going to have to have a pretty good reason to go to school more?'
Fair enough, of course.
I practically broke down. I just didn't have an answer, and it had been bothering me for so long, that I didn't have an answer (and still don't). So Dad sat me down and helped me list my options. I don't want to teach anymore, so that limited the list. The list pretty much consists of technical writing, editing, and...oh wait, that's it.
For a couple months now I've been saying, 'oh, yeah, I want to go into publishing' when people ask. And everyone asks. I'm going into my last year of school, for crying out loud. I just wanted to PICK something, you know? And yeah, I kind of like editing. Enough to make it my career? Sure.
So it's not what I want. What I 'want' isn't something you can simply say you're going to go out and do. It's one of those things you just have to be practical about, what you're going to pursue. You have to aspire to an attainable goal, don't you?
I've always thought so. Ever since my grandpa had my dad show me Parade magazine's annual income issue, wherein they give examples of different salaries for different people in different occupations in different parts of the country. And see who makes what. It was a way of showing me that what I want to do is impractical, so I have to go to school and learn to do something else. Well, I didn't necessarily do that. I learned to do what I want to do, and while this blog post may not be a great example of what I can do...
I want to write. Desperately. And I don't just want to write. I do write, a lot. I've written enough to fill volumes. Fiction, mostly. I haven't finished a novel yet, but I've halfway finished a few different ones.
And I need to write. I need it sometimes like I need oxygen. I am aware of the sheer corny nature of that statement, but its corniness (poetic license much?) doesn't make it any less true.
Anyway.
Christine out.
PS: Well, there you go, Allie.
Anyway. I tend to say 'anyway' a lot. I hope that won't be a problem. Or distracting. Of course now that I said something about it, that's going to be distracting.
Anyway. Today I was talking with my dear friend Allie about LAUD (my own shortened form of 'Life After UD'--life after college). LAUD is coming up, and much too fast. I'm going to be a senior this coming year, and I'm terrified about my prospects as far as the 'after-life' of college goes.
It seems that half the people we know at school (Allie included) are taking the GRE this summer, fully intent on going to graduate school right after we, well, graduate.
I found myself in a similar state a few weeks ago. I was PMSing like crazy, got super depressed, and was on my way to the mall for retail therapy (okay, just buying a pair of requisite khaki pants for my CVS uniform) when I accidentally missed the turn-lane to merge onto the correct highway. I happened upon (well, I knew it was there, truth be told) a Barnes and Noble. I parked, went in, and made a beeline for the testing books section. Before I scarcely knew what I was doing, I had gotten to the front registers and was purchasing the Princeton Review's guide to the new 2012 GRE. For a stint, that made me feel better. As if, that were my grand purpose, you know? My plan. A plan.
Went to the mall, tried on about twenty pairs of pants until I found a viable option for work, and looked at myself in the dressing room mirror. I seriously didn't know that girl in the mirror, with the bags under her eyes, and the gross-looking hair (if there's one physical feature I'll claim any worthiness to it's my hair. It's a naturally-straight smattering of gold, red, and brown strands, and I've never done anything to it--usually it behaves with conditioner and I'll have a decent hair day), and the flushed cheeks.
God, I can't tell a story without never-ending tangents.
Basically, I looked like a wet dog. It was disgusting. So, feeling sorry for myself, I indulged at the Steak and Shake in the food court. Felt kind of pathetic, just hanging around the mall by my lonesome...it's not fun to go there yourself, really, even though in theory it seems it would be.
I got home in about an hour and announced my GRE book purchase to my parents. They were a bit surprised, if I recall correctly, and wondered, 'well, what are you going to do if you go to grad school? Do you really want to go? Or is it just a way to put off deciding, because you're going to have to have a pretty good reason to go to school more?'
Fair enough, of course.
I practically broke down. I just didn't have an answer, and it had been bothering me for so long, that I didn't have an answer (and still don't). So Dad sat me down and helped me list my options. I don't want to teach anymore, so that limited the list. The list pretty much consists of technical writing, editing, and...oh wait, that's it.
For a couple months now I've been saying, 'oh, yeah, I want to go into publishing' when people ask. And everyone asks. I'm going into my last year of school, for crying out loud. I just wanted to PICK something, you know? And yeah, I kind of like editing. Enough to make it my career? Sure.
So it's not what I want. What I 'want' isn't something you can simply say you're going to go out and do. It's one of those things you just have to be practical about, what you're going to pursue. You have to aspire to an attainable goal, don't you?
I've always thought so. Ever since my grandpa had my dad show me Parade magazine's annual income issue, wherein they give examples of different salaries for different people in different occupations in different parts of the country. And see who makes what. It was a way of showing me that what I want to do is impractical, so I have to go to school and learn to do something else. Well, I didn't necessarily do that. I learned to do what I want to do, and while this blog post may not be a great example of what I can do...
I want to write. Desperately. And I don't just want to write. I do write, a lot. I've written enough to fill volumes. Fiction, mostly. I haven't finished a novel yet, but I've halfway finished a few different ones.
And I need to write. I need it sometimes like I need oxygen. I am aware of the sheer corny nature of that statement, but its corniness (poetic license much?) doesn't make it any less true.
Anyway.
Christine out.
PS: Well, there you go, Allie.
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