Tag Archives: growing up

Hire me, even if I'm not shy on the internet

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16

I’m still trying to figure out this whole keeping work and play separate on the internet thing. In real life, I don’t have to tell my coworkers anything. But online? They can Google me and every. little. thing. ever. pops up. Suddenly I’m self-conscious about every swear used on my blog and wondering if they think I’m crazy since I run a pen pal project for people with depression. I put myself on display, but when am I going to get bit in the ass about it?

Because it’s gonna happen. And I don’t know what I’ll do when it does.

So I’ve been ignoring the possibility that I could lose a client because of Twitter sarcasm about having a bad day, or that someone could stumble upon my blogs about depression and suicide and cutting and fire me dead because that’s shit that people just aren’t comfortable with. I know who I am. I’m a person who’s got a lot to say and doesn’t want to censor anything. I want to tell the truth about the things I experience, see, think, and feel because if I don’t, who the hell else is going to? I want to talk straight up about my past and muse about my future. I know I have a hell of a lot of potential, and I know what I want to do with my life. But the what ifs of being this OUT THERE and HONEST are terrifying.

The people who know me love me because they know me. The people who don’t already know me and may want to hire me aren’t going to love me. They’re going to be looking for any reason not to hire me, because that’s what people do. Especially now that I’m getting my teaching certificate. What if my hypothetical principal finds out I used to cut myself or that I used to starve myself, and decides I’m just not mentally stable enough to teach a bunch of kids? What if I lose a big website client with the company I’m partnered with because of something I’ve written about? I can’t blog and not be real. I’m not funny, so I can’t write up a riot about how to make corn. I’m not a mother, so I can’t write about little girls shoving handfuls of sugar into their mouths. There are a lot of things I’m not.

But I know that I can’t not blog. I know that I can’t blog only about work. I know that I can’t blog only about mundane, blah things that no one cares about. (Unless my blog is already mundane and blah. Then you should just let me know, so I can quit while I’m ahead.) I have a compulsive urge to write about everything that I know I shouldn’t write about. And I can’t figure out how to keep my professional life from colliding with my writing. I mean, let’s face it: I don’t hold much back, especially over at Scars Can Speak.

So tell me, all of you bloggers who do it anyway without worrying: what’s the secret? What’s the trick? What do I do and how do I do it?

Why you shouldn't mix drugs without asking your mother first

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I spent the last half of yesterday cleaning, organizing, and going through my books, memories (journals, yearbook, etc), and files. This wouldn’t be such a big deal for most people, but since I live with four to six other people in a one bedroom apartment, it is huge for me. Let me back up.

A little over four years ago I was living with my parents in a three bedroom apartment down the street from my grandparents’ house. To make a really, really long story short, we got evicted even though we had done nothing wrong. You can say we had bad luck with landlords for a while there. Anyway, we literally had no time to find a new place so we packed up our stuff, put most of it into storage, and moved in with my grandparents. My grandparents’ house is a three-family house, with my great-grandmother on the first floor, my great-aunt on the second floor, and my grandparents on the third floor. My parents moved their stuff into my great-grandmother’s living room, and my little sister and I moved our stuff into my grandparents’ dining and living rooms. We were only supposed to stay for a couple of weeks, but four years and some financial issues later, we’re still here. It’s crowded and not what the writers of Full House made it all out to be, but there’s a roof over our heads.

A few days ago my grandparents’ forty-something-year-old refrigerator burnt out — literally. If my grandfather hadn’t touched the electrical socket the fridge was plugged into and noticed it was burning hot (the plastic was melting!), I probably wouldn’t be blogging right now. My grandparents had just come home and my sister, Mom, and I were watching Wall-E, so we hadn’t noticed the burnt motor smell.

So last night we moved the old fridge out and brought the fridge Mike’s mom gave to us home and upstairs. While all that was going on, I decided it was probably a good time to do what I’d been wanting to do: organize all of my books into one storage bin and clean some of the dust off of everything in the dining and living rooms. I’d already hurt my neck carrying my laptop in a backpack on Sunday, so by the time I got finished last night my back and neck were in agony. I took the last 70mg of my amitriptyline to get some sleep and hopefully some pain relief, and passed out.

When I woke up this morning, I felt a little dizzy and groggy but I thought that was normal for amitriptyline. I felt better after getting moving and eating, but I still felt pretty out of it. I took some Zyrtec, since it’s the only thing that’s been helping with my allergies, and left for work. Not long after I got to work I started feeling really woozy, dizzy, and just completely out of this world. I’m super stubborn when it comes to work; if I don’t feel good, I usually try to stick it out as long as I can. I was also determined to finish the website I was working on before I left, so I tried to ignore the dizzy attacks.

It wasn’t working very well. I couldn’t stand, and no matter what I did it just didn’t get any better. I put everything into finishing the website, and then called it quits. I had Mike come get me and my Sunfire is still downtown in the parking lot. I hope she isn’t too mad at me.

I spent the early afternoon in the recliner, and the catnap I took helped a little. I’m still getting dizzy now and then but the worst of it has passed, I think.

I did learn an important lesson, though: Next time, ask Mom first.

I beat you to it

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6

I rarely use my MySpace account any more. I logged in tonight because I checked my email like a good working girl and saw that I had a tagged photo and a tagged photo comment, blah blah blah. I also had a message:

I give up

I didn’t reply to it, because it was an awfully immature message. Rather than trying to address the problem head on, you chose to send a message in an attempt to make it look like it was all my fault.

Yes, “Jude,” I stopped talking to you. Not because I am a bad person. Not because I am spiteful or immature. I stopped talking to you because, time and time again, you lied to me. You may think you treasure the friendship we had, but your actions showed otherwise. So, instead of wasting my time, energy, and peace of mind, I stopped talking to you.

We’ve been through this all before. It’s always the same: You get yourself into trouble; I try to be a good friend and help you out; you lash out at me; I withdraw and regroup; you lie to me; I walk way; you send me text messages, social media comments, and leave me voicemails pretending as if everything is okay; I start to miss you and call you back; rinse and repeat.

Not this time. I just can’t anymore. I cannot continue to exhaust myself on you. I cannot continue to give you everything and get absolutely nothing back. Under normal circumstances, I don’t mind. I think I’m a pretty damn good friend. Maybe I’m too loyal. I’ve realized that in trying to help you, I’ve only been hurting myself. And I’m not doing it anymore.

I hope to god you find a way to keep from down (Blue October, “Been Down”)

I'm the asshole

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7

When someone lies to you once and you believe them, they’re an asshole.

When this person tells you that their new train wreckboyfriend has been clean for a year and tells your mutual friend that this new train wreckboyfriend has been clean for two weeks, they’re the asshole. Not you.

When this person lies to you about this new train wreck’sboyfriend’s job and tells you that he works as a carpenter and makes a lot of money, when in reality the new train wreckboyfriend lost his job because he is a train wreck and only does odd jobs for his grandma and is living off of this person (who happens to be a single mother), this person is still an asshole, but the new train wreckboyfriend is the bigger asshole.

When this person lies left and right about all things related to their new train wreckboyfriend, and things in their own life that this new train wreckboyfriend now controls, you get worried. You want to help this so-called friend, but they won’t stop lying to you.

When this person has lied to you for the hundredth time about their relationship status with the new train wreckboyfriend, and you believe them every time, you’re the asshole.

There are only so many times that you can lie to yourself about someone who obviously doesn’t care about you — or themselves — very much. And there are only so many times before you decide that you’re just not going to waste your time anymore.

Good luck, “Jude.”

Hey, "Jude," no more

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Every time I go to write a new post, I end up writing about something I don’t want to write about, because I don’t want to write about what I actually want to write about. With me? Great.

I spent the last two weeks sort of reevaluating my life. I thought about my relationships with other people, my career, my goals, and blahblahblah (all one word, ’cause that’s how I actually say it). The only thing that I actually figured out was my current job situation. I didn’t make any decisions on the other things that are bothering me. I obviously can’t do anything about the things I can’t control, but it still sucks because waiting is not on my list of skills.

I did decide to stop letting everyone use me, and even though I do mean to stick to that, it’s hard. It was especially hard yesterday when someone who basically ditched me for the last couple of weeks suddenly called and wanted my sympathy (and possibly my help; I didn’t answer the phone).

I just can’t keep giving everything and getting nothing in return. I can’t live in a cesspool of drama and constant emergencies that I always feel obligated to help out with. The truth is, I don’t owe any of these people anything, because they never gave me anything to begin with. Sure, we had some good times (Rock Band marathons, trips to the mall for no reason, spontaneous trips to the bar, movie nights, and all that good stuff), but when it actually counted, none of these people — and by none I mean neither, ha ha ha — could give me any of their time.

So, although a part of me wants to return that phone call, I refuse to get suckered in again. I hope that both of these people end up getting their shit together, but I’m not going to stick around to find out.

I have to be a hardass about this because otherwise I’m only going to keep getting hurt.

Anyway. Now that that’s over with, we can get to the good stuff:

Chow Seal!