After months of sending applications in online and in person, I finally got a call. the nearby Books-a-million is shorthanded and hiring.It's not glamorous, and it's not lucrative, but it's a job. A job that will relive stresses and make life a little more comfortable.
No, I don't want to be there forever but... it's a nice place to start from.
And I really love books so... I win!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
And so she sleeps. An Obituary.
And so she sleeps, my guiding, guardian angel.
Bright jade eyes slip drowsily closed as an empathetic, half-hearted smile graces her tiny lips.
A smile... her smile... that persists in sleep, as eyelashes brush cheeks, rosy and delicate.
And so she sleeps, darkening the windows to her soul,
Retreating within herself, voluntarily, willingly, though not happily.
Tiny hands desperately clutch wadded sheets, belying her calm visage.
And so... she sleeps.
And as she sleeps her eyes that lightened the world dim.
Out, but never forgotten.
Her eyes which spoke the volumes of her soul... and mine... silence.
The lips that uttered songs of angels,
spoke words to the unseen world around her,
calmed fears, tamed beasts, made a song without a melody,
are slightly parted... peaceful... and silent.
The fingers and hands that made a dreary word beautiful are still.
That clutched a pen, a paintbrush, a book, a phone.... Her tools,
Lay idle, twitching involuntarily from time to time in protest.
The chest that cradles her beating heart,
The heart that opened doors, and windows, and closets, and curtains,
and inspired people to fly from them, out them, around them, in glorious freedom,
lays quiet.
With simply the gentle rise...
...and fall...
the only indication she lives at all.
And so she sleeps... her pigtailed head nestled amongst the softest pillows I could find.
The mind that drove my world.
The artist... the writer... the poetess... the dreamer.
And so she dies to the world.
That through necessity I might ignore her.
Forget myself.
That I may live on in comfort.
The shell of the self we were.
Bright jade eyes slip drowsily closed as an empathetic, half-hearted smile graces her tiny lips.
A smile... her smile... that persists in sleep, as eyelashes brush cheeks, rosy and delicate.
And so she sleeps, darkening the windows to her soul,
Retreating within herself, voluntarily, willingly, though not happily.
Tiny hands desperately clutch wadded sheets, belying her calm visage.
And so... she sleeps.
And as she sleeps her eyes that lightened the world dim.
Out, but never forgotten.
Her eyes which spoke the volumes of her soul... and mine... silence.
The lips that uttered songs of angels,
spoke words to the unseen world around her,
calmed fears, tamed beasts, made a song without a melody,
are slightly parted... peaceful... and silent.
The fingers and hands that made a dreary word beautiful are still.
That clutched a pen, a paintbrush, a book, a phone.... Her tools,
Lay idle, twitching involuntarily from time to time in protest.
The chest that cradles her beating heart,
The heart that opened doors, and windows, and closets, and curtains,
and inspired people to fly from them, out them, around them, in glorious freedom,
lays quiet.
With simply the gentle rise...
...and fall...
the only indication she lives at all.
And so she sleeps... her pigtailed head nestled amongst the softest pillows I could find.
The mind that drove my world.
The artist... the writer... the poetess... the dreamer.
And so she dies to the world.
That through necessity I might ignore her.
Forget myself.
That I may live on in comfort.
The shell of the self we were.
And now...
Now I am blamed. I am blamed for putting the thought of seeing Boyfriend's parents for mother's day in his head, so that he called them and told them we would come, and is freaking out about NOW because he is worried we can't afford it.
It is my fault, apparently.
It is my fault, apparently.
And the world keeps turning
3 months after the move from Tampa. I'm still unemployed.
The bank screwed me over... again. A mysterious and unrecognized $25 charge (and $35 overdraft) just drove my account deeper in the hole. What the hell happened? I've been trying to be so responsible...
Responsible it seems, is not enough. What kind of world is it when people who are trying to be decent and responsible are only putting $10 of gas at a time in their car, and shopping the reduced for quick sale groceries, while people who harass other innocent folks at a gas station, pushing car wax on them, are pulling in hundreds of dollars a day? And trust me, folks, these guys are not the cream of the crop of today's society. One was imprisoned (a few times) for assault... and the other should have been... but hadn't. Probably because she was an attractive girl with an acute awareness of what her assets could do for her.
Boyfriend gives talks daily about how it can't go on like this for much longer. I am well aware. I tell him I can do nothing but try. But I have been trying. I suppose I can... try harder. "I wasn't gonna say it but..." he replies.
What a knife through the heart. He loves me and cares for me but... obviously thinks I'm just not trying hard enough. Maybe I would try a little harder if my self confidence wasn't being beaten down day by day by the only job offers I'm getting... which are no more legitimate than the others I already tried.
Do I have to be unhappy just to keep living? Do I have to take a job that mentally breaks me down and sends me home crying, just so I can come home to a house with a boyfriend who isn't stressed out? Who gives me a calm... peaceful atmosphere to cry myself to sleep?
I'm being dramatic. I'm always dramatic. Or so they tell me.
The bank screwed me over... again. A mysterious and unrecognized $25 charge (and $35 overdraft) just drove my account deeper in the hole. What the hell happened? I've been trying to be so responsible...
Responsible it seems, is not enough. What kind of world is it when people who are trying to be decent and responsible are only putting $10 of gas at a time in their car, and shopping the reduced for quick sale groceries, while people who harass other innocent folks at a gas station, pushing car wax on them, are pulling in hundreds of dollars a day? And trust me, folks, these guys are not the cream of the crop of today's society. One was imprisoned (a few times) for assault... and the other should have been... but hadn't. Probably because she was an attractive girl with an acute awareness of what her assets could do for her.
Boyfriend gives talks daily about how it can't go on like this for much longer. I am well aware. I tell him I can do nothing but try. But I have been trying. I suppose I can... try harder. "I wasn't gonna say it but..." he replies.
What a knife through the heart. He loves me and cares for me but... obviously thinks I'm just not trying hard enough. Maybe I would try a little harder if my self confidence wasn't being beaten down day by day by the only job offers I'm getting... which are no more legitimate than the others I already tried.
Do I have to be unhappy just to keep living? Do I have to take a job that mentally breaks me down and sends me home crying, just so I can come home to a house with a boyfriend who isn't stressed out? Who gives me a calm... peaceful atmosphere to cry myself to sleep?
I'm being dramatic. I'm always dramatic. Or so they tell me.
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