...Really?!

Happy Independence Day! I celebrated by working. :D

Actually, my "celebration" was to be several cookies brought into work, a combination of chocolate and butterscotch chip, and M&M. I made a triple batch of cookie dough last night (the other third to be used for Rolo cookies for Ryan)...and it all went to hell. Every batch I tried melted into puddles that made me thankful I bought a baking sheet with a lip.

I thought: maybe the dough got too warm in the little kitchen with the oven going and the dishwasher going and I've been working at it forever, I'll pop it in the fridge overnight and get up early to bake them. Do so, go to bed, get up early, let it sit out for a while, first batch: MELT. >.< Google google google...this can happen with too little flour or too much sugar.

FUNNY STORY.

Ryan and BJ were hanging around the living room as I was putting the dough together, and BJ came in to get something from the fridge as I was counting in quarter cups of sugar. Chat chat chat, shovel shovel shovel, chat chat chat, shovel shovel....how many was that? ...CRAP.

Anyway, it took another too many batches, but I finally mixed in enough flour so the cookies actually fucking formed. Out of a triple batch of dough, I got...14 cookies.

>.<

Fortunately, they were good ones, with chocolate chips and M&Ms, and 14 was enough for me to eat a test one, share three each to my three awesome co-workers and myself, and save the last one for the co-worker who promised to visit and drop off some tiramisu.

Also during this morning's cookie adventure, I did four loads of laundry and a load of dishes, and somehow managed a hot shower despite being the last of four people to take a shower within a two hour span.

This is how I ended my day: I came home, took off my left shoe, attempted to take off my right shoe, and had to yank before it came off...and left a wad of insole stuck to my sock. Took out both insoles and found identical holes/major wearing patterns in both under my heels and big toes. Incidentally, my right heel has been hurting quite a bit lately. :D

It should be noted that these shoes have lasted me just over a year of intense use, and this is the first and only time I've had issues. New Balance is The Shit.

OH, then I went to change out of my work pants and tore a hole in the crotch. Not on a seam. Not fixable. Not possible to hide or ignore. It's my last pair of work pants (beside dress pants which I'll have to wear tomorrow and kinda hate). In the space of 15 minutes, I racked up almost $200 worth of work stuff I have to buy veryvery soon.

BEST DAY EVER.

Stresssssss.

The new normal, for me, has been 1-9:30 pre-closing shifts. Occasionally, however, I'll get handed a closing shift, 4:30-10:30. I don't mind these, since it means I have almost an entire day free.

But I'm developing a bad pattern.

The night before at later-shift-day, I'll set my alarm for a later wake-up time. I can sleep in!, I'll think. I have the whole day to do stuff before work!

And I will sleep in. And I'll take my sweet time getting up, checking the internets, eating breakfast, getting showered and dressed, I have the whole day for chores and reading, dum dee dum...wait how is it 3 PM I haven't eaten yet I have to leave in an hour and all I've done is computer stuff AAAAAA.

>.<

Today was a bit more productive than that, at least. I got some pictures edited, although I did find that some of what I thought was a great shoot were actually...not so great. Poo. I also didn't feel 100% happy with the results of some of my edits...I'm hoping that I'm just doing that thing I do to myself when I'm stressed where nothing is good enough and why do I think I'm good at this and ugggghh I'm so stoooopid...

I'm...a bit stressed.

There's so much drama going on at work (both my and other stores), and I can't even go into it all it's that dramatic. Plus tomorrow is the "bachelorette" party (really just a mostly-girls-only pre-wedding party for the bride, our friend Kitty, for whom Sameh and I are co-Maids of Honor :D) and Sunday is the wedding itself and I don't know when I'll get a chance to do some pre-trip errands and what am I bringing and which bags am I packing and aaaaaaa.

...I think it's time for dinner and sleep. Lots of sleep. And tomorrow there shall be dinner and funtimes! Yes! THERE WILL BE FUN, DAMMIT! :D

.....WAH.

So...today kinda sucked.

It was a gorgeous day. Sun shining, wind blowing, fifty freaking degrees...bee-yootiful.

Then I got to work and Boss Lady told me that, due to personnel juggling in the district, I'm being transferred to the Ireland Road store.

D:

I love my store. I love my regulars. I love my co-workers beyond belief.

I have never even visited the Ireland store once, couldn't tell you what it looks like, barely know one or two people who work there, and the store manager kinda scares me.

NO WANNA GO.

I only had a five hour shift, which I spent moping about with Shift D, who is also getting transferred. Then I went home, where I ate pizza and drank booze and hung out with roommates, Ryan, and our friend/co-worker AD who I'm going to miss the CRAP out of.

COUNTING BLESSINGS:
[o] My roommates BJ is getting transferred to my current store. He is going to love it, and I am honestly and truly happy for him.
[o] I got to take some good pictures of Ryan's Valentine's flowers yesterday, and edit some of them today before work. Always relaxing and rewarding.
[o] Came home to find that they were very popular with both friends and complete strangers, and two of them were even reblogged by complete strangers! Complete strangers shared my art with the world! That is so rewarding I can't even put words to it.
[o] Had a great time hanging out with some of my favorite people.
[o] Ryan did a ton of laundry and cleaning that I haven't been up to due to immense exhaustion.
[o] Tomorrow is my day off. I am going to clean and bake and photoedit and visit my store and STUFF.

....bed now.

.....Ergh.

If you look at my word count at nanowrimo.org, you will see a number. 17,896. It's a nice number. It's a large number.

Unfortunately, it's a lie.

When I opened my laptop today, I did not have 17,896 words in my novel file. I had, and have, 16,880.

The other 1,016?
Eaten be evil elves.
Swallowed by sinister spies.
Deleted by diabolical devils.
Gone.

I discovered this on my first ten minute break of my six hour shift--shorter because of the two-hour Holiday Meeting about the new holiday merchandise, how to create World Class Service that means Just Saying Yes when the customer starts making a fuss, and how We The Partners are so Very Important and that's why we move you around like pawns without Those Inconvenient Emotions--and almost broke into tears. I had to hold my breath and concentrate for much longer than I'd like to admit. I also had to resist throwing my cell phone at the wall.

It's not a hard scene to rewrite. The part I liked best about it, I remember quite well. Hell, the rest of it will probably come out better this time around.

It's the time lost. It's the elation gone. It's the bubble busted.

My mother commented a few posts back, suggesting that I abandon the word count if it was causing me grief. I'll be honest, the word count is important to me--but it's not what my aim is. It's just a way of measuring my novel so I can participate with the community of other writers who are attempting this challenge. My aim is to finish a book, whether it's 50K, 80K, or 30K.

But finishing it isn't just about finishing a book. It's about finishing a book. It's about knowing that I did it, knowing that I Worked Hard and Finished Something.

It's the finished product, and the finishing.

Both of which are made that much harder when a thousand words are consumed by conniving....connivers.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I still have quite a bit of this day left to drown in this glass of wine...

Ch-Ch-Changes...Turn and Face the Suck....

I know the date up there says Sunday, but, let's be honest, I've missed the point where I can post-date the entry by, oh, twelve hours, so work with me here and just pretend this is a Saturday post, okay? Okay.

Today sucked. For one reason alone.

J, one of my favorite co-workers, an awesome shift, always just ridiculous amounts of fun to work with, becoming a good friend...is getting transferred to the Ironwood store.

Rage.

We're getting some new guy from Florida to replace J. I don't want him. I want J.

I'm pissed for several reasons. First, on her behalf: This will be her third transfer, to the last available store in the district, in the past six months. She started at the Ireland store, went to Main & Douglas when she started dating a co-worker, went to our store because we needed a new closer, and is now going to Ironwood to be one of their closers. The poor girl is getting a complex, thinking she's getting passed around because no one wants her and she's doing it wrong, which couldn't be farther from the truth.

Second, corporate keeps promoting this culture of being a family, of being more than just a faceless business...but the faces keep changing because no one with any power seems to have any qualms with using workers like game pieces. It's hard to give any kind of shit for a company that doesn't seem to give a shit about its workers.

Finally. If I have any more change in my life. I'm going to puke.

Let's review, shall we? Since the beginning of this year, the following crap has happened:
[o] I found out a dear friend committed suicide
[o] I decided to attend, and was accepted at, Eastern
[o] I left school
[o] I left my job of two years
[o] I turned 25
[o] Ryan and I moved 800 miles
[o] We got our first apartment, with our first set of roommates, and our first set of all-on-us bills
[o] I got my first full-time job
[o] Ryan went to the hospital
Personnel changes alone:
[o] Within two weeks of starting this job, the store manager left the company
[o] JH left
[o] DD left
[o] KB left
[o] A came
[o] A left
[o] JP came
[o] JP left
[o] J came
[o] J will be leaving
[o] JC came
[o] M came
[o] D came
[o] Boss Lady came
[o] H got promoted
[o] L got demoted

....seriously. This isn't cool. I know that some of those items are all my/our fault, so feel free to ignore that and look at the store changes alone. Six people leaving, three of them "against their will" (not kidnap so much as forceful transfer), and two of those were transferred in by the same people who are now transferring them out. What the hell.

Now, please unignore the first part of that list, and look at all that crap that I've had to process since May. Yes, a lot of it was my doing, but still, it's had to be processed. Can you see why the idea of one more little change makes me want to curl up into a ball in the corner?

Blargh.

Activity #2,719 To Never Do At...You Know...THAT Time.

All I really did today was get a haircut. I went to the MasterCuts in the mall, and asked to get about two inches off my bangs, and shorten the back of my hair to the bottom of my ears. I was horrible at translating this to the stylist, and that, paired with her inability to follow what I did translate, led to a haircut I am not happy with.

The bangs, while now out of my face, were cut in such a way that they hang badly. Even after telling the stylist that there was no such thing as "too short," she kept taking off a quarter-inch at a time for fear of going too far, until I just gave up and said it was fine. The back of my head is still longer than I'd like, and I'm not entirely sure how I didn't notice at least that after the stylist finished. I felt good enough about it when I paid and left--after all, the hair I cared about was all shorter. Later, after it had dried out from being spritzed for cutting, it started forming into a helmety shape, and the bangs refused to behave, and regret set in.

When BJ got home, he felt the need to try and fix my hair, using Sammeh's hair supplies. Alex and Rachel stopped by while he was attempting to straighten it, and it turned into a what-can-we-do-with-Ruthie's-hair party. In the end, I looked like a Mudkip, and my hair was stiff and goopy and...weird.

I showered all the crap out, and used a little styling gel in my wet hair to put it how I wish it would stay. That mostly worked, and I think I'll be doing that every morning as my hair grows back out. I don't plan on going back for a repair or refund, as it's half my fault for not being clear about what I wanted, and I didn't express displeasure at the end of the cut. I'm just taking it as a few valuable lessons learned:

(1) Know exactly what you want when you go to get a haircut,
(2) Make sure the stylist understands what you want, and
(3) To make it easier all around, never get a haircut when you're menstruating.

I thought I knew better...

*Boom*

So. I made a post about making some new rules and moving my life along.

Then everything exploded.

On February 27th, I found out that a dear friend, one I’ve known online for almost ten years, committed suicide in August. Three weeks later, I am still being hit with waves of grief, regret, sorrow, and shock. The fact that I found out almost exactly a year after my first big loss in Uncle Bill, the day before his memorial, just adds to the weight of it on my heart. She was a gorgeous soul, and I currently can’t talk about her too much without getting upset, so, as I’m at work, this will be all on that subject for the time being.

On March 2nd, I decided to withdraw from my classes and basically leave school for the foreseeable future.

A period of depression and anxiety that swept through in February, classes that were a combination of unchallenging and needlessly complicated, and the news about my friend all took a toll on my attendance and willingness to just plow through. A meeting with an Eastern advisor that did not go exactly as planned was the nail in the coffin for this semester, and school in general.

I started at Manchester Community in the fall semester of 2004. I’ve gone through four majors, five and a half years, eight semesters, almost 30 classes, and 84 credits.

Subjects that first gave me a thrill—new! exciting! creative! fun! challenging!—somehow became just another set of classes to slog through to get the biscuit at the end. The question is—was it the subjects, the classes, the teachers, or me?

If I went class by class, I could answer that question, but I’m more interested in the overall arc of my trip through secondary education. I keep skipping about from one interest to another. Graphic design…art…web design…writing…editing…marketing…hell, even accounting still holds some appeal, if only I could get my head around numbers (As Ryan pointed out, with my math skills, I’d make me accounting clients very happy…until we all got arrested). Whenever I think I’ve settled down on something, I get distracted by something else. This could possibly be worked around, but not without some finesse and planning.

When I met with the transfer advisor at ECSU, I told her about all my interests, and my curiosity with the individualized major. She took what I told her and outlined a possible plan—a major in Digital Art & Design, with minors in English and Business. This path would take three and a half years—one semester would be comprised solely of General Education Requirements.

All through MCC, I was led to believe that getting an Associates would automatically check off the general stuff, and all but guarantee that I would enter any four-year college as a junior, only needing to take classes in my major.

Now, maybe I misunderstood what I was told; I am willing to admit that. What I took away from that meeting was not that someone on one side or the other had made a mistake; it was that I was being thrown a much different clump of information than I was expecting. After years of getting through for the sake of getting through, a month of barely having the energy for uninspiring classes, and only two days after receiving a horrible bombshell on the anniversary of the biggest loss I’d yet suffered, it was just too much. Something had to give, and the choice came down to school or my sanity.

I promise, if this sounds melodramatic, that I am not exaggerating the stress and sense of calamity that I have been living through for the past three weeks. If anything, I am downplaying it. The first week of March, for the only time in my life, I was stressed to the point of nausea, spending more time ready to throw up than anything else. My sleep has suffered, and all the areas of my body that usually respond to stress—my skin, my feet, my shoulders—have all been miserable.

To say that this was an easy decision would be a complete lie. The fact is, however, that it was not one that took a long time to make. I won’t say that it was hastily made, but I won’t say that it was drawn out, either. Honestly, I spent more time worrying about my parents’ reactions than I did about wether or not it was a good idea.

While this complicates things, drastically changes plans, and otherwise throws a giant wrench in the machine of my life…this feels right.

What it comes down to is this: As it is, I have spent enough time and money on college, pursuing different paths. I won’t call it a waste, as I have learned a great deal, and I even got an Associates out of it—in a subject I enjoy, and may even end up pursuing! However, after so many years and so much shit, it feels like going any further, with my mind the way it is, would be a waste. Of money, of time, of energy…of everything.

I don’t know what I want, and it just doesn’t feel right to marry one subject when I can’t commit fully, or to even just “love the one I’m with,” going for a business degree that might only be two years just to get a diploma in something. It feels, in fact, completely wrong.

There is more, much more, but I have once again let a post run quite long, and I've been hacking away at this one for the better part of two hours. Apologies if this is ending on an abrupt note, but it's either that or let it keep rambling forever. I promise, more is to come, and soon.

Liam & Jer Progress: Nov. 7th, 2009

As of yesterday, my total word count for "final" chapters (all six of them) is 9,884.

(By "final" chapters, I mean the documents/text files that will eventually evolve into final drafts. I have many, many .docs and .txts that hold pieces of Liam & Jer, but these are older drafts, some dating back to my junior year of high school. These have either been drastically changed in to new chapters, stripped for parts, or scrapped altogether.)

Anyway. A word count of under 10,000 is...kinda pathetic. If you also keep in mind that I set myself a goal of adding 50,000 words this month in honor of NaNoWriMo...*gulp* I'm actually pretty confident that I will NOT meet this goal, but that's okay. I'd be happy if I had 20,000 words, or even 15,000. Anything that meant I actually added to it.

I recently took my outline and transferred them to index cards. My plan is to take the cards and figure out the exact order of events. This would seem easy--A then B then C, right?*--except that I'm toying with the idea of a few of the chapters being flashbacks, looking at Liam's or Jer's past to get some insight as to why they're doing this or acting like that. I'm afraid that it could make it messy, complicated, confusing, etc, but I'm also concerned with what might be missing if I don't include them. I currently suck at "looking back" in the middle of a scene, although you'd think the fact that I'm writing it in present tense would help. Of course, the fact that I'm thinking of trying to fit this big, messy puzzle piece into the whole thing instead of, you know, growing as a writer and learning to fix what needs fixing in my toolbox may also say something about me. That something may start with an "l" and rhyme with "hazy."

I'm also trying to find a time to dedicate to writing. I set on the task of finding this piece of time months ago, and I even had one for, oh, two weeks, but it's gotten harder. The free time I do have has to be divvied up between school assignments, errands and chores, seeing Mom, seeing Dad, being social (HA!), and getting some quality time with Ryan. These pieces of free time are currently: Sundays and Mondays until 4, and Wednesdays and Saturdays after noon. Sunday is currently my day to catch up on Mom-home chores and see Mom, and Monday is currently my only day to sleep in, which is very precious to me. Wednesdays and Saturdays, Ry and I do one of two things: do chores and errands, or have a few hours of dedicated WoWing, basically my only WoW time the entire week. WoW might sound like something worth sacrificing to get some writing in, and maybe it should be, but it's also a great stress-reliever, and a little bit of being social (getting friendlier with the Guildies).

Keep in mind that Writing Time would more or less HAVE to be at Starbucks, where I'm disconnected from the internet, and able to just plug in to my music and my little world. Sometimes just the act of Going To/Being At Starbucks is almost enough to click in to Writing Mode. So it's not just a set time I pull out the laptop and get down to business; it's a set time that I drive to Starbucks, get myself a drink and a snack, and settle down at a table. On Mondays and Sundays, there would have to be travel time built in to get back in time for work or D&D.

So, there. My current writing status/predicament. I'll try to post something opinionated and ranty tomorrow.

*Yes, Dad, I know about time not being linear, but in this particular story, it's going to be, okay? ;)

Achtung!

Again with the freaky horoscope.

This is what Free Will Astrology gave to Geminis for this week:

During this phase of your cycle, you'll generate good fortune if you brainstorm and meditate about your relationship with work. I urge you to empty your mind of everything you think you know about the subject. Adopt a fresh and innocent perspective. Here are some questions to prime your investigations. 1. What's the quality of the experience you want to have as you earn a living? 2. What gifts do you want to give to life as you toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to you? 3. What capacities do you want to develop in yourself while doing your work? (P.S. For your Halloween costume, why not pretend you're doing your dream job?)


...BUH.

The biggest Identity Crisis I've been dealing with lately is figuring out What The Furk I Want To Do. Just today I was thinking about it. For a friend's Halloween party this past weekend, I was tempted to dress up as a Marketing Executive, so that last line is especially Buh-Worthy. I read that and pointed a finger at the screen, all "Oh, I see what you're doing there, and it is NOT COOL."

The thing is, I love Marketing. As I mentioned in a previous post, I was an Accounting major when I took a Principles of Marketing class, and just fell head over heels for it. True, I was already falling out of love with Accounting, and, yeah, maybe I was looking for a way out, keeping my eyes open, and yeah, maybe I could have been clearer about what I wanted out of the relationship from the beginning, but that's not what this is about, so let's not get into the past, okay?

The point is, from my first day of Marketing, I was hooked. The analysis, the creativity, the strategy, my GOD it was exhilarating. Principles of Management was also a favorite class, for basically the same reason: all the reasoning behind all the decisions. The psychology, the emotional intelligence, the behavior analysis, etc etc. Finally, Advertising, which was analyzing existing commercials and campaigns and making up our own. Those homework assignments were some of my favorites in my entire school career, from kindergarten till now, and I could that from now till I was 500 years old.

(Doesn't hurt that all three classes were taught by the same teacher, who could make Tax Accounting interesting, I'm quite sure.)

But all my other business classes made me twitch. The classes on economics, the legal sides of things (torts, libel, etc), business basics, etc. And Sales may have been the worst class experience of my life, if only because the idea of being a sales person makes me nauseous with terror.

I am not a salesperson. I am not a leader. I am not a manager. What I love about Marketing is not the sales, the manipulation, the idea of being better than the other team. I love the analysis, the strategy, the psychology behind it all--I love the creativity. If I could just analyze commercials or campaigns for the rest of my life and be paid for it, that would be hunky fucking dory. Seriously.

But being a team member in an agency where it's Pressure and Crunch Time and Stress and Throwing Together A Campaign Fix At The Eleventh Hour? Count me out. Please. I'll ruin your carpet.

So there's that.

As I had mentioned in another previous post, I'm a writer. Except I hate to say that. Because I don't write...not nearly as much as I want to, need to. When the feeling hits me, when I get in the groove, when the celestial beings get together in a conga line, I can write for hours, and well.

When the juice isn't flowing, when the celestial beings have had too much to drink and couldn't stand up let alone conga, nothing comes out. And then it's work. Hard, horrible, frustrating, debilitating work that I just can't force myself to do. I'll gaze at the page, I'll pull my hair, I'll stare into space, waiting for SOMETHING. ANYTHING. PLEASE.

I would love to be a writer, the way I see it in my mind. Working at home, tapping away for hours in an office. No, not the Perfect Life, a mansion earned with my best sellers, only working eight hours a week and doing cross-country book tours. Just a small room, messy but well-lit, with a computer, being able to sit or sprawl or whatever and work out the stories in my head. Maybe go down to the local coffee place for a change of scenery. Not rich from it, by any means, but Doing Well Enough, thank you very much.

Except I hit these blocks, and they stop my in my tracks, and it takes me months to recover. And I can't discipline myself to save my own life, can't say "Okay, x time on x day every week, I go to this spot, and I write, and I don't care what comes out, but by god, something will be written." I suck at it.

I don't have the flow, and I don't have the will power.

So there's that.

As I have mentioned in no previous posts, I love to edit. This stems from the same sapling as my love for writing, but was realized because of my boyfriend, Ryan. He finished up his Bachelors in Psychology in December 2008, and let me tell you, he's brilliant at Psychology. He is both articulate and passionate when it comes to this subject.

However, he's not the greatest when it comes to English. His grammar and spelling can leave something to be desired, and that's where I stepped in for the last year of his degree. After he slammed out another research paper--and, in case you didn't know, Psychology students write A LOT OF FUCKING RESEARCH PAPERS--I would lovingly attack it with a red pen, marking up the errors and inconsistencies. I ate it up, I would hand him back the first draft and eagerly await the second draft, or the next paper that was due.

That Halloween party I went to? I ended up going as a Grammar Nazi. Suit, red arm band with a "G" on it, ruler, red pens, copy of Strunk & White in my pocket. There you go.

This past spring, I got a little more serious about this fairly-newfound love for editing, and looked into what might happen so I could earn a living doing it. From what I found, it seemed there are two avenues for such a thing: find a job at a publishing house, or freelance. The second option brought to mind the same image as being a writer--namely, that of being able to work from home, doing what I loved from the place I love.

Except there's one thing freelancers lack: structure. There is no office, there is no time clock, there is no payroll department, there is no manager to give you work to do. There is just you, and your talent, and your willingness to promote yourself up the wazoo. If Real Estate is about location, location, location, then freelancing is about promotion, promotion, promotion.

Here's the part where you scroll back up and read about what I am not: a salesperson. I couldn't sell someone else's products, how am I supposed to sell my own? When it's not even tangible and all anyone has is my word that I don't suck?

So there's that.

Marketing. Writing. Editing. Three areas that make me happy, that I could do for days on end and be quite content. Three areas that have a list of cons just as long, if not longer, than the pros.

Reading that horoscope was like receiving a slap in the face. I know that all I've just written doesn't exactly address the horoscope. What all these many paragraphs are is background to what's going on in my head before I even start thinking about those three questions:

1. What is the quality of experience I want to have as I earn a living?
2. What gifts do I want to give to life as I toil at challenging tasks that are interesting to me?
3. What capacities do I want to develop in myself while doing my work?

I'll get back to you.