Last week Jon Crum got engaged to his girlfriend of three months.
In fall of 2008 I read an article that said women want to marry the right man and conversely men want to marry the woman they are with when they feel it is the right time for them to get married.
Although I cannot quite manage to be overjoyed that he has found the One, I also do not wish it was me which gives my little heart a break. I have managed to be congratulatory. Look at me...
In other news, I saw crocuses blooming yesterday. I had yesterday off and it rained the entire day. The rain beat against the windows and washed the last of the snow away. Cleansing. I am looking forward.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Two Beers
I have had a love/hate relationship with winter ever since I moved back to Lancaster 4 years ago.
Winter is exponentially improved if you have a good coat that you love, which I got last year. Previous years I had a combination of warm coats I hated, vintage down vests that stank of wet feathers, cute coats that were not warm and an overabundance of sweatshirts left over from when I lived in Texas and a sweatshirt was all you really needed for the cold.
Last winter we got an enormous amount of snow but I was content to nest: cooking delicious dish after dish.
This year I had to shovel the intersection of Spruce and Pine streets in Lancaster since I knew that a plow would never make it down Spruce. I was content with the work. The sore arms reminded me of the work associated with winter but also the satisfaction of it. While shoveling I warmed to the task, forced to be outside. I looked around and watched the fat flakes drift lazily down from the sky. I was content. Content with my life and content with this winter, for all its inconveniences.
Tonight I was invited to the soft opening of a bar. I arrived after they had closed but was given a free beer. Combined with my empty stomach, the strong beer made me feel warm and cozy. At home I drank the last of the Pabst Blue Ribbon's I had in my minifridge. I feel completely satisfied. As the freezing rain pours out of the sky, covering the streets outside, I am content.
Winter is exponentially improved if you have a good coat that you love, which I got last year. Previous years I had a combination of warm coats I hated, vintage down vests that stank of wet feathers, cute coats that were not warm and an overabundance of sweatshirts left over from when I lived in Texas and a sweatshirt was all you really needed for the cold.
Last winter we got an enormous amount of snow but I was content to nest: cooking delicious dish after dish.
This year I had to shovel the intersection of Spruce and Pine streets in Lancaster since I knew that a plow would never make it down Spruce. I was content with the work. The sore arms reminded me of the work associated with winter but also the satisfaction of it. While shoveling I warmed to the task, forced to be outside. I looked around and watched the fat flakes drift lazily down from the sky. I was content. Content with my life and content with this winter, for all its inconveniences.
Tonight I was invited to the soft opening of a bar. I arrived after they had closed but was given a free beer. Combined with my empty stomach, the strong beer made me feel warm and cozy. At home I drank the last of the Pabst Blue Ribbon's I had in my minifridge. I feel completely satisfied. As the freezing rain pours out of the sky, covering the streets outside, I am content.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Work A Day World
In my last year at Millersville I took two classes that I find myself thinking about as a work my two little jobs and remain well under the poverty line: Comm 401 with Dr. Greg Seigworth and Existential Literature with Dr. Ian Carballo.
In Comm 401 we read books, essays and had discussions about consumerism, capitalism and the idea of work. While taking this class I was also reading a CrimeThink books called Days of War Nights of Love, which raged against today's consumerist ideals. In Existential Literature we sought authenticity and encountered literature that (though not specifically existentialist) dealt with the work-a-day world: it is winter, how will I heat my house? what will I eat? how long will it take me to travel to work? if my car is out of gas, how will I get to work? These are all mundane questions, but they are authentic. These are the questions that have been constantly on my mind since I have been working 40 hours a week at an average of $8.75 an hour. I am one of the working poor.
When the economy started tanking several years ago, then-President Bush encouraged everyone to keep shopping to bolster the economy. But those that work in retail and similar fields, service industries that are capable of keeping our economy afloat, do not have retirement plans. Or health insurance. Or vacation or sick days. Making $15,000 a year they will never (or perhaps should never) own a home or be able to retire.
I know that I am merely visiting this place in my life and that I will soon be able to get a better job (knock on particle-board). But there are so many people that are scratching away at life's surface, trying to pull themselves up by their fucking bootstraps only to be given another bill that they will struggle to pay.
Oh look: $10 parking ticket received while checking email at the library because I cannot afford the internet. $40 to fill my tank with gas. One movie ticket is now $9.75. My credit card interest rate is 23.99% so the $5000 I have to pay off due to paying my rent and other bills with it while working my third unpaid internship will take me five years at the rate I am going.
Bitch bitch bitch. Boo hoo. Being broke is boring.
Dr. Rita Smith Wade-El taught a psychology class I was in where we talked about what it would take for a person to change their society. She said that big changes are usually made by people who are independently wealthy.
It is hard to start a revolution when you are worrying about having enough food to eat.
In Comm 401 we read books, essays and had discussions about consumerism, capitalism and the idea of work. While taking this class I was also reading a CrimeThink books called Days of War Nights of Love, which raged against today's consumerist ideals. In Existential Literature we sought authenticity and encountered literature that (though not specifically existentialist) dealt with the work-a-day world: it is winter, how will I heat my house? what will I eat? how long will it take me to travel to work? if my car is out of gas, how will I get to work? These are all mundane questions, but they are authentic. These are the questions that have been constantly on my mind since I have been working 40 hours a week at an average of $8.75 an hour. I am one of the working poor.
When the economy started tanking several years ago, then-President Bush encouraged everyone to keep shopping to bolster the economy. But those that work in retail and similar fields, service industries that are capable of keeping our economy afloat, do not have retirement plans. Or health insurance. Or vacation or sick days. Making $15,000 a year they will never (or perhaps should never) own a home or be able to retire.
I know that I am merely visiting this place in my life and that I will soon be able to get a better job (knock on particle-board). But there are so many people that are scratching away at life's surface, trying to pull themselves up by their fucking bootstraps only to be given another bill that they will struggle to pay.
Oh look: $10 parking ticket received while checking email at the library because I cannot afford the internet. $40 to fill my tank with gas. One movie ticket is now $9.75. My credit card interest rate is 23.99% so the $5000 I have to pay off due to paying my rent and other bills with it while working my third unpaid internship will take me five years at the rate I am going.
Bitch bitch bitch. Boo hoo. Being broke is boring.
Dr. Rita Smith Wade-El taught a psychology class I was in where we talked about what it would take for a person to change their society. She said that big changes are usually made by people who are independently wealthy.
It is hard to start a revolution when you are worrying about having enough food to eat.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Baby it's cold outside
I am at my brothers house soaking up the delicious warmth of the internet. It is nice to be online stalking people, checking my pitiful bank statements and selling my belongings online.
I recently sold a necklace I had received as a gift 11 years ago. I got $14 for it and have been wrestling with that significance. On the one hand the necklace does not do me any good if I can't put gas in my car. One the other hand, it was a meaningful gift and $14 comes and goes with no meaning at all.
I am also thinking of cashing in my quarters. I have been collecting the state quarters since they started coming out like 10 years ago. I have tried to get 2 from each state: one from the Denver mint and one from the Philly mint. I think the value is less than $30, so again- would it really make a difference in my life right now? But does my little collection (still missing about 8 quarters) mean anything at all if I can't pay my rent?
My roommate Erika, experiencing a similar season, quipped that this is the winter of our discontent. For Christmas I got her fingerless gloves because we were talking about how things feel so post-apocalyptic right now (yes, we are dramatic little women). But in many ways I am content. Anxious and getting gray hair but not entirely discontented.
I live on the third floor of one of Lancaster's townhouses, complete with crooked windy stairs and a ceiling that slants. It is a darling design if you need the room for storage or for a sewing room. But since this is the room that is my entire home, I find it tedious and poetic at the same time. I spend more time thinking about how I will maximize the space in this room than I have ever spent thinking about any home I have ever lived in. Everything has to be just so.
To make the diagonal walls work for me, I pushed my bed into a corner facing the wall. On the back side of my headboard is my couch and a few feet away in another corner, my TV. I was proud of this feat since it gives the illusion of two separate living spaces. Plus I have never had a TV in my bedroom and did not want to start. I firmly believe that a TV in the bedroom is bad for your sleep. I have enough problems. I do not need to add troubled sleep to the list right behind TV addict.
A small window is visible when I am laying in bed. I can see rooftops and some wires but primarily I see the sky. It is comforting and makes me feel hopeful.
I recently sold a necklace I had received as a gift 11 years ago. I got $14 for it and have been wrestling with that significance. On the one hand the necklace does not do me any good if I can't put gas in my car. One the other hand, it was a meaningful gift and $14 comes and goes with no meaning at all.
I am also thinking of cashing in my quarters. I have been collecting the state quarters since they started coming out like 10 years ago. I have tried to get 2 from each state: one from the Denver mint and one from the Philly mint. I think the value is less than $30, so again- would it really make a difference in my life right now? But does my little collection (still missing about 8 quarters) mean anything at all if I can't pay my rent?
My roommate Erika, experiencing a similar season, quipped that this is the winter of our discontent. For Christmas I got her fingerless gloves because we were talking about how things feel so post-apocalyptic right now (yes, we are dramatic little women). But in many ways I am content. Anxious and getting gray hair but not entirely discontented.
I live on the third floor of one of Lancaster's townhouses, complete with crooked windy stairs and a ceiling that slants. It is a darling design if you need the room for storage or for a sewing room. But since this is the room that is my entire home, I find it tedious and poetic at the same time. I spend more time thinking about how I will maximize the space in this room than I have ever spent thinking about any home I have ever lived in. Everything has to be just so.
To make the diagonal walls work for me, I pushed my bed into a corner facing the wall. On the back side of my headboard is my couch and a few feet away in another corner, my TV. I was proud of this feat since it gives the illusion of two separate living spaces. Plus I have never had a TV in my bedroom and did not want to start. I firmly believe that a TV in the bedroom is bad for your sleep. I have enough problems. I do not need to add troubled sleep to the list right behind TV addict.
A small window is visible when I am laying in bed. I can see rooftops and some wires but primarily I see the sky. It is comforting and makes me feel hopeful.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
a brand new level of grouch
I had a few thoughts swimming around in my head. I am grouchy so I may not be properly converting the thoughts into words. At present I do not care.
I started working at Pier 1 and I smell like potpourri (gross) and am covered in glitter. I like it though, as much as one can like a job that pays $8 an hour. I like arranging pretty things on shelves and helping to make people's fine home furnishing dreams come to life.
I promised myself that I would be a nicer person now that I am in my thirties. I would not judge or hate people for being "less-than". Well, that did not last long. I (insert synonym for hate) my co-worker Fuchsia (names have been changed). She has an annoying accent. She talked about eyeing up customers to make sure they are not stealing, especially pregnant women (make sure they came in the store pregnant!). I offered her an olive branch of a witty comment and she ignored me. All bets are off, Fuchsia. Yes, you can be my work-arch-nemesis.
I am so busy holding myself together when I am alone that I am unable to cry. When talking to another person about the current state of my life right now I am pretty consistent with the waterworks. When I am alone I mainly blankly stare at the TV or sleep. I am a real barrell of laughs.
Someone mentioned that they might go as my blog for Halloween since it is so scary and depressing. I am strangely flattered, the way a sociopath might be flattered that people stop and stare at the trainwreck that is their life.
I started working at Pier 1 and I smell like potpourri (gross) and am covered in glitter. I like it though, as much as one can like a job that pays $8 an hour. I like arranging pretty things on shelves and helping to make people's fine home furnishing dreams come to life.
I promised myself that I would be a nicer person now that I am in my thirties. I would not judge or hate people for being "less-than". Well, that did not last long. I (insert synonym for hate) my co-worker Fuchsia (names have been changed). She has an annoying accent. She talked about eyeing up customers to make sure they are not stealing, especially pregnant women (make sure they came in the store pregnant!). I offered her an olive branch of a witty comment and she ignored me. All bets are off, Fuchsia. Yes, you can be my work-arch-nemesis.
I am so busy holding myself together when I am alone that I am unable to cry. When talking to another person about the current state of my life right now I am pretty consistent with the waterworks. When I am alone I mainly blankly stare at the TV or sleep. I am a real barrell of laughs.
Someone mentioned that they might go as my blog for Halloween since it is so scary and depressing. I am strangely flattered, the way a sociopath might be flattered that people stop and stare at the trainwreck that is their life.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Sweet sweet slumber
Jon officially moved out on Friday. I scheduled a day of fun activities away from the house so that I would not have to witness the move. I agreed to watch Sammich for a few days so that Jon could unpack his things in peace. Tonight I am delivering Sammich to Jon's new apartment (across the street from the Capital building and one block from his work) and we are exchanging goodbye gifts.
My mom and I took Spencer and Sammich to the dog park today. Sammich befriended a Great Dane, Spencer humped every dog that would let him and I befriended a woman about my age named Meghan. I suggested to my mom that maybe I would have a heterosexual life partnership with a woman since men are so tricky. She agreed that women are easier to understand and that she had read about women sharing lives together for the companionship without necessarily being lesbians.
I like the idea, although I am all talk. I have the energy for nothing beyond watching TV and occasionally showering right now. I usually manage the energy for one thing (for example: one job interview) and then need to go home and take a 4 hour nap. I look forward to the day when I feel more like myself again.
My mom and I took Spencer and Sammich to the dog park today. Sammich befriended a Great Dane, Spencer humped every dog that would let him and I befriended a woman about my age named Meghan. I suggested to my mom that maybe I would have a heterosexual life partnership with a woman since men are so tricky. She agreed that women are easier to understand and that she had read about women sharing lives together for the companionship without necessarily being lesbians.
I like the idea, although I am all talk. I have the energy for nothing beyond watching TV and occasionally showering right now. I usually manage the energy for one thing (for example: one job interview) and then need to go home and take a 4 hour nap. I look forward to the day when I feel more like myself again.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Hundred Year Old Heart
I have been in a relationship with Jon for two years (27 months, to be exact). We did all of the wonderful, mundane things that millions of people do when they are in love. We dated: movies, hikes, concerts, vacations. We were there for each other in difficult and joyous times: funerals, weddings, births. It has been over a year that we have shared a home in Elizabethtown, which is equi-distant from our two cities: Christmas decorations, weekend cooking projects, home improvements, puppy adoption. Next Friday he is moving back to Harrisburg. In five weeks I will move back to Lancaster.
Our romance breathed its last on Tuesday, September 7 shortly before midnight.
It is difficult to articulate the pain of a break-up to outside parties. Most people have been in painful break-ups of their own at one time or another, but the nature of a relationship is inherently personal.
Other people do not know the thousands of reasons why we loved one another.
In the end, specifics of both our love and the reasons for our break-up do not matter.
Our hearts are broken.
Our futures will not run parallel into infinity like we had hoped.
Fond memories of when our hopes were intertwined still linger in the air.
Our romance breathed its last on Tuesday, September 7 shortly before midnight.
It is difficult to articulate the pain of a break-up to outside parties. Most people have been in painful break-ups of their own at one time or another, but the nature of a relationship is inherently personal.
Other people do not know the thousands of reasons why we loved one another.
In the end, specifics of both our love and the reasons for our break-up do not matter.
Our hearts are broken.
Our futures will not run parallel into infinity like we had hoped.
Fond memories of when our hopes were intertwined still linger in the air.
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