930 East

Driving to work the other day, I pull off 309 and am waiting at the light to turn onto Coliseum and head to work. I see a woman crossing the road, being careful of course, but you Fort Wayners know, this is NOT an intersection to mess with, on foot especially.

She had a few beat up looking bags with her (one reminded me of the Civil War era carpet bags), but she herself looked very well kept, clean, etc. Maybe she was staying in a near by motel? There's quite a few right there. Who knows? All I knew was, the quality of her appearance (well kept, clean, neat) combined with her surroundings (hoofin' it across a state road near the highway) and her trappings (sizable, well worn bags), there was a story there. Good, bad, I don't know but it was a story just the same.

As I watched her walk to wherever it was she headed next, I have to admit, I envied her a bit. Whatever that story is, part of me was really wishing I was in her shoes rather than in my car. She seemed free. It almost made me think of a biblical passage: Take nothing but the clothes on your back, and the shoes on your feet. Don't bother taking money with you. Rely on the kindness of strangers, and if rejected, shake the dust from your feet and move on. She seemed liberated (emphasis on seemed) and a part of me really, truly wanted that for myself.

Chateau d'If

That title is supposed to be tongue in cheek, anyway. If you speak French you might get it. If not, well...

If I could live the kind of life I wanted--exactly how I wanted, right now--God knows it'd be a far sight different. Literally. I'd be in such a different place.

I'd be at home, reading, writing, enjoying coffee and time with my husband. Home would probably be another country. Work? Work wouldn't be "oh shit I need a job." Work would be something I'm doing because I want to. Something like teaching, translating, interpreting...the jobs I really liked doing.

I'd be able to enjoy my music, my books, my rest, my pets, have time to go to the gym, and do errands, and clean, and all that other stuff. There'd be a lot less pressure, but still expectations and meeting them as such. I'd get a pay check, and the family would be taken care of, but it wouldn't be a goddamn rat race.

I don't fucking fit in the 9-5 schematic. I really don't. I've been fucking trying and the last few days, I really feel how much I don't belong. I won't go into details, but I will say today it came to a head. I won't point fingers or play the blame game, but I will say that I don't feel like I belong. it's not that I don't want to. It's not that I don't want to earn my keep, pay my bills, and support myself and my husband. I do. I just...this conventional bullshit isn't cutting it.

I'm careful not to let myself fall too far into this. You know who did let themselves go too far? My dad. And he's an asshole. The last fucking thing I want is to be like him. I almost landed myself there once, and lesson fucking learned. People are still assholes over that shit. But anyway, before i digress too much, I don't want to make the same mistake twice. I don't think I am going to (necessarily) but I still feel like I have to make a conscious effort to NOT end up like that. And I am REALLY fucking trying. REALLY REALLY REALLY fucking trying. But I can't help that me...this...just isn't working.

It's like a bad relationship. Neither person involved is bad in and of themselves, but together, it's a fucking toxic situation. That's how I'm feeling. My partner (work) is just fine, in and of themselves. I'm fine on my own. But we got forced to sticking together, and then there's friction. We just don't match. But, without my partner, I  don't have many options. So, you stay in a shitty relationship to ensure your own survival. I fucking hate it. I don't stay in shitty relationships. Ever. Period. With anyone. Ever.

Sure, there are better fish in the sea, but the fuck do I do to find them? I'm still feeling empty handed. It isn't that I don't believe in myself...It's well...maybe a part of me doesn't believe in myself (yeah I know, fucking right?)...but maybe part of me is afraid of trading a rotten canoe for a rubber dingy. The rotten canoe is at least a canoe. A rubber dingy? I'll take my chances with the canoe.

I hate not knowing what to do. I hate, hate, hate, HATE it. If i at least know what to do/what I'm doing, then it's manageable, you know? I just...

Some days I still want to drive my car into a tree. Or down a bottle of my anti depressants. Or invest in a package of razor blades (DO NOT get into a BS spiel about how that's bad. I fucking know it is but it takes a lot of fucking guts for me to say this so just listen for 2 seconds before you say a fucking thing). I feel that hopeless, and useless, and worthless, and just...like it's not fucking worth it. What seems small and insignificant to you? Fucking take that on with a mood disorder (Dysthymia to give it a name). I feel like a goddamn failure, and like it's hopeless. I'm so fucking sick of feeling this way too. What's a minor setback for you, for me may as well be the end of the world and makes me feel like my worth as a human is negated.

And you know what pisses me off? I KNOW a lot of how I feel comes from "those who mind" who ultimately "don't matter." But, I still feel fucking shitty, and what the fuck do I do about it?

I've struggled most of my life to feel like I mean something, like I matter, like I'm worth while. I've never in my life felt like I meant shit all to anyone...and the one person who did care, well she's 6 feet under. I've never been once good enough, or merely adequate enough, for one person. And when I can't even keep it together for a shitty job, how the hell else is anything else supposed to matter? What the fuck can I give to anyone else? What the fuck do I do for the world around me?

Well, what started off as a rant about how I feel like I don't fit in has quickly spiraled out of control. I guess it all fits together though. I just want--for one time in my life--to feel like I amount to something. Like everything I do, everything I am, is more than just a pile of worthless shit with too much makeup, and too loud of a voice. No one fucking cares, and I can't hold myself together well enough to deal with the menial.

But--and maybe that's how this all ties in--I feel like this shit I just...can't. It's not that I don't want or try to, it's not that I don't need to. It's, for some fucking reason(s), that I can't. I can't manipulate myself enough to give a fuck. Or even if I give a fuck just...I can't get it right. And it drives me goddamn crazy because for now, I need to. I need to get it right enough to be able to get by. In a sense, I'm ok with that. I mean, hey, if it keeps me afloat, then it's fine. It's a stepping stone from point a to point b.

I feel like i was born for something...else. Bigger? Better? (Longer and Uncut) I don't know. But where I am at sure as hell isn't where i want to be. But I'm also feeling a little lost right now. I wish I could be one of those people who just floats through life...not caring, not thinking, not worried about where I fall in the scheme of the fucked up phenomenon called life. Or the even more fucked up one called humanity. Most days I wish I could go to sleep, and never wake up because I am just tired of the fight, and the nitpicking, and the struggle for beans. Never wake up, and make the world a better place, because now, someone as worthless as me isn't here to fuck anything else up.

Sergeant York (1941)

Last night, after a lot of talking about it, Brandon and I finally sat down and watched the Sergeant York movie with Gary Cooper playing the main role. Growing up, this was always such a big deal in the family, as it was part of who we were, and what we came from. It was always something to be proud of, and know, this is what made us who we were. Or a part of it anyway. We were a humble, Southern mountain family, raised on legends of Daniel Boone, and worked by the sweat of our brow. And it came around, full circle, with this particular story (almost a legend in and of itself). The story itself is remarkable, as it recounts a man's struggle with his faith, and answering the call of his country. He simply wanted to do the right thing. It's a story of a "small" man caught up in a big problem, and how he rose to the occasion. He did everything in his power to do the best he could. Even after The Great War, he came home and did what he could to bring education and means of making a living to the children of his community. He only ever wanted to help, and even in the midst of a war, that was his end goal.

Yeah, I know, I'm a bit biased, because it is family heritage. But it doesn't make what happened any less remarkable. And, it was important to me to share that with Brandon, because, well, it's the family legacy that's being meshed together. And if/when we have children, this will be part of their heritage too. That has always been important to me, because it's a good story. It's one of hope, and remembering that even the little guy can achieve something big, all he has to do is set his mind to it.

Not to mention, now, a little older and a little wiser, with a little more education, and a bit more knowledge of the world, watching this movie again, I caught so much more about so many things. So many historical and cultural notes I didn't catch watching this as a kid. It makes a world of difference when watching it.

While I was away, I always found it somewhat remarkable that, as far as I know, the last time a York set foot in France, it was to fight a war. Almost 100 years later, the next time a York did that, it was to travel and go to school. I always felt like my year away maybe played into that legacy somehow. It may not be remembered on a mass level, no one may never write books or movies about me and my life, but for my heritage, and the legacy I grew up with, that was how I fit in to it.

I never made it to Chatel Cherey, where all of this went down (though I wanted to, and I contacted an organization about information on that place itself). I will one day though. And making it to Pall Mall, Tennessee is far more feasible. I want to see all these things of legend I was always raised hearing about. I want to be able to see something tangible to where I came from, and maybe things will make a bit more sense about why I am where I am now.

I'm glad I finally got to share this with Brandon. It always meant so much to me, but now it's something that's part of not just my family, but our family. It's a truly special thing, to me.

It's nice having a weekend - tales from the sales floor #1

No, seriously, you never understand how nice weekends are in high school. Even if you're in some kind of sports, or band, or whatever, you never realize how nice it is going to school from 8-3, with weekends off, and evenings to yourself. Even if you have homework. Once condemned to the world of retail, forget it.

Now, I know there are other industries, with more demanding hours than retail. Don't get me wrong. Medical workers, city workers, police, fire fighters...and the list goes on. I sell lawn mowers. Definitely not as demanding as performing emergency surgery on a car accident victim, intervening in busting up a gang, or diving into a burning house.

But, I will be honest, I feel like at least those lines of work are appreciated for what they contribute. I may not be saving and protecting people, but hey, when you NEED something for your house, you're running to where I work (or somewhere like it). Or the grocery store. Or Hey! I wanna go shopping! So you head to the mall, and enjoy your time out, your new purchases, and your chance to play (even though your credit and debit cards and checkbooks detest it lol). Remember the little guy (so to speak). We're there busting our butts, so you have a great time, or making sure you get matched to the product that suits your needs the best. And frankly, most of us are lucky to make money that puts us at the Federal Poverty Line. I'm not gonna go into politics, but I will say, at least be appreciative. The pay ain't great, the hours suck, and most the time we go home with sore feet and backs, but if you at least appreciate what we do for you, I promise you, that goes a LONG way. It may not pay the bills, but it does make us feel better about our station. Or at least makes it tolerable.

So that said, I was off work yesterday at 2:30, and had today off. I actually got to enjoy hanging out with friends, and goofing off, and had a bit too much to drink without worrying about working hung over. Always a good thing. I definitely appreciate when I get a weekend or even part of a weekend. I actually get to spend time with my husband--even if it's just hanging out in the same room--or work on my yard (STILL a work in progress), or go to the gym, or clean, or just lay around. Or maybe I'm even the one finally getting a weekend to go shopping (and my credit cards and debit card hate me lol). Whatever it is I end up doing, I like having a chance once in a while to relax.

Enjoy your weekends people. Not just so you can sleep in and all that. But really enjoy having 2 days, back to back, where you get to appreciate time to yourself, and really don't have to worry about asking for 2 guaranteed days off. Work 5, rest 2. It's a nice little comfort despite everything else. I never knew how much I would miss a solid schedule like that.

Au début

Can I be honest here? No, I mean really, can I? I know, I know, you're thinking "But Erika! Of course you can be honest! It's YOUR blog! Post what you like! Forget whatever wire-tappers and internet trolls think!" No, that's not what I mean. I know I can be honest. Hell I have a TALENT for it. I can be brutally honest if you piss me off enough. I mean...can I be open?

I have no idea what the fuck I am doing here. Blogging? Seriously? I haven't done this seriously in ages! And why not use Facebook? Because fuck Facebook notes. This shit is cooler not to mention, I feel like Facebook is too clogged with political articles (guilty there, I admit), game invites (once again...), VagueBooking (try not to do that too much...unless I want to talk about it), food porn (never do that), Selfies (yep...bad about that one), and general bitching and ranting. Don't get me wrong, I love Facebook for all its shortcomings and flaws. I have so many wonderful people in my life, and it's easy to keep in touch on FB, instead of scrolling through for email addresses, and attaching pictures (sigh...them's was the days!). I guess I feel like I can be more expressive here, and invite people to come in, rather than force feed it in your newsfeed. I feel like this allows me more of an outlet.

So, back to honesty...yeah, what the fuck is this? Hell if I know. Oh, yeah, profanity too. I'm good with that one. Don't like it? Fuck off. Seriously. I don't have time for that shit.

I've been debating doing this for a bit now. I used to enjoy a duality of writing by hand, and writing online. Maybe I just don't have the environment I used to. Writing in my journal is a chore, and I'm barely home long enough to let myself soak into that mode. Goddamn, never though I would miss high school and all of its liberties.

To move on to some actual content, instead of me blathering on like a moron, why am I here? Because, I have too much craziness rolling around in this head of mine and some of it needs to come out eventually. Sure, some of it will get written down. There are things that make me too vulnerable to just spill EVERYTHING on a webpage. But there are things I want to voice. Things I want to communicate to people, and maybe they'll roll my ramblings around in their heads and say "Hey Erika, here's what I think!" and actually talk to me. No, I don't mean the infamous internet bitching we all find ourselves in at one time or another (WAY guilty of that one). I mean...discussion. Picking minds. Introspection. REAL INTERACTION (yes, even possible via computer...communication is communication people. Deal with it). Because sometimes, it's easier to type up words on a computer screen, rather than talk, or write, or keep it bottled up (which I suck at the last one anyway).

So can I be honest? I hope someone somewhere reads this shit, and doesn't think I'm a total fucktard moron. I hope someone reads this and just says to me eventually. "Erika...I get it. You said everything I feel." I know it won't be that ways 100% of the time, but I'm ok with it happening once every so often. I just need an avenue in which I can be as expressive as I goddamn well please, and maybe someone else can appreciate it.