Goodbye, No 'Poo! (Or How My Hair Took Over My Life Without Me Realizing It)

I fell off the wagon today.  I washed my hair with shampoo.  Just a little bit from my boyfriend's bottle this morning in the shower because my hair felt disgusting and it was either that or shave my head.

My hair felt better, but not spectacular or anything.

Tonight, I showered with my own shampoo for the first time in 2 years and a few months.  I used conditioner.  I used face wash, which I'd been avoiding since I started no 'poo and wouldn't be able to get it out if it got in my hair with baking soda.

I smell wonderful.  I haven't smelled this good in a really long time.  Hair has its own smell, and while it's not unpleasant, it's not exactly the picture of what you think of when you think "girl".  I missed smelling like flowers and herbs and random fruits.  My hair is manageable for the first time in months (except on hair washing days, when it looked and felt good for about 12 hours before it was sad and waxy again), it smells incredible, and I feel more like a girl than I have in ages.

This is a big, big change for me.  It makes me a little sad, because of everyone that tried it with me (Sondra, Magus, and Heather), I was the longest holdout, as far as I know - Sondra switched back a few months after trying it, Heather gave it a year, and I have no idea what Magus did with it.  I stuck with it, because I stick with my decisions and try my best to be consistent and keep my word.  So, even when no 'poo was making me miserable, I stuck with it, because I had made a decision and it was important to me to stick to my principles.  Plus, the amount of chemicals we use on our bodies scares me.

The thing is, because I wanted so badly for no 'poo to work, I stopped doing things.  Like taking hot baths and submerging and swooshing my hair in the water.  Or bubble baths.  I stopped going swimming (not that I ever went often in the first place) because the chemicals in swimming pools are nearly impossible to get out of hair with only baking soda and water as a solvent.  I stopped using face washes, masks, and scrubs because I feared getting these things in my hair and being unable to get it out.  I stopped doing things that made me happy, and that really bothers me.

My hair would cause my face to break out if it got too greasy.  Also, it's a pain in the ass to make the solution on hair washing days.  It's a pain in the ass to scrub that hard for that long over the whole scalp.  I went two weeks this past July without using anything in my hair because I just didn't care anymore.  It didn't matter how often I showered, my hair felt like ass regardless.  Imagine rubbing something like dried out vaseline (still greasy, but thicker and stickier) all over your arm, and then trying to get it off with just water every couple of days.  That's what my hair and scalp have felt like since probably about April, especially since June.  It's really hard to feel sexy and feminine when your hair is chunked and greasy and completely unmanageable.  It's really frustrating to only have two hairstyles available to you because you can't use hairspray or hair gel or mousse or anything because you can't get it out of your hair if you do.

No 'poo worked great for me for a good long time.  It was great when I was too poor to buy things like shampoo - you can buy baking soda with food stamps; you can use baking soda to clean your hair and your house if it comes down to it.  Maybe my body chemistry changed, or I was too busy to maintain it properly (I had an actual schedule for my hair for awhile until I was too tired to do it).  Maybe it's because I'm probably depressed and too busy dealing with basic stuff like eating and wearing clothes and leaving the house to do something as complicated as no 'poo.  I know I can go back to it if I want to or decide I hate shampoo (not today at least), or if we can't afford shampoo later on or if the shampoo makes all my hair fall out.

So, for the foreseeable future, I'm saying goodbye to no 'poo.  Good luck to those who are trying it, learning about it, or having success with it.

(Also, they brought back 90's Herbal Essences.  I seriously want to toss my hair around while screaming "YES YES YES!!!" because it smells incredible.)

The Truth

As far as I can tell, I've pretty much completely kept any mention of my current mental state off Facebook altogether (this is expanding upon a status I wrote about punching people who demand positive statuses in the face) - I don't figure anyone cares overmuch about how I am feeling, so I don't see the point in writing about how I am, once again, so depressed I can barely go to class let alone take care of myself or my home or give my boyfriend the love he deserves. Especially since I feel this way every day, and writing about it on Facebook is going to get redundant and boring very fast (especially if I mentioned it as often as I feel this way), and also will serve to prove that no one cares if I am depressed or not. Anytime I have posted a status in the last three years that wasn’t full of happy and awesome, no one said anything to me about it, online or in real life. Even when that status was obviously a plea for someone to help me, no one said anything.

Basically, I don’t see the fucking point in telling people that I am depressed. I might whine about how I am not having a good day, but I don’t need to detail how depression is not feeling sad so much as it is the inability to give a shit. I want to clean the kitchen right now, but I look at the kitchen and I just feel so tired, and then I feel guilty because I’m a horrible person. I know exactly how Allie Brosh feels when she says she’s hit by a “wave of apathy” and unable to continue. 

I have good days and bad days.  I have days where I don't feel like I am depressed at all.  I also have days where I struggle to get out of bed, struggle to have conversations with people, and struggle to behave normally because I want so desperately for Matt to be happy.  I wish I could explain it as elegantly as Allie does, but my ability to write is broken due to my inability to think about anything.

Depression isn't something where you just feel sad.  It's this white expanse of nothing, and the only emotions you can really feel are despair and apathy.  Or in my case, melancholy, apathy, and rage.  Those are my three primary modes right now.  I do a good perky, though, so it appears like I'm happy a lot more often than I am (though science makes me feel genuinely happy - the feeling just doesn't stay very long, so going to class is kind of like getting high), so I'm sure people who don't know me well can't tell the difference between me being a happy person and me acting the part of a happy person.  It's so much easier to go through life without eliciting the concern of others.  I don't want to be a bother and I don't want to make people fear for me, because knowing I've caused someone else that kind of discomfort just kills me.

That worry about being an inconvenience to someone else is probably why I haven't sought help yet, aside from the issues from when I was a teenager (my mother used to abuse the mental health system to get a break from me - she'd have me locked up in a mental hospital for as long as the insurance would cover me, and they'd medicate me to the hilt and turn me into a zombie when if anyone had looked properly, they could have seen the cause of most of my mental health issues, but I'm not bitter or anything).  I am afraid of losing control of the situation and being forced to stay in a mental hospital and being forced to take medication I don't want, and I'm afraid of bothering other people because it's so ingrained in me that I am here to serve others.

I am so messed up.

I probably should get over worrying about bothering others soon, because I'm pretty sure I'm getting past the point where I can manage on my own.  I'm afraid of what I might do to myself if I continue on, and I don't want to hurt Matt.  I want to be with Matt until I'm really, really old and dead.  I don't want to hit that edge and be unable to do anything to stop myself.  I don't really want counseling, but I also am repulsed by the concept of being medicated - I remember how I felt when I was heavily medicated as a teenager, and I really don't want to feel that way again.  Plus, the meds made me fat, and I never lost any of that weight.

This sounds terrible, but right now I am living for Matt because I can't live for me, and that's all that is keeping me going today - the desire to see him and to make him smile.  This morning, when we were talking about this situation a little bit, he told me that I am the biggest and most important thing in his life right now.  I don't think anyone has ever loved me as much as he does, and I am unable to put into words how that makes me feel.  It frightens me, because I don't want to be handed that kind of power.  I don't know what to do with it, and I love him so much more than I can put into words, but I've never been loved the way he loves me and I feel like it's not meant for me.  He deserves so much better than me.  He deserves to be with someone who is not broken.

If I can just find the motivation to get the laundry put away, that will be something.  I managed to separate it earlier, so that's pretty good.  If I can get half of it put away before Matt gets home, that would be good.  I'm hoping that once I get momentum, I can get it all put away at once.  

Existing is exhausting.

Earth Science and Exhaustion

It has been awhile since I last wrote anything. This would be because between moving insanity, deciding to enroll in the summer semester, choosing a major, and putting in notice at Walmart, I haven’t really had time to devote to writing in my blog. I need to get back into writing more often, however, as I have to write speeches this fall for Public Speaking, and because I will be taking a creative writing class in the spring. I need to get my creative juices flowing so my crazy ass can write and learn all of the science at the same time.

Basically, everything is happening right now. I’m currently taking Intro to Earth Science. This is a 5 credit hour class. (Four hours for the lecture and one for the lab.) The summer version of this class is 5 weeks long. This is incredibly intense. My poor brain. Two days into this class, I decided I would in fact be choosing Earth Science as my major, which I have now done. I’m still deciding if I want to continue having it be a Bachelor of Arts or if I want to switch it to Bachelor of Science – I don’t particularly want to take ten hours of foreign language.

Today, I stayed after to ask my professor some questions about what I need to do to prepare for the Meteorology class I’m taking this fall since we’re going to zip right through the atmospheric science section in the intro class (primarily due to the extremely compressed nature of this class – we’re covering a chapter per day, on average, sometimes two), and she gave me some advice regarding that: scour the chapters in the book I already have, try to get the book for the Meteorology class as early as possible and read through it, that kind of thing. She also talked to me about some of the stuff that I need to worry about for the test I’m taking tomorrow morning (we have a test every Friday for the lecture and a test every Tuesday for the lab), particularly the geologic time scale because I’m a little fuzzy on that and that’s mostly what the test is over. Then she told me that I’m doing fine in the class (I feel like I’m not retaining this information well at all because I’m making more mistakes than I would like to be – I’m not used to making several mistakes on assignments), and that I actually have the highest grade in the class. I’m just floored by that, because I was completely convinced that I am not doing well at all, but apparently I’m doing amazing. She also said that I have definitely picked the right major, and that I’m doing very well in the accelerated version of this class, and that while she wouldn't recommend most majors to take this class in the summer (it’s a prerequisite for everything else), I am handling it very well because I’m so intelligent, and it shouldn't be a problem when I’m taking other classes related to my major.

I leave class giddy every day (or annoyed that I don’t understand topographic maps very well), and I just love all of this stuff. I’d probably love it more if I wasn't so tired, though. I’m working on fixing that, though, as I put in notice at Walmart (it’s just killing me to keep working there, and I feel like I’m doing something totally insane by quitting my job, but I can feel my joints breaking down and it’s killing time I could be spending doing homework or going to bed at a decent hour)… I have three shifts to go – tomorrow, Saturday, and next Wednesday, and then I’m done. I’m not saying more because I don’t really want to burn bridges in case I crash and burn and fail out of college (I’m basically becoming Hermione – my boggart would totally be a professor telling me I've failed everything), because then I’ll need a job.

Many people have asked me how I’m planning on supporting myself – I have financial aid and the best, most supportive boyfriend in the world. This summer is going to be kind of sucky, but I think we’ll be okay. At some point, I need to find the time to redo the budget I made a couple of weeks ago because it ended up not working on a pretty grand scale. It was great in theory, but lacked a gas for the car budget and would work better if we only had one bank account. So it’s a great individual budget and a horrible two person, two account budget. Plus, I’m not very organized.

We've been doing pretty well around the house – I've managed to totally avoid having to use the garbage disposal here because Matt is always the person who runs it. He’s such a good guy. I need to clean really bad because everything is so cluttered right now – we don’t know where to put everything. We lost my umbrella for a month because I forgot Heather put it in the furnace closet. We have a great symbiotic relationship here, though, and I can’t speak for Matt (he’s not even here right now, he’s visiting his parents today), but I’m very happy with being here and living with him. Having him not be here last night was like missing part of myself, everything was just wrong.

I don’t have much to say, sorry this is so boring. Too tired to be hilarious.

Beauty

Take a moment to look in the mirror.  Seriously.  Right this second.  Don't worry, I'll wait.

So.  What did you see?  If you had to describe yourself to a police sketch artist, would it turn out something like this?




Why does this happen?  For that matter, why do we fight so hard to prevent wrinkles from appearing?  Why do we spend millions of dollars to make ourselves look like Barbie dolls when we are already likely beautiful as we are?  Why do some people approve of adding plastic surgery to what is already beautiful?  Why do we hate ourselves?

I'm of two minds with this.  On the one hand, I'm appalled that women in general do not think they are beautiful.  According to an article I read on Yahoo this morning, only 4% of women around the world would describe themselves as beautiful.  I can definitely say I would not.  Matt would disagree.  He even thinks I'm beautiful when I'm barfing.  He may be deluded.  I'm not sure.  I know that what I see in the mirror is not what other people see when they look at me.  I see tiny eyes because I wear glasses, and I feel that I have an enormous nose, and my jaw isn't really there because I have a fat face because I'm overweight.  And that's just me.  What about all those women out there who hate the way they look so much they butcher themselves to fix it?  And what if the results are worse?  Do they go through surgery after surgery, hoping that somehow, some way, they eventually become satisfied with what they see in the mirror?  And then there's the concern that they may never be satisfied at all.

However, I said I was of two minds on this issue, and I've only talked about my first opinion.  My second opinion is that of course women and girls hate themselves!  Look at what we are bombarded with every day!  At the grocery store, it's airbrushed, plucked, trimmed, made up perfection on the covers of magazines, reminding us that we will never, ever look like Jessica Alba.  Our hair will never be smooth or thick enough, our faces will never be clear enough, our breasts never perky enough, and we will never, ever be thin enough.  We are never enough.  That is the message that is conveyed, very clearly, to every woman who has ever entered a grocery store or read a magazine or spent any time watching television or using the internet.  Diet commercials.  Hair dye commercials.  Clothing ads with models whose thighs are skinnier than my forearms.  Victoria's Secret, which doesn't even go up to my cup size.  New tricks to lose some weight so we may be acceptable and loved.  We don't deserve love because we don't look like Jessica Alba.

You know what?  That's bullshit.  So what if I don't look like Jessica Alba?  So what if my weight is probably twice hers?  (I may be estimating high, but she's so tiny.)  Why am I not beautiful?  Why don't we describe ourselves as beautiful?  Would that be too full of ourselves?  Are we that concerned about what other people think?

Look in the mirror.  Find something you like about your face.  After you do that, I want you to do something radical.  Find something you like about every single aspect of your face.  I want you to do that until you like your whole face.  Don't worry.  I'll try it, too.  I think we're all going to be sobbing at mirrors and confusing the people in our lives very soon.  But hey.  You are beautiful.  You are strong and you are wise.

My Garbage Disposal Wants to Eat Me (Or Why Plumbers Are Rich)

I am not good at getting things done today.  I am making coffee.  I got distracted by the notes I left for myself all over my whiteboard and noticed that I listed off a couple things I wanted to write about in my blog.  So, twofer!  If I remember to post it.  Oh god.

Anyway.  I wanted to write about garbage disposals.

I happen to have one.  Fortunately, I do not have two, or seven, or 23 of them.  Just one.  One is plenty.

Why is one garbage disposal plenty?  Because I'm terrified of my garbage disposal.  It makes the sink vibrate.  It makes scary growling noises.  It crunches.  It makes weird smells and then I'm forced to buy lemons and toss those down there to fix the smells.  This is also terrifying because the garbage disposal doesn't seem to like lemon peels and the whole sink shudders horribly every time I have to use a lemon to counteract the garbage disposal's desperate need to have a funk cloud fill my home.  I do not enjoy this experience.

My least favorite part about having my garbage disposal is turning it on, and that is because I have to practically climb into the sink to reach the switch to turn the disposal on, and then, because I'm terrified of my garbage disposal, I must leap away from it as quickly as possible before its monster teeth come out and drag me in by the hair.  I do not want to die by garbage disposal.  After it has finished eviscerating all the gross stuff that fell into it and hopefully none of my spoons, I must leap over the sink and hit the switch to turn it off.  I repeat, I must extend my person over the opening to the scary death monster that lives in my sink so I can make it go away.  This is not fair.

Another reason I hate my garbage disposal is because I am fearful of it spitting tiny chunks of nasty stuff into the air.  I am absolutely convinced that one of these days, the garbage disposal is going to barf all over the kitchen and then I will be stuck cleaning up garbage disposal barf, which is a million times worse than people barf or dog barf.  I might not even be able to do it.  If my garbage disposal ever barfed all over my kitchen, I'd probably have to just move rather than deal with that mess.  (Also, to illustrate how strong my stomach is, I am currently eating breakfast while writing about this.)  And I would have to leave all of my stuff behind, and I really like my stuff, so I hope my garbage disposal never decides it hates me enough to barf all over.

Also, there should be some sort of mesh thingy that can be moved out of the way to allow garbage to fall into it that sits above the flappy things.  That way, my whole arm doesn't have to enter the garbage disposal EVER, and I will never have to worry about my silverware falling into the garbage disposal I'm afraid to look into ever again.  Actually, I think I could buy something like that.  It would be an extra step in cleaning the kitchen, but it might just be worth it to avoid the horror of having to stick my arm into the sink monster to pull out a spoon that cost less than 50 cents.

There is also a silly reason for my fear of the garbage disposal, which stems from my love of Stephen King.  The first book I ever read by Stephen King was It, and I have reread it probably about 5 times, considering I read it for the first about 12 years ago, and I reread it about once every other year.  Because I have read this book so much, I'm pretty familiar with the story.  There is a part in this book involving a sink and a monster in the sink and a lot of blood.  In fact, the scary stuff in the book mostly takes place near drains and things like that.  Anyway, I don't know if you noticed, but I have an overactive imagination.  This has caused me to terrify myself on a fairly regular basis, usually at night.  My imagination would like to convince me that the garbage disposal is actually a monster that is going to come out and eat me or try to drag me in and eat me with magic.  Logically, I know that this is not true, but my imagination disagrees and would like to inform me that if my coffee cup's eyes are looking behind me, there is a demonic farmer with really gross overalls holding a pitchfork standing there waiting for me to turn around so he may look at me while he kills me.  This is part of why I try to suppress my imagination a little bit, because I really would simply stop sleeping.  But I digress.

So, because of these reasons (fears?), I do not run my garbage disposal often.  Because I am terrified of it.  If there have been a lot of dishes lately, or if I've had to wash all of my dishes because I am overwhelmed by school and the first thing to go is the dishes until I completely run out of glasses and bowls (my current predicament), a large quantity of gross stuff makes its way into my garbage disposal all at once (or sometimes over time due to the lack of diligence in washing my dishes).  Anyway, there's build up.  And I hate running the garbage disposal if anything dishes related is in the sink.  That means all of the dishes in the sink must either be removed to a different location or washed before I am willing to attempt to run the disposal.  This further lowers the instances of running the garbage disposal, and makes the disposal unhappy and icky, but the vibration of the sink makes everything clatter and crash and that is also terrifying because of the violence of the clattering.  Due to these (probably totally rational) fears, my garbage disposal is currently blocking the right side of the sink's ability to drain water.  What this means is that the garbage disposal fills up with water, and because there's a lot of gunk in there, it's draining slowly, and because it's draining slowly and I'm washing a cup or a bowl so I can have some coffee and breakfast before I run around like a headless chicken all day, my sink starts to fill with water.  Fortunately, it's not nasty garbage disposal water or I'd have to move.  But this does cause problems if I'm trying to wash multiple things or get a dent in the dishes.  I'm very lucky in that it is still at least draining, but if I don't run the disposal soon, that will become a distant memory.

I would be much happier living somewhere that had a dishwasher and no disposal.  I can handle dumping the sink strainer into the trash.  I am good with that concept.  Apparently I am not good with the concept of turning on a scary, loud machine that will chew up the food I did not eat.

And this is why plumbers are rich.

Insomnia

So I figure I may as well write something rather than mindlessly click through things for hours and hours and suddenly it's 2 AM and I hate myself.  I should be sleeping right now, but I'm so awake you could probably use my eyeballs as reflectors.  I have no idea what I even did.

Today, I ate fruit salad and cereal and coffee, quesadillas, hamburger rice, fruit salad, cheese wontons, fruit salad, and chai tea.

I like fruit salad.

I think the chai may be why I am awake.

I like data entry way too much.  I should probably explain this.  I am taking a class that teaches the basic functions (plus some extra) of several Microsoft Office programs - Word, Excel, Access, and PowerPoint.  We're currently on the Access unit, and there's a project with it because we're supposed to do projects to show we get the concept.  Well, I needed a minimum of 25 records for the main data table, and an appropriate corresponding number of records for other tables (I have to have at least two, or there's no point in using Access), and I'm choosing to do my project based off my Amazon book wishlists, but since I want to buy 825 books, I narrowed that down to a little over 200 books, printed off a few pages of various wishlists (I have anal-retentively organized my wishlists by genre because there are so many books), and from there, I got it down to 194 books and 118 authors.  I also had to manually look up the ISBNs for all of those books, whether they were hardcover or paperback, and in some cases, how much they cost.  I've been working on this for three days.

Anyway.  This is what I have been doing.  And I've been enjoying myself.  This is fun for me.  Fun to the point that I am pretending my other homework doesn't exist because I fear responsibility even though Matt says he's dating a valedictorian, but I'm not sure I want to be a valedictorian, but I can't accept less than perfection because then I am a failure.  I know that's not logical, but it's how my brain has decided I will view  college and I'm not sure how to go back and fix it so it stop doing that.

Anyway, I really like data entry and find it quite enjoyable.  I am a freak of nature.  Unfortunately, I have run out of data to enter because I don't want to overwhelm myself with data, but I also felt that in order to get a meaningful database, I was going to need more than 25 records or whatever.  At least I'll get the extra credit for having over 100 items in one table.  I wonder if they will give me the extra credit twice since both tables have over 100 items in them.

I say that word that begins with A too much.  I really should find a different kind of segue.  I am actually not a bad writer, but it is 1:00 in the morning and I am exhausted and wired and I do better with formal writing.  I am kind of awful at casual writing, I don't know what to write, and this is why I will never be a famous blogger.

Insomnia is a horrible thing to have.  I have class in the morning and I have to take the bus to work tomorrow because I think Matt is busy or possibly unwilling and he should definitely be working on his research paper because he didn't even start research on it until last week and he has known about it all semester.  I have no sympathy for him.  I shouldn't have sympathy for me, either.  I have been procrastinating on my presentation project for days.  I think I just don't want to do it.  I don't know why I don't want to do it.

My entire existence is completely wrapped up in school at the moment.  I don't know how I feel about this realization.  My owl coffee mug is staring behind me and to the left, and it's freaking me out and making me think that someone is there, lurking with a big knife or a chainsaw or a spiky gardening tool and once I turn around that will be my last moment and oh GOD why did I think of that because now I really will never sleep again and I won't even have the option of walking over to Matt's because I will be too terrified of homicidal farmers to go outside until it is no longer dark.

I need to make more fruit salad.  Or eat some vegetables.  I've been mostly eating fruit for the last two days, but the day before that I ate an insane amount of vegetables.  I need to make a grocery list so I can torture Matt with food shopping.  I'm sure he will be delighted.  But it must happen.  Fruits and veggies must come home with me and climb in my tummy and be happy.  Especially cauliflower.  And fruit salad.  That I make.  I am terrific like that.  Every time I type "fruit salad" I think of the Wiggles song.  Thank you Joseph.

Okay, well, I should probably finish posting this or something or click the publish button, that is where I was going with that.  I have to try to sleep.  Now that I am thinking about the Wiggles rather than terrifying things.  But this is such an earworm.  If you don't know that word, you are a poop.

BOOYA.

I don't know why I wrote that.

Service Workers Are Not People

This post was catalyzed by this letter on Imgur.

"If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals."

I judge people by how they treat me when I am at work.  If they are awful to me because they think they can be, I know what kind of person they really are, and it is not kind.  I think working in the service industry has taught me how to be a good person by virtue of showing me how I could be perceived by my treatment of others.  I am not perfect, and I am not always nice.  I also expect excellent service when I patronize businesses, but I would never, ever demoralize another human being like so many do.  I deserve to be treated like a person with feelings, and I should not have to accept less because I'm wearing a nametag and scanning things for you to take home.

This is why I am going to college.  Sometimes I forget and wonder why I'm bothering with all of this work and stress, but it is because I would like to be treated with respect when I am in public.  I am tired of being forced to accept that on a semi-regular basis, I will be called names, cursed at, have things thrown at me, be threatened with physical assault, and have drunk people screaming vulgarities in my face.  I have to smile and put up with that because to do anything else could get me fired, and I need to remain employed.  I am perpetuating the culture that it is okay to treat me and other service workers that way, because I have no other choice.

Unfortunately, the veneer is cracking.  I occasionally don't let people get away with saying some things to me.  A man recently said something rude to me about how I need to be grateful for my job because I was joking about how tired I was, and rather than smile and be nice to him and change the subject to safer ground, I simply stopped talking to him.  I do not have to be grateful like a dog because I barely make $8 an hour.  Yeah, I don't make much right now because I'm going to school and only work 3 days a week, but $8 an hour is still basically nothing.  If I had a car, I wouldn't be able to pay for it or car insurance.  I make enough to cover my bills and buy supplemental groceries now that I no longer have food stamps.  (Because I'm a college student, I obviously don't need any food to fuel my body or anything.)  If I didn't pay rent in giant chunks with my student loan money, I wouldn't be able to afford the rent and I'd be homeless by now.

People have nearly hit me with shopping carts, demanded that I smile at them, gotten me fired because I didn't thank them for their purchase, thrown drinks at me, allowed their child to throw things at me, threatened me with physical harm, grabbed my breasts, made me cry, cursed at me, and many many other things over the years.  It has been made very plain to me that I do not matter, and I am tired of it.  What happened to treating others with kindness?  What happened to "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you"?  What about basic human decency?

Why is it okay to be rude to service workers?

America is Not the Greatest Anymore

I wrote the following piece as part of a homework assignment in my Composition II class a few weeks ago.  The assignment was to watch a YouTube video of a part of an episode of The Newsroom and write at least three paragraphs reacting to it.  I am proud enough of what I wrote that I am republishing it here to show all of you lovely people.  I welcome any discussion there may be, and I hope you enjoy reading.

America is Not the Greatest Anymore

The message of the video, “The Most Honest Three Minutes in Television History,” breaks my heart, because it is true.  America is no longer the greatest country in the world, and we let it happen while we were playing Angry Birds on our smartphones.  This country used to be the best country in the world.  Sixty years ago, I would have proudly told anyone that I am an American, but today, instead of feeling a national pride in my country of origin, all I feel is shame.  I am ashamed that instead of innovating, we are watching total garbage like Jersey Shore.  I am ashamed of my generation.  I am ashamed that in the last fifty years, citizens of this country have developed the most unbelievably amazing technology, and now we use it to entertain ourselves rather than affect change in the world.  We are complacent.  No one is putting forth what is necessary to do these great things America used to be known for, and this is a contributing factor as to why HIV and cancer still do not have cures.  We are too content.

America used to be based on morality and respect.  Life was about working hard for what you have and earning your place in society.  Once upon a time, people knew their neighbors and even talked to them.  I was raised by members of what Tom Brokaw called the “Greatest Generation”.  The Greatest Generation are those who grew up during the Great Depression, then went on to fight in World War II or worked hard for the war effort, then successfully built America up after the war.  They did these things because it was the right thing to do.  There used to be a “right thing to do” in America.  I fear the sentiment is now “the right thing for me”.  John F. Kennedy once said, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.”  People were proud of themselves and their achievements, and weren’t afraid to work hard for what they wanted.  They took pride in their country and worked hard to make it be a good country.  People didn’t beg for help at the first sign of trouble, but soldiered on.  We used to value independence.

America is not the land it once was.  It is no longer “the land of the free and the home of the brave,” but “the land of the paranoid and the home of the lazy.”  Children are walked like dogs out of fear they will be snatched from their parents’ arms by faceless strangers.  Instead of being walked, dogs live in purses.  Men speak to women disparagingly, chivalry has died, and our great American pastime is now Grand Theft Auto and reality TV.  The smart are shunned and labeled “geeks” or “nerds” and the unintelligent rule the land.  Once, being a Senator was something you did in addition to your real job; now it’s a job unto itself, pandering to corporate greed and walking upon the backs of smaller, better men.  What has happened to us?

There was a time when we stood up for what was right, regardless of whether it was the easier path.  We once followed a moral code.  We didn’t belittle people because it was funny.  We didn’t videotape people being stabbed instead of calling for help or stepping in and stopping it ourselves.  America was once a country of honor, and now that honor has fallen to our feet in shambles.   There was a time when we truly lived.  We traveled and saw things, not concrete edifices but actual things, things to tell our children and grandchildren about.  The most fascinating people I have ever met have all been over sixty years old.  We used to look at the world with wonder, filled with the desire to explore and learn.  We were once true pioneers, and now we sit at home, content to never see anything or go anywhere but to our computers, where we virtually travel the world whenever we want without ever experiencing anything.

As much as I love the internet, and I spend an unholy amount of my time in front of a computer screen for recreational purposes, there are times when I wish it had never existed.  I remember life before the internet, and during the early and mid-nineties before it was prevalent, and I remember a much more tangible connection to people.  All the kids played outdoors, and there was a true neighborhood atmosphere when I was a child.  Today, no kids play outdoors and the only thing heard in the average neighborhood is the hum of hundreds of air conditioners.  The internet made the world too big, too close, and now we live in boxes and hide from the world.  We no longer know how to work hard for our survival any more than we remember how to be honest or daring or brave.

Changes

I have now lived in Emporia, Kansas for a year and a day. I moved here February 11, 2012, virtually homeless, all of my belongings in my friend’s living room, having been unemployed for most of the previous two years. I was 24 years old.

Within a week of arriving in Emporia, I managed to find a job as a cashier at a big blue store. Little did I know that this job would set in motion many hundreds of changes in my life in the months to follow. By June 1, 2012, I had signed a lease on my first apartment with a roommate, and was working as many hours as my employer would allow me, earning enough money to pay the rent and survive. For the first time, I was living in a home that was at least partially my own. At the end of June, I was introduced to a man by some friends I met through my job who would change the course of the rest of my life, though I did not realize it then. He became my boyfriend, and within a few short weeks, with the help of our mutual friends who introduced us, he had convinced me to apply for and enroll at Emporia State University.

I was very unsure upon my enrollment whether I belonged at the university, and was not sure if I would continue to attend beyond that first semester. However, I rose to the occasion and finished my first semester of college with a 4.0 grade point average, seemingly with little effort on my part. I grew to like school, and as I did, my confidence in my abilities grew, and I am now a full-time student, with expectations of a high GPA once again at the end of this semester. I now live alone in my apartment, my roommate having finished college and moved back to her family home in Kansas City. I pay my bills on time, ensure my rent is on time, go to work when I am scheduled, attend class, do my homework, and squeeze in time with my boyfriend when I can.

I am smart. I am highly motivated, and I have come so far in the last year. I never would have thought I would be where I am now when I woke up on February 12, 2012. This past year has been the most incredible journey, and I am gratified to find myself on this road.

Thank you for reading.

Playing Catch-Up

I’m going to take a stab at catching up to the present from my last real blog post in my old blog in June.

Last time I wrote a post, I was depressed and mildly suicidal and wondering if any of this would be worth it. Then Sam kidnapped me to her apartment and shoved some friendship and tacos down my throat, and made me spend time with her husband, Wolf, her, and their roommate, Matt.

Well, things have changed drastically since that night, and I couldn’t be happier. Matt and I started “going out” in early July (we consider our anniversary to be July 7th), and we are still doing very well six months on. He has completely changed my life. He stopped letting me walk home from work (even though this made me gain weight from the inactivity), and insists on driving me everywhere. He’s calmed down a little bit about that now, but he still doesn’t let me walk home for the most part. Anyway, it’s January now, so if I wanted to walk home from work, I’d have to plan it ahead of time and bring the proper outerwear so I wouldn’t freeze to death on the way.

About three weeks after Matt and I started dating, (we haven’t been on that many dates, actually, but I’m not sure what term should be used), Sam started harassing me about college. Then Wolf chimed in. Eventually, they browbeat me into applying, though I stopped short of paying the application fee, as I didn’t have the money that day. Once I did have the money, Matt took me up to the college and nearly hog-tied me and carried me into the admissions office. I was really reluctant to actually take the step to get the process of starting college started, because it was terrifying and unknown and I didn’t feel ready. It was scarier to me than the concept of becoming a parent.

Long story short, I was admitted and enrolled and attended college for the first time this past fall. It wasn’t what I expected, the classes I was taking were shockingly easy – I don’t know if that’s because I’m ridiculously smart or because I picked classes that happened to be easy, but I did very well, except for the amount of stress I was under. Unfortunately, most of the stress was self-inflicted, because I was so paranoid about doing well, about not failing. Basically, I’m Hermione Granger. I even finished the semester with a 4.0 grade point average. I have never had a 4.0 in my LIFE. I’m so proud of myself.

Heather moved out a week before Christmas and I both miss her and enjoy not having to share the apartment with anyone. I've turned her old bedroom into my office. The closet is currently exploding with crap I’m storing in it (I never finished organizing that), I have my desk, computer, filing cabinet, and printer all set up in here, a table for my plants since I took up THAT hobby, and enough books stacked in the corner to justify a new bookcase. Crap.

The last few months living with Heather were turbulent. She and I are not meant to cohabitate – she needs everything to be completely clean and spotless all the time or it severely adds to her stress, and I thrive in chaos. I mean, I prefer things to be clean, but it’s not the end of the world if the place is a little messy as long as it smells okay and it’s not TOO bad. I figure it doesn’t look like a place from Hoarders, so I’m good. And I’m trying to keep it nice here, too. At the moment, the office and the kitchen are probably the two most chaotic rooms, due to a lack of storage space on both counts. It doesn’t look the way it did when Heather lived here, but at least now if I put something down, it will still be where I put it and not stuffed into a pile that accidentally gets thrown away in a vain attempt to force neatness out of me. (This happened on a regular basis with things that were often rather important. This frustrated me very intensely.) In any case, Heather and I spent about half the time living together being angry or frustrated with each other or fighting over stupid shit because we annoyed each other so much. I still miss her, though.

I spent Christmas with Matt’s family this year. It was really nice; I think the ones I met liked me. I already know the names of the 13 people I met, and apparently it took Matt until he was 16 to accomplish this feat, so I am incredibly amused and proud of that. I still have to meet one uncle and his family on Pat’s (Matt’s mother) side of the family, and I haven’t met either of Norm’s (Matt’s dad) sisters or their families yet. Christmas was really good, though. We had a private family gift exchange in the early, early morning, and then for the afternoon, we had Christmas dinner with everyone but one cousin and her boyfriend who turned up late because they got lost. Then we played a trivia game that was Wizard of Oz themed, and then we had a family gift exchange that was Wizard of Oz/home themed – stuff to use around the house. I was misinformed and told it was a white elephant exchange (thanks, Matt), so Matt and I bought a chicken kitchen timer (mine) and a Mater (from Cars) liquid soap dispenser (Matt’s). Everything else was much nicer than that. However, there wound up being a very happy uncle who got the Mater soap dispenser, so I guess it all worked out. I was so embarrassed, though. Next year, I’m making absolutely sure that it is or is not white elephant, straight from the source. Anyway, Christmas was really good. The day after, we went to James and Sondra’s for Christmas with them. We did the Ugly Mug exchange (though mine wasn’t ugly because Sondra couldn’t resist the cuteness of the owls telling me “good morning”), Sondra was sufficiently horrified by the mug I got for her (there’s a picture of her face upon seeing it, it’s stupendous), and Sarah was equally horrified by the mug Sondra and I bought for her last year and saved for this year (we got her two at once because there was a really good selection of horrible mugs). (Sondra’s said “Get Well Soon” spelled out with medical equipment, and Sarah’s had some geese on it and it said “Proud Grandpa”.) Joseph has gotten SO BIG. I can’t believe it. And James was there, and it was just awesome. The only person missing was Magus, who was still asleep and I was really sad that we couldn’t go wake him, I really wanted him to open his present right then.

Anyway, that was the short version of Christmas. We drove up to his parents’ house Christmas Eve after Matt got off work, and we drove home late the day after, arriving home around one o’clock in the morning. Matt had to work early on the 27th, so we couldn’t stay longer. It was a terrific visit, though, and one of my favorite Christmases. (Not that I can remember most of the Christmases from my childhood, since they were all a blur.)

New Year’s was spent here, at a mutual friend’s house. We played Castle Panic, watched the ball drop, I had my first ever New Year’s kiss, and then we played more Castle Panic before driving home in the ice. I even dressed up and I wish I’d thought to have Matt take a picture, because I looked TERRIFIC.

Now the holidays are over, and I’m still on break from school, so I have a lot of free time, especially since I kept my school work schedule, which I just changed to reflect the spring semester, but I’m still not at the mart of walls very much these days. I’m okay with this, except for the money aspect (I don’t have any!), and when I do, I’m being all responsible and paying bills and crap. Being an adult isn’t very fun sometimes. Last night, I was all freaked out that I have this whole apartment that is mine. Who the hell thought it would be a good idea to let me have an apartment? I’m not that responsible. It’s terrifying. I hate living alone, being the only person responsible for everything that goes on in these walls, the only person responsible for paying the bills. Who thought this was a good idea? Ugh, being an adult is the scariest thing in the world.

Anyway.

Today and tomorrow, I will be working on getting the place cleaned up some more (the kitchen needs help, as does the office closet), and getting my backpack ready for school to start NEXT WEEK. Oh god. I’m taking twice the credit hours this semester as I did last semester because I’m a crazy person, and considering how stressed out I was about school last semester, this does not bode well. I also am going to think about buying real Brie at the store next time I go – I bought Brie from Aldi’s last night, and discovered that cheap Brie just tastes like feet. At least it was only two dollars. I love Brie, though.

So, here’s hoping I can post more often – I’m hoping to manage something like maybe once a week, writing what has happened over the course of the week, and maybe what I plan to do the following week or something. I’m unsure, it depends on how difficult school is for me.