I've Moved

If you like reading the silly things I write, you can continue to do so over at my new blog 

Glitter on the Inside. 

Thanks!

A Home for My Tomes

I am weighed down by a guilt only other bibliophiles could understand. 

I have always kept a mental catalog of every book I possess. I always remember the title and maybe half of the time I remember the author if was a particularly good book or a “classic” or the author is famous. I am almost always able to recall when and where I acquired my books. Whether it was a gift or purchased by myself. New from a book store, used from a rummage sale, free from a library that was just going to throw it out (one of the perks of being a library assistant in college). I came by most of them honestly, some of them less so. 

Yes, I confess. I have stolen a few books (no more than a dozen, I swear) in my time. Mostly from my sister (sorry K) but once or twice I simply “forgot” to return a novel or two to an English teacher along the way. Well, when you have 100+ copies of The Great Gatsby, are you really going to notice one missing? But I digress. It is not these pilfered books that cause me woe. 

I used to know exactly where each one of my books was located. Pride and Prejudice? On top of the dresser between The Collected Works of Jane Austen and Wives and Daughters. Demons and Angels by Dan Brown? Second shelf of the white bookcase, sitting atop Gone with the Wind and others because I never have enough room. My stolen copies of Nora Roberts? In a box under my bedside table. That free copy of Case for Christ foisted upon me by an overzealous evangelical? On a shelf in the back of my closet because I couldn’t bear to throw a book away. *

How I sorted my books might not make sense to anyone but me, but it worked. I knew my system. I knew my shelves. Every time I got a new book I took great care in making a space for it. I loved the days when I could set aside hours to rearrange my shelves. Every book would come down. Stacks would be organized on the floor. I’d inevitably end up spending more time rereading my favorite parts than actually working. But each book would get held and considered; thus forever imprinting itself in my memory. 

Since moving many things have changed. I have new bookshelves and I have to share them. I always loved arranging my books. But this time was different. In the chaos of moving in, organizing them all so precisely seemed trivial. And now I had to consider where Dustin’s books would fit in. As a result I can no longer tell you exactly where each book is. Or even exactly which books I have. 

Twice now I have purchased a book only to find when I bring it home I already have a copy. The shame! I don’t even know my bookshelves anymore! This is almost as distressing as the time my older tomes got worms. (real thing. still difficult to talk about.) Sometime this summer I will have to take a day to go through my our books. One by one. Consider each. Recommit it to memory. Then give it a proper home. And take pictures this time so it won’t be as bad when we move again. I’ll also have to get new shelves because these are not up to the task of holding all my books. It’s a little difficult to tell from the photos, but these shelves are seriously bowed in the middle. 

*Side story: I usually donate the books that I no longer desire to possess. I have only thrown away one book in my life. Boy Meets Girl: Say Hello to Courtship. Given to me by a pastor I fundamentally disagreed with on multiple levels. I said thank you and took it home. Five pages in I threw is down in disgust. I’m a firm believer in the whole “to each their own” philosophy. But that book pissed me off. So I threw it in the trash. Looking back, I should have just given it away. I was young. 

Will You Be My Friend (Terms and Conditions Apply)

I knew that after school finding friends would become difficult. I have always wondered how adults do it. Sure you can make friends at work. But “work friends” are different. You can hang out outside of work, but what do you talk about? Work. Maybe if you’re lucky you can find a real friend who happens to be a coworker. But life isn’t a workplace sitcom. Everyone doesn’t mesh together. We don’t all go out for a beer (or in my case, a hard cider) after we punch out.* But this isn’t an episode of Scubs.

but gods, i wish it were

It’s lonely out here in the real word. All of the amazing friends I did manage to make in college have been scattered to the four winds. It’s hard to get together. But some of us do manage it every few months or so. The rest are either too far away or too busy with their new lives.

As an introvert (which I very much am) it’s always been a challenge to make friends. People often mistake my quiet demeanor for aloofness. They take offense where none was meant. Or they leap to the conclusion that I don’t like them. How do I know this? I overhear things. I’m quiet; so people often forget I have ears just because I don’t use my mouth as much as they do.

I had a woman I once worked with ask me why I’m always so serious. This aggravated me because I’m not. I’m not a serious person. I just have a hard time socializing and joking with people I don’t know well enough yet.

Is this what everyone thinks of me? That I’m just sad and serious all the time? Yeah, I can be those things but that’s not who I am. And when people say things like that to me I usually snap back because it pisses me off. Nothing in this world irks me more than the following phrases:

• “We’ll break you of the that shell”
  (which implies there’s something wrong with being introverted. There is nothing wrong with being introverted, you jerks)

• “Oh look! You even made Jamie laugh!”
  (which implies I am some alien life form that has no sense of humor. I’ll laugh when you say something that’s actually funny, dammit)

• “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for”
  (which implies I’m always plotting something devious. But, then, maybe I am…asshats)

So on and on it goes. People think I’m unfriendly or “have a problem with them” because I’m quiet. These misconceptions throw up huge blocks on the road to friendship. But I refuse to become someone I’m not just to please people and make fake friends.

i might have shared this before, but i still love it.
so look at it again. 

Side note: I've been reading Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. Highly recommend, no matter where you fall on the spectrum.

*please note that I am describing my previous place of employment here. My current coworkers do, in fact, go out after work together quite frequently.

Movin’ On Up

To the east si- Actually it’s mostly south. So really, I’m moving down. Because north is up and south is down. 

Unless you’re in Australia. Then everything is flipped, turned upside down. But I’d like to take a minute, so just sit right there. I’ll tell you all about how I because a Department Assistant in the Cardiac Cath Lab at Sanford Medical Center… 

*The other day I made some goals for myself. I plotted out a flexible outline of when I wanted them accomplished. I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. The word resolution sounds so final and concrete. And yet they crumble so quickly. So last year I set goals and gave myself a rough estimate of when I wanted them finished. I need the wiggle room. I don’t do well with deadlines. (more on that later)

But finish them I did! Well, all except getting a tattoo by my 25th birthday. But I put that off for good reason. 

I needed the money I would have spent on the tattoo for my birthday/Christmas/anniversary gift for Dustin. What did I get him that could cost so much that I could justifiably count it as three gifts in one? Another Xbox One? No. (though he did want one and eventually went on to purchase one for himself) Super fancy cologne? No. (I’m not even sure he’d want that, let alone use it) A big fat gift certificate to NewEgg or ThinkGeek? No. (but those are good ideas)

I got him a freaking sword. And not just any sword. 

Anduril, Flame of the West. 

a genuine, licensed replica of a prop
from the movie adaptation of the books.

Blow his mind, did I? Yes. Yes I did. Totally worth it. But I’m getting way off track. 

All the other goals were accomplished. Granted I only made about seven-ish goals. But they were big ones:

• Purchase my own car. All on my own. No co-signers on the loan. No other name on the title. Mine. Paid for with my own money. 
• Move out of parent house once and for all. Postal address changed. All financial and government institutions notified. Childhood bedroom being turned into an office for Father. No going back.
• Move in with Dustin. Successfully learn to cohabitate. 
• Go on a real vacation. One week. No real plans. Just he and I enjoying life. 
• Get a new job. 

And that last one brings me back around to my original point. I have a new job. I am no longer working as a CNA at a nursing home. 

I mixed feelings about this. I loved my job. I loved my people. I loved going to a place where everybody knows my name. And they were always glad I came. 

But it was time to go. The commute was the biggest factor. 35-40 minutes there, 35-40 minutes back. (inclement weather permitting) The pay was another. And the hours were getting pretty rough. I feel awful for leaving them when they were already so short staffed. But sometimes you have to do what’s best for you. I was getting burned out; finding it more and more difficult to be patient with my residents, which was always something I had prided myself on. But when you’re overworked and underpaid, it’s hard to stay positive. When it hasn’t been your day, your week, your month or even your year - it’s time to move on. 

So I said goodbye to some of my favorite people and started new. I had a lot of “new” to kick off 2016. New car. New job. New living arrangement in a new town. It’s nerve-racking. There have been some bumps to be sure. (dropped out of college for the third time - more on that later)  But I’m taking the good. I’m taking the bad. And there I have the facts of life. 

*Originally written in January of 2016

And just for funsies: a picture of me, Dustin and our fat cat Emmy. She’s slowly learning to tolerate me. It helps that I am constantly bribing her with treats. 

it doesn't help that i keep putting her in little outfits

Here I Go Again

Dear reader,

It's been a while, hasn't it? So let's jump right in!

The next few posts will kind of be a catch-up. Going through the backlog.

I've still been writing sporadically over the last year and a half. I just haven't been able to find the time (or rather inclination) to put my words on the internet.

But I'm attempting (yet again) to get back in the swing of things. Writing is one of those swing things.

So let's back this thing up and start from the beginning.

You Are Now Entering

When I have a night off and I’m at home what do I do? I read, do laundry, watch a movie, clean, cook, dance, etc. It’s strange doing all these things at night. When I look at the clock, part of my brain tells me it’s time to sleep but the other part reminds me that I need to stay awake. So I make myself some coffee and I turn on telly.

Though, as I’m sure you know, there is precious little to watch at 3am. I keep the TV on mostly to drive away the silence. Not that I don’t enjoy the silence. It’s just that it can be overbearing at times. So I’ve fallen into a TV pattern: from 10-12 it’s the Golden Girls, my comfort food. Then Fraiser, a program I find entertaining enough until two. Then Cheers comes on and I either turn off the TV or completely tune out as I do something else.

It’s usually about this time I turn to Netflix. And lately I’ve been watching one show in particular: The Twilight Zone.

da na na na, da na na na

i always have to remind myself
that it's Serling, no Sterling

I adore this show. The original, mind you. Black and white with the fabulously brilliant Rod Serling introducing each episode, cigarette in hand. His voice just get to me. And his writing is outstanding. Timeless. Perfection. Behind every “nightmare” there is a moral, a lesson, some message he’s trying to get across. Messages that still need to be heard today. There is a reason people still watch this show. There is a reason we still reference these stories, parody them.

One show in particular comes to mind when I think of Twilight Zone references. Family Guy, of all things. The more Zone episodes I rewatch, the more I find myself thinking, “Hey they did that on Family Guy! Strange.” I wonder what Mr. Serling would have to say about that.

I love that man. And I tell him evertime I watch an episode. Well, at least I think it. Occasionally I think it out loud. Right at the end of his introduction, right as he says, “…in the Twilight Zone,” I think, “I love Rod Serling.” And then I settle in for another thought provoking piece of classic science fiction. Yum.

Trouble with Typing

I have more luck with writing when I use paper and pen. Typing things out on a keyboard is all fine and dandy, but it takes me twice as long. I can't organize my thoughts when I'm staring at a virtual blank page on a screen. The flashing little line (does it have a name?) mocks me. It's a silent metronome that is waiting for me to play to its beat. Unnerving when you don't know the music.

So, as you might have guessed, I am writing this on paper first and will transcribe later. Later being now. Or whenever.

rough draft

My thoughts are always so scattered when I write (and most other times too) that I need a physical space to lay them out before I piece them together into something worthwhile. Or at least something coherent. On a computer screen I can't just stop mid-sentence and scribble a new idea in the margins. Well actually one can do that with the right software, but it's quicker with paper and pen. My ideas flow with ease when I am manually writing. Like ink from a pen. (wink wink) And if the pen slips, so what? Write around it. No need to backspace or delete. When using a computer, I feel like I need to know where all the pieces belong right from the get-go. It's a silly notion considering how much simpler it is to cut and paste in a Word document. I feel so boxed in when I write on a computer. For heaven's sake, I'm staring at a literal box as I do it.

I just spent an hour working a post for this blog by typing it out on a computer. I maybe got 100 words out. There were too many things to distract my already scattered brain. Ideas flit in and out too fast for me to grab hold of them and type them out. (not to mention the Internet) I have now been writing for 10-ish minutes and already I have a page filled in my notebook and my mind has calmed down. I can think clearer.Getting the words out is so much more fulfilling when they are on paper.

Another benefit of writing before typing is it gives me a chance to proofread what I've written in a more thorough way. Typing something out and reading though it does not help me catch all my mistakes. But if I basically have to write the whole thing again I can really pick apart what I've written. I get a better understanding of what works and what doesn't. I feel more confident in what I've written when I have to write it twice.

To me, computers seem to demand precision. Obviously they don't, otherwise we wouldn't the magic of spell check. But that's the feeling I get. The way I write is not precise. I'm not sure anyone's is. Writing is messy. Then you go back and refine it. When I'm typing I feel the need to already have my ideas in order and neatly refined.

This is all just personal preference. Everyone's process is different. Perhaps if I had embraced this process earlier I would have finished my English assignments in a more timely fashion. Though I would have felt foolish whipping out a notebook and pencil when literally everyone else in the class was using a computer.

Certified

As I mentioned in my previous post, I am currently working as a Certified Nursing Assistant at the local nursing home.

the best part of my job. i waited five months to get it.

For those of you who don't know what that means, let me break it down for you: nurses handle the pills and the paperwork. CNAs do everything else. 

the scrubs are sexy
until someone else's fluids get on them

Of course I'm exaggerating. But we do most of the heavy lifting. (literal heavy lifting in most cases) We also spend the most time with the residents. But that's a bonus. Other bonuses include losing 30lbs from running around lifting people all day and never being grossed out by anything ever again because you've already seen worse. You get attached to these people despite yourself. Even to the 'difficult' ones. Turns out cute little old ladies can have a hell of a right hook. I knew it was going to be hard work. But nothing quite prepares you from what you will have to do, see, and put up with. And when shit goes down, it all goes down all at once. (literal and figurative)

So why did I choose this line of work? Well for starters the building is within easy walking distance. (takes me three minutes to get there; five when there's snow) But mostly I chose it because of my grandma. When she had her stroke and had to go live in a long term care facility, it was hard for her. She kept saying she didn't want it to be her home.When mum and I visited (which was often and involved a three hour drive) she would tell us she didn't know how the aids there did what they did. She was so grateful for the good ones. And so hurt by the ones that didn't care. When she passed, I decided I would try my hand at being one of the good ones.

And that's all I've got to say about that. For reasons both legal and personal, I shall not discuss work here. The legal part should be obvious. If you don't know what HIPPA is, you should. It's kinda your right. Also, if I violate it I could get in huge trouble. Getting fined, having my certification revoked, and possible jail time. Personally, I don't want to talk about work on the internet. From what I've seen, not much good can come from that.

Also, it's nearly 2 am. Lunch time.

Hello Internet, My Old Friend

I've come to talk with you again. It's been awhile. Things have changed, as they tend to do. It's 5:30 in the morning as I type this. Why am I awake this early? Well, this is no longer early to me.

See, I have a job now. I am a CNA at the nursing home in my hometown and I voluntarily chose to work the night shift. I usually work three 12 hour shifts and one 5 hour shift a week. Well that's the idea anyway. But more often than not I end up with overtime because (surprise, surprise) nobody wants to work the night shift. I for one enjoy it. Less people. And I was always a night owl anyway. Sure it can be lonely and it's hard to make plans with people, but it's working for me for now. Well, it's working for the most part.

The point is my schedule has flipped around. I sleep in the day and I am awake through the night. Or I'm supposed to be. Occasionally I'll sleep at night a bit too. It's been six months but my body still hasn't decided to accept the arrangement completely. But I digress.

So here I sit on my night off in my boyfriend's living room while he and his roommate are asleep and I can't figure out how to work his damn TV.

all i want to do is play Lego Marvel Super Heroes.

If you think that's a nice set up for someone one year out of college, you should see his desktop:

the most expensive thing in this photo is the stand holding all of the monitors.
it's also the heaviest. i know. i helped move it.

My only companion at the moment is his ridiculously fat cat. Her name is Emmy and this picture does her no justice. She is huge. And heavy. But surprisingly agile...

...though you wouldn't guess so from this pose.

We have a tentative agreement: I feed her in the morning when I'm here and she accepts my presence without argument. It's a tenuous friendship.

But again, I digress.

I have plans internet. But this post is already long enough. My hope is in these silent hours I will once again find the gumption to write. It's all apart of the plan.

Liz Lemon Gif Party!

A few years ago my friend Molly introduced me to the show 30 Rock. 

I was going somewhere with that thought but now I'm hung up on the idea that this happened years ago. Years. It's disconcerting to think about years and how they are passing. Like this is life or something. Now I've stumbled upon a minor existential crisis...

But now we're back to talking about television. 

So 30 Rock was a show. A good show. And, I just found out, an award-winning show. I didn't realize how good until last week when I began watching the entire series. Up until then I'd only seen an episode here and there. Watching it, I found myself kinda wanting to be Liz Lemon. For Pete's sake, she got married as Princess Leia! How much better can you get? 

Then I realize how idiotic that is because a) fictional character and b) completely dysfunctional human. But Tina Fey makes it look so fun and awesome. 

I don't want to like Ms. Fey. I don't know why. I find her so intensely annoying on some level. But on all the other levels she's smart, hilarious, and I love her. 

On a side note, (because my brain is scattered today and I'm finding difficult to focus in on any one thing in particular (except how to be redundant)) I had a teacher in middle school that looked just like Kathy Geiss. 

fact. uncomfortable fact.

Anyway I finished the series last night and it bummed me out. Also, I've humming the theme song all day. *exciting jazz music*