a poorly written ramble

There was a party after work on Friday to celebrate the completion of a beautiful, yet lengthy project. While waiting for it to start, I was chatting with Red-Headed Friend and New Girl, who are both among the small group of sub-thirty-year-olds who work there. They have a different job title than I, which I consider superior to mine, although I’ve been assured that is not true, and it shouldn’t matter because I don’t want their job any more than I want mine!

Anyway, they were discussing things I have trouble relating to. They are both seriously thinking of buying houses in the woods out of town. I sometimes wish that I had a house, but I’m not settled enough in my head to settle in a house. And I definitely wouldn’t want to live outside of downtown hickville! I need some kind of human interaction, and I like being able to walk places. These coworkers have moved around a bit, and always returned to this area, so they are finally confident that this is the place they want to be. Having never really lived in many other places, I’m still pretty confident that this is not the place I want to be, but my coworkers looked at me like I had three heads and said that I don’t appreciate the beauty of this place, how nowhere else is like this. Ok, but maybe there are other beautiful places too, and frankly, a little not like this this might be good for me.

They also went on and on about how we work for such a wonderful company, but that the old-timers whine so much because they’ve lost touch with the real world. It doesn’t matter how great the company is if the job isn’t what I want to do. Oh, and my job really does suck compared to theirs, but they’ve lost touch if they think I have it easy, huffing chemicals and working through tendinitis. Good for them that they’ve figured out their calling in life; I wish I could do the same.

I get short-lived inspirations of what I might want to do, but generally I find out what it takes to get there and have to abandon that thought. Lately, I’ve been thinking about working in a hospital lab, performing chemistry experiments on people’s body fluids. No, it’s not creepy! I don’t want to suck their blood, and it is an actual job. My local hospital even has current openings, but they require a specific certification. I was thinking that with my math/science background and all the lab courses that I have taken I might need some kind of 2-week course in hospital safety practices. No. I’d need a whole ‘nother degree, associates for the lower level position, bachelors for the higher, to qualify to take the certification exam. Really? Are you kidding me? I wonder how many of the courses I’ve already taken could be applied toward that degree. But still!! I really really really don’t want to go back to school. It just wasn’t my thing. I don’t learn like that, with a disinterested person droning on and on at the students. I learn by doing. You know what they say, ‘Life is not a spectator sport’. So I guess I’ll cross this job off the list.

How May I Help You?

“Lean on me when you’re not strong
And I’ll be your friend
I’ll help you carry on
For it won’t be long till ‘m gonna need
Somebody to lean on”
~The Temptations (Lean on Me)

How are you doing?

I’ve been doing pretty well lately. I’m confident that my improved mood and outlook has much more to do with the increased daylight than the drugs I’ve been taking. My therapist doesn’t see it, though, and she keeps coming back to the concept that I don’t have much of a support network.

Ok, it is true that I no longer talk to a single person I went to high school with. I was ready to escape everything about that place and I’ve never looked back. I also no longer talk to anyone I went to university with, although I did keep in touch with a couple people for a while. There are a couple people I do wonder what happened to, such as my almost-roommate who transferred because her parents needed her closer to home, and the other three members of my “Brat Pack” from first year.

I’ve never had lots of close friends. I was very social and outgoing as a young child, but that diminished as I got older (I blame my parents for isolating me…. a long story). Now I’m a quiet person and I don’t really make deep connections with other human beings.

But I do believe that you get what you give. Karma. ‘Energy cannot be created nor destroyed, only changed from one form to another’ — physics / conservation of energy. I have energy, and I’m doing good these days, but someday again, I’m going to need somebody to lean on. Until then, how may I help you?

What Happened to You? What Will Happen to Me?

Perfumed and smoky,
She swears that she knows me,
She’s falling down drunk again,
I say she’s mistaken.
She’s visibly shaken,
Emotions all drowned in gin,
She said I used to be beautiful,
But now it’s all gone,
I let my dreams slip away from me,
That’s where it went wrong.

Go be young,
Go be free,
Follow your heart where it leads you.
Don’t end up like me.
~Edwin McCain (Go Be Young)

Hello, Old Friend. I’ve missed you. I haven’t heard a word from you since you went away, just rumors from people you must care about more than me. And now you’ve come back here? Why? Dear Friend, what went wrong?

I see so much of myself in you. Slightly older, you’ve always been one step ahead of me in life. I was following in your footsteps years before we even met. Did you know that I remember, as clearly as if it was yesterday, the day we met? I’ve loved our conversations that could run all night long, simply because we talk about anything and everything and never tire of each other’s stories. I’ve hated that you are flaky and unreliable. I’ve had many laughs with you; I’ve had many tears because of you. Again and again, I’ve promised myself to forget about you. But you are a drug, and I, an addict. When will I learn? You are not so special.

Dear Friend, ou’ve gone away before. This time, things were supposed to be different. You had a plan. You had a future. You were going to grow up. You were going to leave this dead end place and the only “careers” we’ve ever known. Forever. I let you go. I had to. I was happy for you. You gave me hope. You gave me something to believe in. You were going to make it, and someday I would too.

Why are you back here? What went wrong? Why did you give up? I don’t understand. And you’re engaged? What the hell?

You were supposed to make it. I was supposed to follow in your footsteps. Seeing you here is one of the saddest times of my life. What does this mean for me? Do I too have no future better than this one-horse town?

Perhaps we are more different than I think. Perhaps you have only returned to tell me to lead my own life. Perhaps I’m flying this plane now. But I’m sorry, Old Friend; I will be leaving your dead weight behind. I won’t let my dreams slip away from me. I will be young. I will be free. I will follow my heart where it leads me. I won’t end up like you.

Happy St. Paddy’s Day

“A barrel of malt, a bushel of hops, you stir it around with a stick,
the kind of lubrication to make your engine tick.
40 pints of wallop a day will keep away the quacks.
Its only eight pence hapenny and one and six in tax.

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
and to his praises we shall always sing.
Look what he has done for us he’s filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
tiddly beer beer beer.”
~Traditional Irish Drinking Song (Beer, Beer, Beer)

I went out last night. Truthfully, I wasn’t looking forward to it. The party host, my Red-Headed Friend (RHF) has two roommates, who host a few huge drunken costumey ordeals a year. I am an introvert and a non-drinker, so these parties tend to be a little too much for me.

But last night I was pleasantly surprised. RHF had St. Paddy’s Party with lots of Guinness, beef stew, and a large collection of musicians (fiddle, guitar, drums, whistle, banjo) in attendance. The musically-inclined friends were fantastic. They had a large repertoire of fast and tricky Irish tunes. I never even knew some of them played, and they certainly had never all played together before. I’m a musician, too. I play the tenor saxophone, but compared to these guys, not very well. I can’t play without sheet music and nobody ever taught me how to improvise or solo properly. But anyway…

The party was more laid back and quieter than what I was expecting, with was more than okay by me! I got the chance to have real conversations with some friends I hadn’t seen in a while, and meet some new people. I even got a job offer from one of the new peeps if I wanted to drive all over and teach CPR classes. Actually, it doesn’t sound like a bad deal; I’m going to think about it. RHF and I even had some one-on-one conversation while setting up Irish Car Bombs. He and I work for the same company and used to be very close to a couple friends who have since moved away, but we’ve never really known each other well. He’s cool; he marches to the beat of his own drum and really knows who he is.

And then, a little later, a whole bunch of other people showed up. Several of these people work for my former employer; most of the others work in the same industry as my former employer. All conversation turned to that industry because some loudmouths made it so. This seems to happen a lot. This industry is the foundation of most of my friendships, even though most of us have moved on. We have gotten to the point in our lives/friendships where we are starting to have diverse interests. I like this; it makes us more multi-dimensional. Although we have our equivalent of “and this one time, at band camp” reminiscing stories, we’ve grown. And then these children show up. I don’t care about them or their stories. I’ve been there; I’ve done that. I’m so sick of meeting these people, and judging by the look on RHF’s roommate’s face, I’m not alone.

I need space. My former employer helped make me who I am, but I wish that wasn’t all that defined me. I love many of my friends, but I need to branch out. I need to find people who share other interests and create new memories. I don’t want to be stuck and pulled back into my past. There is a future, out there, somewhere. I just don’t know how to get there. I can’t even find the rainbow that leads to the pot o’ gold.

Oh. Interesting fact I learned last night: St Patrick is honored because he eradicated the snakes from Ireland. I am terrified of snakes. St. Paddy is my new hero.

Goodbye, T.

“I will remember you.
Will you remember me?
Don’t let your life pass you by.
Weep not for the memories.”
-Sarah McLachlan (I Will Remember You)

I am most definitely not suicidal. I resent recent accusations that I might be.

Sometimes this life sucks. Sometimes I feel that if this is it, that this here and now, is as good as it gets, then really, what is the point? But even on my lowest days, I suppose there is still a glimmer of hope that this life could be better. I don’t know how to make it better, and I’m a little afraid to try. I am a scientific thinker and someone would have to present me with some seriously strong proof that there is a superior afterlife before I would ever consider it.

Perhaps, I’m just stubborn. I gritted my teeth and pretended I didn’t mind being an outcast in high school. I suffered through a university I thought of dropping out of, and then nearly failed out of. It wasn’t my cup of tea, and my major has proven totally useless in my post-educational adult life. Now I suffer through a job that makes me miserable, and for what? But I’m not a quitter. I’m a survivor of a homogeneous hometown, of an unbearable university, a less-than-pleasing paycheck, and every day I get up, I am a survivor of this life.

Someone I cared about committed suicide at Christmas. I just don’t know why, and his departure has left a void in my life. Nobody saw it coming; he didn’t say goodbye. Apparently his life was so horrible that he didn’t believe it could be better. Sadly, my life is worse off without him in it. He always seemed to be an outgoing happy guy. He had problems (drugs, alcohol, a needy girlfriend), but I guess one never really knows what is going on in someone else’s head. A couple others who knew him have said that he was just some little punk kid living the high life off his drug sales and whatever, who cares that he is gone. Those thoughts don’t make me think less of my lost friend, they make me think less of the people still in my life. This friend meant a lot to me; he understood me in a way that few others ever have. He knew how to push me to open up, and he knew just how to get under my skin. Now he is gone. And I just don’t know why.

Goodbye, T. I’m so sorry I never told you just how important you are to me.