Sure wish I knew where my period was.
Went as far as the pregnancy clinic to get yet another negative. Okay. I get it. No baby. So why am I being teased like this?
I came home in tears. I had it in my head I was. I had dreams I was. I had wished I was. I started writing. Finally. Uncorked like a bottle of wine. Unglued like an old book it all comes apart. Spills out. Words. Cacophonous. Abrupt and sharp. Tumultuous and painful. It’s all that I can hear. It’s more than I can bear. I wanted to be. More than any other hopeful woman on this god forsaken spit of land.
I’m sure it’s on my face. The upset of a test I desperately did not want to fail. Swelled up like a tsunami of glass and sky. Water was sewn into my eyes.
But at least I’m writing…..my novel….I’ll do anything to finish it. I can’t fail that too.
I wandered in and out of the aisles of Target aimlessly for half an hour. With no direction and a blank head. Clouds. Putting groceries into my basket on autopilot. It was like one of those night drives where there is no destination. It’s the stars overhead, that thrill of the street lights sliding off the car windows and silhouetting shadows in the rearview mirror. Driving in canyons and under old trees. The lights in the hills, it’s hard to explain where my mind goes.
I was staring at a tiny little pink dress. For a brand new person. Infant. There in the Target, in probably the biggest middle aisle known to man, I was zoned out staring at a baby dress. Because I don’t even know. Just because. I have yet to have my period. I’m having ghost cramps and nausea. But the tests said NOT PREGNANT. So I’ve been in a state of confusion for quite some time. Mindlessly rubbing my belly and getting mad at myself when I realize I do it. Because I failed the test…or passed depending on your view. NOT PREGNANT. I took it twice, and it was the same. So what the heck is going in my belly right now!?!?! I’ll be finding out on Monday. Real Answers. To see if this is all a dream or a real human being….
I’ve been forming story ideas in my head since I was a little girl. The problem is I’m too scared to put them onto paper for fear of trying to be a failed author. Fantasies, dramas, edgy teen angst novellas, all of them locked up. Never to see the light and happy eager face of a possible reader because I’m afraid it won’t be good enough. My words may never find comfort on a page nestled in between someones fingers coyly wafting images into their heads. Because I am scared. It’s lame. It really is. And I’m tired of it. So I am going to start writing. Small amounts here and there, bits and pieces and see where it takes me.
When I find time.
As in, when I’m not working or sleeping to mentally prepare and rest for work, or driving home for work. That’s an odd time to write a novel.
My life has been swallowed up by this server job.
Pee. On. Me. For this spectacularly horrid luck of mine.
I mean, I am incredibly lucky to have a job. And I like the people I work with well enough, it’s just a lot of work for so little pay.
Stress so bad I get sick.
For less than 60 bucks in tips on average a night, I’ll work doubles and get called names behind my back by customers who think I didn’t just hear them call me “an idiot,” or how “this is as far as she’ll get.”
I refuse to let this be my life. I refuse to work 55 (or more) hours a week for minimum wage while working my butt off and getting yelled at by the guests, kitchen staff or any other person who doesn’t see how hard I really work. How much running around I do. People pleasing I do. Crying I do.
It’s a fine line between hard work, and masochism. My relationships are suffering, my physical being is strained to torn muscles, and my emotional status is as thin as the dosas we serve. If not thinner. Obviously, rereading this, has suggested my mental status incapable of a decent and understandable turn of phrase. Once again, I’ve failed.
I miss Ryan. I miss Tucker. I miss my family and my blog. And I see Ryan, of course, most days he’s leaving for his job or already asleep after I come home from mine. Tucker is at school picking up god only knows what kind of bad habits from the other dogs. And my family and friends are just fine I’m sure. But I feel like, I’m slipping away from everything just to make an extra buck and get more chutney stains on my shirt.
Yes, I’m doing more job hunting. For something a little more, quiet.
Yes, I am nervous by writing that someone will find out.
No, my insurance doesn’t work out here for psychological help.
Yes, I have complete and utter faith things will work out the way they are meant to. And I intend on making things better for myself and my relationships. Life is way too short to be so anxious all the time. In a job that barely covers bills. I can do better. And I will try my hardest to find happiness in a better suited career. For my sanity and wallet. For Ryan’s sanity and pocket. For our Tucker. And for a future I really can’t miss out on working it away.
I’m writing all of this. Because it’s been cooped up in my brain for so long I’m going to pop. And the same goes for all of my stories. They’re coming out now too. Once giant release of trapped creativity, and emotion from a tiny girl living on a thin wire of hope for herself, it’s bound to be epic of some proportion…..
I’ve been job hunting, online, for months. And trying harder since I actually moved to Omaha. I’ve had one interview. One. Tomorrow will make it two. Two. That’s it. Hundreds of applications later, updated resumes, and the hours spent hitting the pavement, have all lead me to believe I’m a dud. I thought surely I was worthy of a job. I thought certainly, I had the skills needed for any entry level position, with administrative assistance or clerical work. But now, I feel worthless.
I am down to my last 500 dollars in the bank. I may have an ulcer, and there’s no Yes in sight.
Praying and hoping only get you so far. I’ve tried everything. And now, I feel so low I’m seriously looking into egg donation. Because I need to pay bills and have no income. Yes, I’ll be pumped full of hormones for a few weeks, and 10-15 of my eggs will be sucked out of my vagina through a needle. They’ll be implanted into a deserving woman and that will be that. I’ll have helped someone, and gotten paid thousands for it. I can pay bills, and not stress. I’ll be an emotional basket case for a few weeks. But as it stands, I’m already a train wreck.
Someone in Omaha just needs to see that I am worthy. Hire me already. PLEASE.
26 days. That’s it. And then I’ll be living in Omaha with the man I am madly in love with. In our apartment with our movies and bed. Our wall art and our memories. I’m over the moon excited.
But I’m also stressed. Because I haven’t heard anything from the multitude if jobs I’ve applied for. Nothing. Not even the expected No’s. And I’m getting worried I won’t hear anything. I really want a job before I get out there. But with each day it’s looking like I’ll have to continue my hunt even after I’ve gotten to Omaha. I’ll apply at bars, restaurants, temp agencies anywhere I can. I refuse to sit there and do nothing to help Ryan with bills or finances of any kind. I refuse to be dead weight or a drag. But job hunting has consumed me. And it’s really wearing me down.
I need to start hearing responses, even if they won’t hire me. No is not a foreign word to me. That’s what I hear most often. Day in and day out. From the toddler I nanny to things my parents correct me on. No is very much part of my life. I am okay with that. But come the heck on already. Decency would imply I’d hear SOMETHING by now. Anything. Not just dead silence. People say no news is good news, but it’s the most agitating thing.
I’m worthy of any job I’ve applied for. I swear. I only look at ones I know I am qualified for, that I have the aptitude for the attitude and lively, organized personality for. I’d work to my finest skill level anywhere, and I’d get things done when asked without complaint in a timely manner. I’m a good candidate for any of these jobs, but the hiring people don’t know that by my resume alone. Paper does not make people. And It’s bothering me that they don’t even have the time or desire to tell me yes, no, come in for an interview, or even when they’d be interested in getting in touch with me. Nothing. To me it’s stressful and borderline rude. I know I won’t be hirable at every location, and some places may not see me as the right fit. JUST TELL ME THAT THOUGH! Stop ignoring me, stop putting me aside and let me know so I can prepare myself for an interview, or to move on to the next job application. Any place would be lucky to have me. I am dedicated and smart. Personable and punctual. I learn quick and I do things I am told with a smile.
I’m sorry for the rant. I’ve just hit an emotional wall this weekend. I miss Ryan more than anything. I dread going to nanny this week. Since I got punched, scratched, hit and head-butted last week. Screamed at and pooped on. I don’t want to deal with him not listening. To them demanding these outlandish requests, going to activities he doesn’t behave in, and getting up before the sun only to pray they stay quiet long enough that he sleeps until 7. I’m tired. The next time I work with kids, will be when they’re my own. When they know I am the boss and the rules are finite. I’m over being used and abused by a flipping toddler. He’s so manipulative. Because they ignore his nasty behavior and I confront it. The misstep in discipline has created a rift in what he sees as acceptable behavior and it comes out on me because I am the one with him for 60 or 70 hours a week.
This too shall pass. This transition in my life is temporary. And there is a job in Omaha waiting for me, they just don’t know it yet.
26 more days. And this will be history. 26 more days and I can kiss Ryan on the lips instead of through the phone. 26. That’s it. I can make it that far.