Indie's Inanities

IndieGirl:
Is it like that everywhere? I suppose I will never really be able to find a job where I fit in, because I don't fit in. I never have. I say what I think about things. I say how I feel. I tell people the truth, and never sit idly by while people in authority get away with crap.

But apparently those aren't important qualities. Apparently someone who's willing to take a stand is a menace, and not a help. Apparently standing for truth and justice is something that gets you fired, not something that helps.

It's hard, when your optimism, and your willingness to trust people, takes a hit like that. When you get slapped in the face for trying to be a friend, and trying to make a place better.


Because at the end of the day, it seems, the liars and the hypocrites come out on top. And either there's something fundamentally wrong with the world, or there's something fundamentally wrong with me having faith in people.

And I'd hate to think that it's the latter.
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I have learned not to mix friendship with co-workers cause in the end if they have their head up the bosses ass; you (I) end up on the curb looking for another job.

My case was with the boss worrying about being exposed for the style of management she used concerning our clients and sub contractors.

I stood up for the sub-contractors and customers and got shitcanned for doing so.

The ironic part of this story is that I got what she said I would never get from the company. Un-employment sux but it covers the bills until I find a company that is not corupt with power to be a good corporate company.
 
At least you have snow. We don't up here yet. Although we are so close to the ocean I don't know if we will get any this year....CRAP.

Anyways. Keep your chin up. Be hopeful. Run to Scott if anything goes wrong. Yey!
 
MUAHAHAHA!

I got the job. And I start tomorrow morning. :lol:

Crazy, huh? 8-5, $10/hr to start.


They gave away a car at their Christmas party last year...



And now I'm making more money than dumb Jillian.


Pardon me while I go do cartwheels in the snow!

*IndieGirl swooshes off into the white abyss.
 
Mellow day. Mayhaps it was even somber... I was too busy not talking and distracting myself to notice which.

And now I'm sitting on a window ledge outside at Borders, waiting for a ride home.

And I have to post this in spurts so my phone doesn't log me out.
 
Went and saw The Holiday today. I laughed and cried. Then I hated myself for relating to a chick flick. And because now I think Jack Black is mainly obnoxious, and not funny.
 
Then I walked to Borders, where I spent the day reading graphic novels by Craig Thompson. I really like his style. And his book Blankets is amazing. It moved me.

I want to go home and draw my own autobiographical comic book.

Sketchbook/journals were on sale for $4. I bought 3.
 
Maybe I'll do illustrated books of my poetry.

I felt outside of myself today. I keep going back to that quote from Everything Is Illuminated:
 
To write is to have second chances. What, then, do you mean when you say you were born to be a writer?

I have spent the last few years skirting the avoidable centers of my life. Now it's not just mine anymore, and I am plunging headlong into my personal Louisiana Purchase territory.
 
But it's okay now. I have found my Clark. And we shall explore it all together.

More and more I realize that my life to this point was just building. That the actual living doesn't happen until you're whole. And that you can't be whole until you find the person who completes you.
 
And while I rejoice in the prospect of excavating, scouting the dense jungles of my future life, I feel I have spent the week mourning my imminent departure from the world I will be leaving on the fringes.

There is much I have not the words, or presence of mind, to clearly articulate to that end.
 
And while I rejoice in the prospect of excavating, scouting the dense jungles of my future life, I feel I have spent the week mourning my imminent departure from the world I will be leaving on the fringes.

There is much I have not the words, or presence of mind, to clearly articulate to that end.
 
Today I pondered the subtle, nuanced differences between familiarity and comfort.

And the difference between my then and now is defined by the noise of falling snow on fallen snow.

The sound of a change of heart is just as loud.
 
First off I can't believe you typed all of that on a phone. It is a lot. Anyways, to the meat of my post; I read a poem that reminded me of you.


it
takes
a lot of

desperation

dissatisfaction

and
disillusion

to
write

a
few
good
poems.

it's not
for
everybody

either to

write
it

or even to

read
it.




:)
 
IG, Can I just say that I love your blog, your poetry, and your ability to type on a phone?

I can't right now though, my shoe is stuck on the chair lever.

Promise you won't cut back on any of those things too much once you become Mrs. Scott?
 
It was one of the places I have finally been able to discern as familiar and not comfortable.

It has been springing upon me lately, in the occasionally successful attempt to catch me off guard - vulnerable to the pleabargaining of my empathy, my good nature.
 
I cannot escape it's septic clutching of my understanding. I cannot muster up the courage of a reboot. Of draining the same wounds.

I fear it winds around me. I fear that in this anklegrab situation, my only resource is silence and ignorance.

How dare you say now that you love me.

There is no longer the time nor place for such a thing.
 
We all meander through lives that consist of windows of opportunity.

When you skip a window, there's no going back, and it's closed.

I have said it was a good dream. Maybe it was only meant for that.

You cannot ever be a safety net. You cannot ever unhurt me.

What I have pledged to is both those things. He is a prop for my growing. An anchor rock for my starfish heart.

He is all that is great and good in my days ahead.
 
How could I forsake that?

No, the moment I agreed contained all moments.

I can trust him to pull me solidly alongside him. I am a greater person in his presence. He lifts and cradles me.

I didn't need someone on my own plane. I needed a way to grow up.
 
I would apologize for being myself if it was what made you love me, and what made this hurt you.

But what apology can one lay across the truth? Is it my place to apologize.

You love my possibility. The idyllic way you have painted me for yourself. You loved my attention.

But he loves me as what I am, not as the things I could be for him.

And that - THAT - is a crucial realization.
 
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