I've decided to write a book. Obviously, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm not even sure I know what I want to write about. On the other hand I am almost completely sure that sustained focus is not my strong point. In fact I am often distracted by the most mundane and common things, god forbid I trip upon something shiny... I'll never finish. Despite this I have decided to try. Writing a book and running a 5k. I will most likely accomplish neither...
My first problem (well, other than my uncontrollable focus) is that I have no idea what to write. My brain could never handle the pressures of a flowing fiction... my plot would wander like a son of a bitch. But the hard and fast of a dedicated non-fiction would also most likely trail towards my demise.
What to do? What to do? So far all I've come up with is a book of angry musings peppered with some (slightly) well written terse letters of discontent to greedy and evil bastards within the ranks of fortune 500... again, what to do, what to do? I guess smut isn't out of the question...
Saturday, 22 May 2010
Friday, 5 February 2010
Work: The Chains of Living
I'm not lazy. At least I am pretty sure I'm not lazy. I've had jobs. Many in fact. Some difficult in both the mental and physical sense and some easy again in both the mental and physical. I have also worked more than one job at a time. This is not a brag. There is nothing to brag about. I am just giving evidence to support my statement. I shall move on to my point. I will allow that often I do appear to be a lazy individual. I would however like to propose that I am not lazy so much as unambitious. And contrary to popular thought those are not mutually exclusive.
I have this creeping sensation that this stigma of laziness shall follow me where ever I go. I may lose promotions and I am fairly sure that my parents will soon discover the reason to disown me that they have been searching for so long. Here is the root of my problem. I do not believe that I was created to work, every day, tirelessly, from 9-5. I understand that to be a functional part of any society, a sentence that we all must endure, I must make money and support myself and my loved ones. And don't get me wrong I love 'things', I love 'things' a lot. And I understand that money doesn't just grow on trees. I should it has been screamed at me since puberty. I just don't think I approve of working until death. I do know I fully approve of living until death and that living isn't something you can do sat behind a desk, pushing keys all day. Can anyone ever be truly happy with that? I don't want to work to be life.
All this leaves me, as usual, dreading the future, when I won't get to freely do whatever enters my tiny little mind. When I shall have to ask permission to breathe and watch every careful step, as is fitting for a being of my social and professional standing. In essence that time when I shall punch my soul in the face hourly and try desperately to make sure my children are the most rebellious hell raisers modern society has every seen. Because they can be and I cannot. Well, at least not any longer.
The physical:
The domain of my adolescence
The desired:
Wealth, independent
The feeling in the forefront:
Hunger pains of freedom
The smothering sense:
Visual - Watching a fresh beginning with the fall of innocent snow
In absence of misplaced action:
Sleep, as always the comfort of slumber
If I were listening closely:
Quite Little Voices - We Were Promised Jetpacks
I swear my next blog shall have nothing to do with work nor my laziness. It has just been on my mind far too much lately. The effect of my surroundings I assume. Perhaps I shall have something nice and happy in my next entry. But, I'm not going to lie, most likely not. Those things frustrate my anger and hurt my cynical feelings. You should never hurt your internal cynic, that's how the world burns.
I have this creeping sensation that this stigma of laziness shall follow me where ever I go. I may lose promotions and I am fairly sure that my parents will soon discover the reason to disown me that they have been searching for so long. Here is the root of my problem. I do not believe that I was created to work, every day, tirelessly, from 9-5. I understand that to be a functional part of any society, a sentence that we all must endure, I must make money and support myself and my loved ones. And don't get me wrong I love 'things', I love 'things' a lot. And I understand that money doesn't just grow on trees. I should it has been screamed at me since puberty. I just don't think I approve of working until death. I do know I fully approve of living until death and that living isn't something you can do sat behind a desk, pushing keys all day. Can anyone ever be truly happy with that? I don't want to work to be life.
All this leaves me, as usual, dreading the future, when I won't get to freely do whatever enters my tiny little mind. When I shall have to ask permission to breathe and watch every careful step, as is fitting for a being of my social and professional standing. In essence that time when I shall punch my soul in the face hourly and try desperately to make sure my children are the most rebellious hell raisers modern society has every seen. Because they can be and I cannot. Well, at least not any longer.
The physical:
The domain of my adolescence
The desired:
Wealth, independent
The feeling in the forefront:
Hunger pains of freedom
The smothering sense:
Visual - Watching a fresh beginning with the fall of innocent snow
In absence of misplaced action:
Sleep, as always the comfort of slumber
If I were listening closely:
Quite Little Voices - We Were Promised Jetpacks
I swear my next blog shall have nothing to do with work nor my laziness. It has just been on my mind far too much lately. The effect of my surroundings I assume. Perhaps I shall have something nice and happy in my next entry. But, I'm not going to lie, most likely not. Those things frustrate my anger and hurt my cynical feelings. You should never hurt your internal cynic, that's how the world burns.
Sunday, 31 January 2010
Where are you going?
Those of you close to the House are well aware that currently the Countess and I are on a New World road trip, stumbling around America. It is mostly unplanned and we have only the will for adventure and vague ideas about activities or destinations. If you would enjoy a more in depth play by play of our journey my beloved and far more dedicated blogger the Countess is chronicling our pursuits in the blog From Scones to Biscuits. I suggest you read it, she has great skill with words.
The Countess and I are both currently unemployed. We are not attending school. We are not independently wealthy. We are not travel writers. We realize it is winter and there is snow in winter. We are well aware that we are in our mid-twenties. Also we are well aware money doesn't grow on trees/ the world is in a recession/ this won't look good on job applications/ and that we will run out of money. I think I covered everything... Oh, yes, we are single and don't tell anyone but... we are completely alright with staying that way. And, finally, yes, we think our current adventure is a great idea.
I realize that unless you are a 25 year old female on a three month unplanned road trip through the United States that last paragraph may seem weird to you so I will explain. You may not take notice to it but when meeting someone new or just carrying on a conversation people usually inquire about your current activities. The general American population upon hearing two 25 year old females reply 'we are on a road trip through America' tend to react with shocked faces alight with apprehension and confusion. More questions, due to the opinionated and open nature of the American people, are always quick to follow. I have listed a few of the answers that the Countess and I have had to supply ... repeatedly, to pretty much everyone we've met.
I guess we are rarities. I suppose that to some people it is odd that I only want to work to pay for the rest of my life. When I die I don't really want my profession to be the answer given to 'What did she do with her life?' In fact I would consider my life a failure if the answer were to be so. I would much prefer the answer to be the I lived it and if I must endure confused faces and questions used to thinly mask the 'this girl is a lazy idiot' that runs through every one's mind, so be it.
I am well aware that some time soon I shall have to settle down. I know my money will not last forever. I know the world is harsh and work is necessary. I know that my resume will have gaps. I am not crazy, stupid, or lazy. Although perhaps, economically and professionally, my life choices look all three of those things.
The Countess and I are both currently unemployed. We are not attending school. We are not independently wealthy. We are not travel writers. We realize it is winter and there is snow in winter. We are well aware that we are in our mid-twenties. Also we are well aware money doesn't grow on trees/ the world is in a recession/ this won't look good on job applications/ and that we will run out of money. I think I covered everything... Oh, yes, we are single and don't tell anyone but... we are completely alright with staying that way. And, finally, yes, we think our current adventure is a great idea.
I realize that unless you are a 25 year old female on a three month unplanned road trip through the United States that last paragraph may seem weird to you so I will explain. You may not take notice to it but when meeting someone new or just carrying on a conversation people usually inquire about your current activities. The general American population upon hearing two 25 year old females reply 'we are on a road trip through America' tend to react with shocked faces alight with apprehension and confusion. More questions, due to the opinionated and open nature of the American people, are always quick to follow. I have listed a few of the answers that the Countess and I have had to supply ... repeatedly, to pretty much everyone we've met.
I guess we are rarities. I suppose that to some people it is odd that I only want to work to pay for the rest of my life. When I die I don't really want my profession to be the answer given to 'What did she do with her life?' In fact I would consider my life a failure if the answer were to be so. I would much prefer the answer to be the I lived it and if I must endure confused faces and questions used to thinly mask the 'this girl is a lazy idiot' that runs through every one's mind, so be it.
I am well aware that some time soon I shall have to settle down. I know my money will not last forever. I know the world is harsh and work is necessary. I know that my resume will have gaps. I am not crazy, stupid, or lazy. Although perhaps, economically and professionally, my life choices look all three of those things.
Freakish Strength, Speeding Tickets, and Lesbian Tendencies...
Any of you who know follow the path of the House are well aware of my current adventures. Told though the eyes of the some what insane but obviously inspired Countess. I have been told that I too should be remarking upon our journeys as they progress. I however do not have the skill nor the dedication of my navigator, so here we are about a month in and this is my first blog entry. I shall not even attempt to give true justice to the journeys that have passed. Impart my thoughts on a few highlights but to respond adequately to what my counter part has written would be an obvious folly.
I am currently sitting in the home of my childhood, surrounded by far too many possessions. I do not exaggerate.. one does not walk in my room, the mode of travel one must use to traverse my room would be better described as strategic hopping. There is little to no open floor space. The area that isn't covered with possession prized by my inner pack rat is covered in clothing. I have more clothing than a starlet. Again, I do not exaggerate. I would say that, as a 25 year old from an upper middle class family, the amount of clutter would be excusable as acceptable life accumulation but alas I am shamed. I have also managed to fill the space of at least 2 other respectable sized rooms with my 'things'. I am obviously the terrible product of American consumer culture... the only arguments I can issue in my defense are that a lot is of second hand origins and a fair bit could be classified as stolen. Bite your tongue... I am not a thief. I only steal what is not for sale. You find me a place to purchase road signs and I will stop 'borrowing' them from the department of transportation. But I digress...
I would like to take the time to respond to some obvious trends in From Scones to Biscuits. Firstly, I am not freakishly strong. I am most assuredly of a normal strength. I refuse to give any support to the accusations from the Countess, the entirety of the NJ inhabiting Sweeney family, or that group of guys from that bar in Nashville. Most females of my size can wrestle two females of slighter statue and a small child without issue. I haven't seen it done before but that obviously due to my considerable lack of combatant spectating.
Secondly, I will allow that I may be known to occasionally speed. I just happen to believe in efficient driving time. If you're going to drive somewhere you should go on about getting there. None of this pussy footing around, as my mother would say. That could cause accidents... Again, I have no sufficient evidence to support this theory but a highway isn't something that should be approached passively. You may not know where you're headed but you should at least try to get there in good time, that's what I always say... Alright, so I've never said that but how annoying is it when people fuck around on the road? Honestly, makes me angry just thinking about it.
Lastly, I shall give you my thoughts on lesbian couples. Although I am not upset that we were mistaken as lesbians and I did appreciate the obvious open mindedness of our motel host, the stereotyping was slightly offensive. Mainly because, I will admit with some shame, I was obviously cast as the stereotypical 'man' in the lesbian relationship. Honestly, can't a girl wear flannel anymore without people thinking she harbors same sex tendencies. Perhaps I should amend this, can't a tall fat girl wear flannel out with her overtly sexual skirt wearing best friend anymore without being mistaken as a lesbian?? (hehe) Seriously though, wrong or not he was so adorable and open minded I didn't even consider being offended. I just gathered love muffin and left the office...
More reflections to come as I think of them...
I am currently sitting in the home of my childhood, surrounded by far too many possessions. I do not exaggerate.. one does not walk in my room, the mode of travel one must use to traverse my room would be better described as strategic hopping. There is little to no open floor space. The area that isn't covered with possession prized by my inner pack rat is covered in clothing. I have more clothing than a starlet. Again, I do not exaggerate. I would say that, as a 25 year old from an upper middle class family, the amount of clutter would be excusable as acceptable life accumulation but alas I am shamed. I have also managed to fill the space of at least 2 other respectable sized rooms with my 'things'. I am obviously the terrible product of American consumer culture... the only arguments I can issue in my defense are that a lot is of second hand origins and a fair bit could be classified as stolen. Bite your tongue... I am not a thief. I only steal what is not for sale. You find me a place to purchase road signs and I will stop 'borrowing' them from the department of transportation. But I digress...
I would like to take the time to respond to some obvious trends in From Scones to Biscuits. Firstly, I am not freakishly strong. I am most assuredly of a normal strength. I refuse to give any support to the accusations from the Countess, the entirety of the NJ inhabiting Sweeney family, or that group of guys from that bar in Nashville. Most females of my size can wrestle two females of slighter statue and a small child without issue. I haven't seen it done before but that obviously due to my considerable lack of combatant spectating.
Secondly, I will allow that I may be known to occasionally speed. I just happen to believe in efficient driving time. If you're going to drive somewhere you should go on about getting there. None of this pussy footing around, as my mother would say. That could cause accidents... Again, I have no sufficient evidence to support this theory but a highway isn't something that should be approached passively. You may not know where you're headed but you should at least try to get there in good time, that's what I always say... Alright, so I've never said that but how annoying is it when people fuck around on the road? Honestly, makes me angry just thinking about it.
Lastly, I shall give you my thoughts on lesbian couples. Although I am not upset that we were mistaken as lesbians and I did appreciate the obvious open mindedness of our motel host, the stereotyping was slightly offensive. Mainly because, I will admit with some shame, I was obviously cast as the stereotypical 'man' in the lesbian relationship. Honestly, can't a girl wear flannel anymore without people thinking she harbors same sex tendencies. Perhaps I should amend this, can't a tall fat girl wear flannel out with her overtly sexual skirt wearing best friend anymore without being mistaken as a lesbian?? (hehe) Seriously though, wrong or not he was so adorable and open minded I didn't even consider being offended. I just gathered love muffin and left the office...
More reflections to come as I think of them...
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
The Painful Yet Informative Color
Pink and frilly is fake and has no worth. Or perhaps, upon further reflection, it does after all. It allows me to see the stereotype in your eyes and the lies you see. I will quickly agree that is a lot of judgement to hang on just one color and a penchant for the fluffy but it is all about the representation and not the fact. Which makes us both guilty of the same sin but doesn't change your vapidness nor it's affect on my gag reflex. However, I suppose I must thank you, that brownie for breakfast wasn't a good plan on the way in either...
Pink a travesty of a color but a bold use of restraints, the ones that firmly stereotype our sex, not those that make it fun. Equality called, she said you look retarded.
Pink a travesty of a color but a bold use of restraints, the ones that firmly stereotype our sex, not those that make it fun. Equality called, she said you look retarded.
Missing Soaked in Sadness
I am overjoyed that my beloved Countess is currently sleeping peacefully above my head... at least I do hope it is the sleep of the peaceful, the creaking noises could be her or the house. It is quite old, by American standards of house age at least. Regardless of the architectural groans, the Baroness and Countess are joyously together in one abode for the time being and for that I give thanks.
But alas, life can never be completely perfect or at least not to my eternal greediness. I believe we can only ever be content, not perfect. The sadness creeps into my heart because we, warmly ensconced in the frozen north, are missing our beloved Duchess. She shall soon be traipsing across the ocean to bask in academia and hopefully, men outfitted in tweed. We have only just left her southernly abode and already I am missin' her somethin' dreadful.
But alas, life can never be completely perfect or at least not to my eternal greediness. I believe we can only ever be content, not perfect. The sadness creeps into my heart because we, warmly ensconced in the frozen north, are missing our beloved Duchess. She shall soon be traipsing across the ocean to bask in academia and hopefully, men outfitted in tweed. We have only just left her southernly abode and already I am missin' her somethin' dreadful.
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
The Lost Joy of What's Next?
I'm a mover... generally a love 'em and leave 'em type gal, of sorts at least. I stay just long enough to make great memories and have the time of my life and then I move on quick before it sours. Not saying that it ever has, I haven't stayed long enough to know. I realize it sounds callous and cruel but it's really not. Most of my personality demands this type of action. I am rude, moody, crude and basically mad not to mention easily distracted, all traits that make a relationship difficult. Traits that test and, sometimes, break the bonds that people strive to keep. I'm not bitter nor upset nor do I believe that my loves and relationships are cheapened by my inabilities to emotionally function. Additionally, I've discovered that moving on, as I so often do, separates the wheat from the chaff... affinity wise. Those that stick, are those that belong. And I will forever adore them and they will forever be apart of me. I will never be able to leave them, even when I do.
Do not misunderstand... I do not move to weed out my friendships or even to test their bonds. I move because I'm antsy for the next new place, next new feel. It may be crazier, more dysfunctional, rougher, more beautiful than the last or it may not. The adventure of moving to the next is what drives me, not the need to sever ties I believe lacking... my ties are not lacking. I choose those that surround me with the utmost care, which blesses me and them alike. I have genuinely loved everywhere I've lived and every close friend I've made. I miss them and always will.
I write this because I am once again at the step before my next adventure and it just doesn't feel right. I don't feel the need or drive to move and for the first time the thought of the next almost brings me to tears. I never cry at my goodbyes, not really. It is frustrating and confusing. For the first time I don't think I should be moving on. I feel odd and this reaction to my beloved life of moving on is disconcerting. I'm not sure what to do next. I am floundering. My next adventure feels forced and therefore I am lost. And beyond all this the question beating my mind the loudest is 'What am I supposed to do if I stop moving?' And all I know is that, for the first time, I don't want to go.
The physical:
London, my final night
The desired:
The solace of certainty
The feeling in the forefront:
Life changing confusion
The smothering sense:
Tactile - the chill of a hollow room
In absence of misplaced action:
Peaceful sleep
If I were listening closely:
Winter Song by Caesars
Do not misunderstand... I do not move to weed out my friendships or even to test their bonds. I move because I'm antsy for the next new place, next new feel. It may be crazier, more dysfunctional, rougher, more beautiful than the last or it may not. The adventure of moving to the next is what drives me, not the need to sever ties I believe lacking... my ties are not lacking. I choose those that surround me with the utmost care, which blesses me and them alike. I have genuinely loved everywhere I've lived and every close friend I've made. I miss them and always will.
I write this because I am once again at the step before my next adventure and it just doesn't feel right. I don't feel the need or drive to move and for the first time the thought of the next almost brings me to tears. I never cry at my goodbyes, not really. It is frustrating and confusing. For the first time I don't think I should be moving on. I feel odd and this reaction to my beloved life of moving on is disconcerting. I'm not sure what to do next. I am floundering. My next adventure feels forced and therefore I am lost. And beyond all this the question beating my mind the loudest is 'What am I supposed to do if I stop moving?' And all I know is that, for the first time, I don't want to go.
The physical:
London, my final night
The desired:
The solace of certainty
The feeling in the forefront:
Life changing confusion
The smothering sense:
Tactile - the chill of a hollow room
In absence of misplaced action:
Peaceful sleep
If I were listening closely:
Winter Song by Caesars
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