Dreams of an American Airstream Home

And a boy like this. Note the octopus.

Read articles about these homes here: http://www.jetsongreen.com/2009/05/green-renovation-livingreen-airstream-altbuild-2009.html# and http://www.dwell.com/articles/the-airstream-life.html.

Very cool video. Major props, OK Go.

Reasons why we are not in an energy crisis:

• During the Christmas season Americans decorate their homes with lights. These lights burn from as little as one hour to 24 hours each day.
• 254.4 million registered passenger vehicles are added to the US roadway each year. There are 7 gallons of oil in every one of those tires.
• Plastic becomes the standard material in almost all industries.
• Green/alternative energy continues to be our last resort.
• Road infrastructures, consisting primarily of asphalt, aka. Oil, continue to be expanded and built even in the midst of a huge economic recession.
• It takes 30 years to change an infrastructure given we know what to change it to and we have the capital to do so, yet we haven’t began to change our failing one.

Reasons why we are in an energy crisis:

• 60 % of oil can be found in the Middle East and US imports 70 % of their oil from them.
• Oil peaked in the 1960s (we all refuse to admit this).
• Humans consume on average 10 calories of hydrocarbon energy in every calorie of food consumed in the industrialized world, before cooking.
• People continue to be afraid of the dark.
• Denial is our biggest problem.
• Power continues to be concentrated in the hands of the wealthy.
• The US constitutes 5 percent of the world population and uses 25 % of the world energy.
• The 1st law of thermodynamics: Nothing can be created or destroyed. All that’s here is here. Or in the words of Porky the Pig: “that’s all folks”.

A foreign dream, another life.

I imagine you both slipping into a internet café to reconnect with the other side of the world for a brief moment in your day. Your gloved hand slips foreign coins into slots. The chink, chink, chink registering time and energy. You double click on the internet icon to commence your time. This starts a whirlwind of reminiscing since the last time you connected to “the other half”, as you like to call them now. The time ticks away faster than you expect. Your sabbatical has left you envisioned. And now that he is here, now that you have met him, everything has changed. You both are exhausted, dirty, thin, but you see him across the café, eyes focused on the screen, fingers rhythmically taping out his thought process, nothing else matters. Your hands are no longer numb as ice, your typing becomes a little faster, your memory a little better. You unzip your jacket. You take off your hat. You immerse yourself into this foreign world. You blend in. You live.

Hey sha rah, hey sha rah, yeah.

It walks. It use to smell like my dad, but now it smells like an odd mix of who I use to be and my ex. It also smells like snow. It is much older than me. It sees but cannot speak. Its silence is frustrating, but also protective. It never grows tired, or cold. It only grows old. It is faithful (to almost anybody). It used to be a good friend. It is made to last and will live a long time, maybe for the rest of my life, but I will never know of it. It is no longer with me. It is gone. It has abandoned all hope and so have I. It has traveled many places, maybe more than me. It likes all weather, but its favorite is cold, though it can do without the wind. It secretly dreams about being a crocodile. It has a warming effect on your soul.

It tells a story. Its story is complex. Listen closely you may hear it. It speaks of history and the truth, but not in a language that is easily understandable. I never heard it until it was gone, but I also never thought to listen while it was near. Now I hear it every day.

I have come to terms with losing my favorite sweater.

It is December.

Lazily, I look back on 2010 and reflect. Where has it gone? What have I done that I am proud of? Nothing?

It is Christmas time. The Crossroads shopping center’s Christmas tree was put up more than a month ago, announcing the season of spending. A small elf in a red velvet suit smirks at me each morning as I leave my apartment for work.When I return in the dark, he is the first thing I see as the orange glow from the night floods my open entryway. Our eyes meet. What does he do during the day? What is he smirking about? What does he know?

It is not cold. How can it be December without bitter wind, below freezing temperatures, and flashing lights of salt trucks?

I replace my fridge calendar. Goodbye furry friends with long pink ham tongues and puppy dog looks. Hello European landscapes and exotic places. Will I get to visit you in 2011?

‘Tis the Season.

I stand on the edge.

This is not good for a person with my balance. The drop is far, but my heightened sense of perception, my fear of falling, my adrenaline distorts the distance. It’s not really as far as it seems. It may not even matter, but that’s not what my mind tells me. My mind screams. My mind makes me shaky. My mind makes my toes curl around the edge of the ledge. My mind is freaking out.

I shut my eyes. Also something not good for a person with my balance and a person in my current mental state. It is dark. The wind is cool. What do I see? It’s just a decision. Just a do or don’t. Why am I so scared? Why can’t I? Why won’t I? What do I have to lose? A strong gust of wind blows in my face as if to say, I dare you. I back up, frightened. I give it one last look before turning around away from the ledge. Not today.

I have been here for months. I am not going to slip and fall. I am not going to be pushed. I need to say yes, but I can’t. Instead I say no, by saying nothing at all. I return the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

I go find my bed. It has been made, but I still lie in it.

Look back with no remorse

In a dream I was a werewolf
My soul was filled with crystal light
Lavender ribbons of rain sang
Ridding my heart of mortal fight

Broken sundown fatherless showdown
Gun hip swollen lip bottle sip yeah I suck dick
Lose grip on gravity falls sky blinding crumbling walls
River sweep away my memories of
Children’s things a young mother’s love
Before the yearning song of flesh on flesh
Young hearts burst open wounds bleed fresh
A young brother skinny and tall my older walks
Oceanward and somber, slumber sleeping
Flowers in the water,
But I’m just his daughter
Walking down an icy grave
leading to my Schizophrenic father.
Weeping willow won’t you wallow louder
Searching for my father’s power

I’ma shake you off though
Get up on that horse and
Ride into the sunset
Look back with no remorse

He’s a black magic wielder some say a witch
Wielded darkness when he was wilein’ on his mom’s
And born child and he was the bastard that broke
Up the marriage evil doer doing evil from a baby carriage
And he was born with the same blue eyes
Crystal ships dripping with ice, diamonds coruscate
In the night fireworks electric bright
And now he’s got his own two sons
Tried to hide his tearz in a world of fun
But loveless bedrooms filled with doom
Bring silent heartache July to June
Swoon over new young hot flame
Mourn the memories later
Laugh now alligator

Oh in a dream
My father came to me
And made me swear that I’d keep
What sacred to me
And if I get the choice
To live in his name
I pray my way through the Rain
Singing Oh happy day

I don’t mean to close the door
But for the record my heart is sore
You blew through me like bullet holes
Left stained on my sheets and stains
On my soul
You left me broke down beggin for change
Had to catch a ride with a man who’s deranged
He had your hands and my father’s face
Another western vampire different time same place
I had dreams that brings me sadness
Pain much deep that a river
Sorrow flow through me in tiny waves of shivers
Corny movies make me reminisce
Break me down easy on this generic love shit
First kiss frog and princess

Thank you, Cocorosie.

Imagine: moneyless, desperate, alone, expecting. Would you be able to do this?

Click.

After reading this article, it sounds alarmingly exciting. Why does the thought of death amuse me?

John Currin, Old Couple

I hope to one day find someone who will love me like this.


Today is not the day.

American Chronicles: The Art of Norman Rockwell

As I child, I remember walking into my grandmothers brick ranch, the indescribable smell invading my nostrils, filtering in between the strands of my hair and encapsulating me. I would glide my socked feet across the kitchen floorboards and plop down on the brown shag carpet of the sunken living room. It smelled like years of use. It smelled of my father’s childhood, the way I imagine it. It smelled of must. It smelled of the seventies. It smelled of dirt. It smelled of encapsulation.

During the cold months, I would warm myself by the fire, real logs at first, later replaced by gas logs after my grandpa’s death. I would sip bubbly cokes poured over ice out of real glass bottles, a treat, and stair mesmerizingly at the antiqued Saturday Evening Post script and Norman Rockwell’s images on the cups. The images portrayed little boys and girls embodied in childhood innocence emitting images of American life. The life in which my grandfather became a man and went to war, or vice versa. The life where my grandmother painted her legs with iodine and worked in the shipyard, got married, had a miscarriage and then gave birth to three other children. The life where dinner was an every night event, little boys played with pop guns and puppy dogs, girls played with baby dolls, and fathers read the Saturday Evening Post and didn’t have to worry about retirement.

The North Carolina Museum of Art will be displaying these images in an exhibit entitled American Chronicles: The Art of Norman Rockwell. I imagine strolling down the halls, peering at Rockwell’s original paintings, holding onto my grandmother’s warm hand, as she slowly steps back into the past. At one point, I look at the palms of her hands as if I was a fortune teller. The left shows the past. The right shows the future. Both appear wrinkly, warm, old. I have no idea what I am looking at.

All of this is only a dream. My grandmother will never see his exhibit. She is past the point where she would enjoy it. Now it only becomes a tiring chore for her, like so many other things. I see her seldom, but when I see her next I will scour her cupboards. I will search for memories. I won’t find the cups. They are gone. Along with the ranch house my father grew up in. Along with her youth. Along with my grandfather. Along with Rockwell’s American life. Along with it all.

Goodbye October, goodbye Halloween. Hello November, hello election day 2010.

To help get all you voters in the mood, follow the link.

An Edgar Allen Poe Halloween

The nights are getting longer. I no longer wake to bright sun light streaming in through the tightly drawn blinds. Instead, I sleep with my blinds open allowing the streetlights to cast an orange glow on my room. It makes objects look unfamiliar. I don't recognize my own hands and even a familiar friend in the form of a stuffed animal looks distorted and different.

The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky as I walked to the bus this morning. As I rounded the top of a hill nearing the end of my short walk to the station, I was met with a rather large glossy black raven. As soon as I saw him/her, I stopped. The raven was standing right in the middle of my path frozen like a statue. We stared blankly at each other for a split second, until I broke gaze, crossed to the other side of the street and kept going. As I passed I whispered, Nevermore. The crow had won.

This is for him:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door,
"Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Continue reading The Raven.

There are other great Edgar Allen Poe poems, one of my favorites is The Tell-Tale Heart.

Tonight, I'm going to turn all the lights off at my apartment, light a bunch of candles and read Edgar Allen Poe by candlelight.

The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things

Hieronymus Bosch, The Seven Deadly Sins and the Four Last Things, oil on wood panels, 1485.

In the past when my friends have told me I have road rage, I would politely laugh at their comment and push it away. There’s no way that I have road rage, or rage of any kind for that matter. Really, me? Sweet innocent ole’ me? But. Slowly I am beginning to realize, they may have been touching at the truth. I am not a violent person. I do not seek out objects to shoot, or launch or destroy, but a few years ago, sitting in traffic on the middle of a beautiful afternoon, I turned to my passenger and revealed this: I wish I had a rocket launcher to blow up all these cars and get them out of my way. Wrath, my first deadly sin.

Every day I ask myself, is there something more? Greed, my second deadly sin.

I have 36 bottles of wine in my apartment. Eleven of which are open. Seven of which I have tasted. All of which were free. Gluttony, my third deadly sin.

On most mornings I ride the bus to work. It picks me up at the entrance of my apartment complex, approximately three tenths of a mile from my front door. It drops me off 20 feet from the door of work. My first week of riding the bus, I walked out of my front door, to my car. I got in my car, turned it on and drove less than a minute. Parked. Got out and boarded the bus. Sloth, my fourth deadly sin.

Every day I look in the mirror and say: I wish I had a different life. Envy, my fifth sin.

There has not been a man I do not find attractive in his own form. There has been few men that I have not been able to resist. There has been one that occupies my mind. There has been none that can fill my desire. Lust, my sixth sin.

I lie to get others to see me. Pride, my last sin.

The four last things (death, judgement, hell, glory) I live each day.

I'm aaaalivvveeee.

At the request of a dear friend and also for the sake of being a blogger, this post is an attempt to keep my blog alive. Yes people, I’m still here! Are you?

Additionally, all posts for this month will be themed for Halloween. My most favorite of holidays.

Thoughts to pass the time.

Do you ever feel like screaming: Dear Life, please stop living without me?

To answer the age old question: How is the job?

It is good in the sense that it makes me realize I do not want to do this forever.

Suggestions for future endeavors are always welcome.

I am currently living in day 2 of Hurricane Hell.

Let me explain, I work with the marketing and pr staff of the division of tourism. Considering it is Labor Day weekend, what some consider being the closeout weekend of the summer, and Hurricane Earl is slated to arrive at 2 am Friday morning to tear up the OBX coast, leave flooding, beach erosion, and sand overflow, we are very busy here in the office. It’s a very slow busy, because we are basically waiting to see what will happen, but we are getting a lot of calls from radio and TV studios asking for us to make statements about Hurricane Earl and its effects on the labor day tourism.

I had a very interesting conversation first thing this morning with a woman named Catianna from Montreal. Her English was much better than my French and I did not get to dust off my French and practice my minute skills. I did relish for a moment in her beautiful accent and imagined a very trendy, French-Canadian model on the other end of the phone line. This thought didn’t last long. I had to pay close attention to her words to make out the meaning and daydreaming was not helping. I returned to reality thinking that she is probably overweight and forty. She is working with a radio station where looks could be considered less important. If she had been calling from the television station, my assumption may have been different. None the less, I am now searching for someone who speaks fluent French.

Oh the joys of being an assistant.

For those of you wondering, evacuations on the OBX include: Hatteras, Ocracoke, and the towns of Duck, Kill Devil Hills, Kitty Hawk, Nags Head, Southern Shores, Roanoke Island and the mainland of Dare County.

5, 37, 77, 89

I got an amazing kick out of this today which turned my normal everyday routine Wednesday into a blast as I tried to figure out what type of bitch I am. Thanks Jeff Simmermon.

http://andiamnotlying.com/2010/types-of-bitches/

Bring it on September

While pursuing facebook as part of my daily morning routine, a sense of fall surrounded me. Ironically enough considering the local weather predicted a high of 97 for today. Pumpkin spice lattes, hurricanes, football tickets, and parkway hikes were among the hot topics on my facebook feed. I started to search the internet for fall clothes and shoes, excited about new fashion trends, earth toned colors and sweaters. Of course this feeling evaded me as I stepped into the blistering heat on my lunch break. Even if I am ready for fall, the smells of cinnamon and spice, leaves falling and being kicked around on sidewalks, and cooler weather, will have to wait.

Happy first day of September to you all!

The life of a slave.

I heard someone say today:

"We are free. We are free, but we are a slave to what we love. And we are a slave to the ones we love, because they love us."

I am a slave to so many things.

Whatif By Shel Silverstein

Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow talle?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

To detail the busyness of my new life!

It has been a very busy August and it’s not over yet! Read below and find out why I have been neglecting my blog and leaving you (all eight of you) sitting on the edge of your seat waiting to see what has become of this recent job development:

August 3: The Ultimate Apartment Search! Mom and I took a very quick trip to Raleigh to find me a place to live. We ended up looking at over 10 apartment complexes, leaving us utterly exhausted. I, ironically, chose to live in the same apartment complex my sister, Paige and her husband, Andy lived in before they bought their house. This was the last complex we visited, but it was by far the best choice, though I had been hesitant to choose this option to begin with, despite eager persuasion by Andy. Needless to say, you were right Andy, but don’t let it go to your head.

For the remainder of that week I packed, packed, packed.

August 9: Last weekday at FPC. Though I will not be working at FPC during the week, I will be returning to work a few weekends during August and early September.

August 10-12: One Last Hurrah in Boone! I am sure this was not the last time Boone will have seen my face, but I wanted to take one last trip before my free time was limited to weekends only. This was an extremely short trip considering it took half the day on Tuesday to get there and half the day on Thursday to get back, but it was definitely worth it. The cool mountain air was as refreshing as I had remembered it and the New River meandered slowly as I drifted on a tube and fished for hungry river creatures. Oh, and I got to indulge on delicious tacos and beer from Boone Saloon. What more could you ask for?

August 13: Pick up 18 foot U-Haul. Load. Pick up apartment keys: Yes, I did move in on Friday the 13th. Yes, I did rent an 18 foot U-Haul to move me from the OBX to Raleigh. And, yes, we did fill it up. My grandmother recently consolidated her life from 2 houses down to 1. Fortunately, I got much of her furniture for my apartment which we have been storing in a unit until needed. After picking up the U-haul on Friday morning Dad, Mom and me drove over to the storage unit and loaded the truck. It was hot and the furniture was heavy! I left around lunch with my car fully loaded to pick up the keys and check-in to my new apartment.

As I turned my key in the lock, I felt an odd sense of relief, though my emotions continued to be calm as they had been throughout most of this experience. It smelled of new carpet and sparkled of fresh paint and cleanliness. Use to older houses, bugs, mold, and pure neglect of college apartments, I was surprised by the condition it was in. And very excited that I would soon be living here!

Layne and Ansley, my sister and her niece, helped break in my apartment by leaving traces of crackers and lining my bathroom drawers. Mom arrived with another carload of my belongings and we moved in what we could. The big things were coming tomorrow.

August 14: Dad arrives with the U-haul. We, or I should say Dad and Andy, moved in my furniture, while Mom and I directed, unpacked, and setup. Thanks again to everyone that helped. We would’ve never been able to do it without you.

August 16 -20: First week of work as an NC state employee! YooHOO! Benefits galore.

After work today, I head back to the OBX to work long hours at FPC. Benefit: I get free coffee, YUM!

One step at a time. Am I ready to be a grown up?

Tomorrow I am headed to Raleigh to search for an apartment. Scary.

Hypnotizing dreams about future endeavors and nightime busyness.

The crickets outside hum in unison announcing the night. Their song seems to play on indefinitely as their constant chirp mesmerizes everyone, but me. I can't find the beat. Voices from surrounding neighbors begin to hush, and even firecrackers are silent tonight. Are we having a silent night in awareness of something? I feel out of the loop. If only their song would sing me to sleep.

My eyes focus past smudges and fingerprints on the lenses of my glasses and on the images of the computer screen instead. My teeth grind voluntarily and my legs tap the smooth wooden floor at intervals out of tune and unrelated to the melody of the orchestra outside my window. I am waiting for the caffeine to wear off. I am waiting for the cricket's song to hypnotize me into sleep and hopefully into dreamland.

I am partially glad I am awake. Though, I know tomorrow I will drag, as my alarm buzzes me awake with the sun and I push my body, stiff and lethargic from my sleeping cocoon. I have much to do. Tonight I have only crossed one thing off my list, a small accomplishment, but a least I have succeeded in that.

Tonight, I hope I dream about my new life, my job, my apartment, my future. It's okay if it's a scary dream or if it's nostalgic. I can handle either. I just hope for insight, thought, plexplextion. Any type of inclination will do.

To answer everyone's questions: I'm letting the cards fall as they will.

For the past 234 days, I have been waiting for my future to start. I have been searching for alternatives to a full-time job. I have been living with my parents. I have been mopping the floors and cleaning the bathrooms at a local coffee shop just to pay the bills. I have been doubting the use of a college education. I have been imagining alternatives involving Caribbean waters, boats and far away destinations. I have been waiting. I have been wondering. I have been doubtful. I have been scared.

When I began searching for jobs, I applied only to those that I absolutely wanted. I applied to the dream jobs. After about two months, I widened my pool. After four months, I widened it a little bit more. After five, I took a food services job and widened my pool more. After six, I began applying to all administrative jobs I could find. After seven, I began applying to volunteer positions with Americorps and PeaceCorps. At this point I have probably applied to over 500 jobs, many of which I am extremely overqualified for.

Last week, I received a variety of different phone calls/emails. Americorps, the Arts Council of the Twin Counties, Clinton Arts Council, and a previous job re post all wanted to schedule interviews with me to discuss positions I had previously applied to. I was swamped with my job at FPC, working 8-4 shifts, managing to present a happy facade as I fueled my body with caffeine. The heat was unbearable for many days at a time. My emotions strung out on the perpetual ambiguity in my life. The phrase "imagine this" was engraved in the back of my mind and haunted my thoughts. I stopped dreaming and felt lonely by the lack of visitation by my new found skeletal friend. One night, I barely slept.

I ignored a few of the messages from potential job possibilities, knowing that they could be the perfect job for me if only they were in different geological locations. I concentrated on figuring out what I needed to do with the re posted job. The job that 3 months earlier I became the runner-up applicant. The job that I was denied because I didn't have the same experience as the other applicant, who they hired and who now is leaving.

In the midst of all this, I get a phone call: "Hello Dana. This is so and so from the Department of so and so. Please give me a call back." I replay the message and realize this is the person I interviewed with in late June for an Assistant Position. I give him a quick call back. I have a feeling as I place the phone call. I think to myself, he is going to offer me the position. Do I want it?

Finally, after 234 days, something is happening. Things are changing. Jobs are being offered. I am finally imagining something other than this.

I find the timing ironic. With the completion of Americorps applications and references requested and completed, and finally after many, many personal pep talks and self-motivational speeches, that I will no longer need. I just recently found myself no longer scared at facing the blank canvas of my future, about mapping it out, drawing the lines, and filling them in all on my own. Ironically enough, it no longer mattered.

I take the job, I let the cards fall as they will. I still write my many confessions.

Apparently, emails that simply say "you should be hearing something soon" are good things.

Summer Playlist (for your listening pleasure)

Because I love music and I feel it plays an integral part in my life. DUM DA DUM, I reveal to you: Dana's summer playlist! (In no particular order.)

1. TV on the Radio, Return to Cookie Mountain. I woke up the other day singing 'I was a Lover' and ended up jamming out to this song at 6 am on the way to work that morning. I also love 'Wolf Like Me' for it's lyrical genius.

2. Brian Jonestown Massacre, Give it Back! This album is sick and I am completely in love with the fact that not all bands from the 90s were caught up in grunge rock and feminist rage.

3. Minus the Bear (Any Album). Enough said.

4.Kings of Convenience, Declaration of Independence. This is an easy listener that anyone will enjoy.

5. The Black Keys. All albums, Especially their newest: Brothers. Many of you have probably heard the new songs 'Tighten Up' or 'Next Girl'. Isn't Frank great? And, if you like those, listen to some of their older stuff like 'Psychotic Girl'.

6. And check out No Eyes for the latest local music. This band is from Raleigh and they are super talented.

7. And of course it's not summer without some type of Beatles music. My dad recently got some of the remastered albums and I have been devotedly listening to them all, but I am most obsessed with Sargent Peppers Lonely Hearts Club.

Well, that about does it for my musical companions this summer. I hope you all become as enamored and obsessed as I have. Enjoy.

IMAGN THIS!

I'm in shock. I can't stop thinking, oh, my god. Let me begin with yesterday.

It was Sunday. I began work at eight am. It was a slow lazy day, with horrible customers who either had a) screaming children or b) couldn't organize themselves enough to place an order. I wanted to scream at them: if you are this uncoordinated, don't leave the house.

I was supposed to work until four pm, but due to the inactivity, I got sent home early. Not my choice, and I was not to thrilled to loose my hours, but what could I do. When I got home, my parents were already at the beach. I decided not to join them. I needed some me time. I decided to go on a run, one of few, since injuring my leg leaving me feeling like a 50 year old lady every time I move into running position or bend my legs more than 45 degrees. I posted a short blog on here and went for a run.

As I started, a red SUV passed with a licence plate reading: IMAGN THIS. Imagine what?, I asked myself looking around me. All I saw was sand, everywhere, in every crevasse, in the bottom of every bag, and sole of every shoe, in everything. I saw heat radiating everywhere, steaming from the roads, out of the cars and reflecting off everything metal. I saw cars, big monster trucks with awful sounding engines that dumped clouds of black oily exhaust. These trucks were driven by southern boys with short buzzed haircuts, red noses, minimal personalities and accents that confirmed their lack of, well, anything. I saw a go nowhere job. I saw mistakes. I saw the kid that lived with their parents their whole life. I saw a vast amount of flat nothingness.

Sweat started to drip from my temples. I turned up my ipod to drown out my thoughts, but it didn't work. I kept screaming at myself. Imagine what?. My heart began racing from my thoughts, this combined with my low blood sugar and high caffeine levels, and I continued to scream on the inside. Seriously, imagine what? Imagine this? Is this really what you want me to imagine?

I probably would not be labeled as a "go-getter" in any situation. I went to college because that's what you did after high school, because I didn't know anything else, because that's what my parents wanted, and that's what my sister's did. I never chose going to college. I never chose to move home after graduating, either. I did it because that was what was expected. So now, faced with the ability to imagine anything, I didn't know how to choose. I wanted someone to write me a letter and put it in the mail telling me what to imagine, what was next, what to do, where to take the next steps. I didn't care who wrote it or why, or even what it said. If it had said, jump off a bridge, at that point in the afternoon, I would have done it. Sorry for the cliche, but I was that desperate.

My run was miserable and tiring both physically and mentally. I could not stop screaming, imagine what?. If anyone saw me yesterday, I am sorry if I looked like a half mentally retarded, babbling, lunatic. Or a whole one. I was.

Today, when I woke, I was better. Again, I worked a long shift, this time I did not get cut early, but did feel the long hours and caffeine wearing me thin as I repeatedly had fits of uncontrollable laughter and mumbled unmistakeably to myself for minutes at a time. I'm positive my co-workers think I'm crazy. I may be. At least, I wasn't having a case of the Mondays.

When I got off work, I walked next door to Chip's Beer and Wine Store and bought a much needed (and much missed) six pack of Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA. Then I got fish tacos and went home to let the dog out. On my way home as I maneuvered my way through traffic, at one point, I passed a red SUV.

When I got home, I ate dinner, alone, listening to the dog bark. I relaxed. It felt good to be alone, but despite more than 24 hours passing, I still could not get the red SUV out of my mind. Really, imagine what?

After dinner, I logged onto my Gmail account. I began sifting through emails. I had an email from my brother-in-law. The subject read: "Possible job, but today is last day to send resume". Too late to do that. I had junk mail from CareerBuilder, the most recent calender of bookings from the Orange Peel. I scanned through it, no one I want to see. I took a gulp of my beer and swallowed it slowly. Flavorful, intense, delicious. I moved on. Junk mail from Conservation International. No, I don't have any money I would like to donate. I finally sifted my way through to an email sent early this morning. It's subject line read: "Are you still looking for work?" What?, I thought. Random. I clicked on it, thinking, this better not be a scam. I began reading: "The person we hired in may had to leave for personal reasons and I am about to re post the position you applied for last spring." I choked on my beer. Some dribbled from my lips. I cleared my throat and wiped my face. "As you were one of our finalists, I wanted to check if you were still looking for work and were interested. . ." OH MY GOD! No way.

It was all too good to be true. There had to be a trick, I thought. Dogfish IPA and a possible job.

The brilliance in life was so bright, it was blinding me. I finally knew what to imagine. I can't stop thinking, Where's the joke? What's the punch line?

Could this really be happening? Or in other words: It's all happening.

I just received the most unexpected email. I'm in shock.

More later.

The greatest thing to fear is fear itself.

I think I'm scared. I think the reason why I haven't made a lifestyle adjustment since graduating seven months ago is because I'm utterly and painstakingly terrified.

The choices I have are these:

• Join Americorp, WWOOF, Peacecorps or some other service oriented volunteer program, which leaves me moving most likely to another part of the country. This choice leaves me alone, in a new place with no money, starting over.
• Move to another city and find a job doing something similar to what I am currently doing. Again, this choice leaves me alone, in a new place with no money, starting over.
• Stay on the OBX and live with my parents. This choice does not leave me alone, but yet I feel alone and I'm still in a new place with no money, starting over.

All these options terrify me. And to think, I try to live by the motto: "The greatest thing to fear is fear itself." Children of America, don't use me as inspiration.

Another post that begins with: "At work today . . .

. . . a woman in her mid forties sits in the corner sharing a latte with a dear friend. They talk about the most important things: life, love, pain, fear and the change that has occurred since the last time they saw each other. Twenty years ago, one young bridesmaid bent down to spread the white silk and chiffon train of her best friend's wedding dress. Today, they shared a coffee.

We were slow and I let my mind speculate about the fun they must be having reminiscencing and sharing with each other the past 20 years of their lives.

I thought about my high school friends, and the memories that we would soon reminisce about when we have a reunion in a few weeks to celebrate a new little life and support an old friend who is now a mother-to-be.

Mostly though, I thought about my college roommates. I imagined us in the middle of our lives, past parenthood. In an age where we were finding time to say hello once again, where our children were grown, our husbands were preoccupied or we were divorced. Our careers were finally nine-to-five's, and we were waiting for retirement. I imagined some of us with widow peaks of gray hair; others salt and peppered; others darker, faker, dyed. I even imagined loose skin and wrinkles. (Sorry girls.) But what I imagined most, was the comfort of an old friend. I imagined reaching across the table to lay my hand on top of the hand of someone I hadn't seen since my wedding day. I imagined all the unspoken words, the ones that didn't need to be said. I imagined the comfort found within the silence. I imagined tears.

As I was thinking all this, I hated myself for even allowing the thought of twenty years to pass between visits with my best friends. I became angry with myself about something that hadn't even occurred, about something that I premeditated on my own, but I couldn't tell myself it would never happen as I counted the months between the last time I had seen some of my very best friends. In the middle of a lull at FPC, I faced reality.

Each day I go to work. I see new faces. I learn new names. I slowly start a rapport with co-workers. I begin calling them friends instead of acquaintances. Sometimes, we have a drink afterwards or talk about hanging out outside of work. They are all great. Don't get me wrong. I love meeting new people, but it's like when you finish a really, really good book. You shut the back cover and put it on your shelf. You contemplate it. You never quite get it out of your mind. It gathers dust. You glance over it's worn, faded cover every once in a while, as you look for something new. Your fingers always find their way back to it's cracked binding, tracing the letters of the authors name, the title. You pull it down. You dust it off. Your fingers leaf their way over watermarks and ruffled pages. You open it up, you find an old friend.

My friends are everywhere. One journeys to great depths in Africa, fulfilling a dream of a lifetime at age twenty-four. One experiences earthquakes and snowstorms and weather breaking heat records in our Nation's capital. Others become big city girls in NY or further their careers and education. They all make change. And, I'm so proud of each and every one of them, but I hate to face the reality.

In the future, when I see each of them, we will reminisce, we will say goodbye not knowing when we will see each other again, and we will build lives, separate and apart. At work today in the middle of a lull, I saw a glimpse of my future.

Americorps, what do you have to offer me?

Dear Americorps:

I am a recent college graduate. I have a BSBA in Accounting and two minors. I would like to be employed, but instead I am looking into opportunities where I can volunteer my time while gaining valuable work experience and skills applicable to my future job, whatever that may be (Currently it is undecided and I am open to all possibilities that may hold my interest for longer than 6 months.). Can you help me?

I like helping people. I like writing. I like the arts. I like community development. I like sustainable practices. I like farming or gardening. I like traveling. Sometimes I like kids.

I don't speak Spanish, or any other foreign language fluently, for that matter. I don't want to work on trails, or have a tent as a permanent home. I don't want this to be a waste of my time or money. I also have car payments that must be made. I don't want to open a credit card or go into debt to volunteer with your organization. I don't like making ends meet (but I am very good at it.). I don't want to sound like a pessimist or realist, but I'm afraid I can't help it.

Can you still help me despite my above requests? Do you still want me as a volunteer? Will this experience help me to be more attractive to future employees?

Do I ask too many questions?

Will this be the change I am looking for? Should I be doing Peace Corps or WWOOF instead? Will this help me face the future? Will I ever find the meaning to life? Or the secret, for that matter? How do I find the right path? Will I be able to travel if I volunteer with you (I miss my friends.)? Will this opportunity provide adventure? Should I move to Europe? Can I ever be that bold? Is contemplating all this a complete waste of my time?

Really, do I ask too many questions?

Will I make friends that will last a lifetime? What if I already have friends like that? Can I ever stop wondering 'what if' and 'why'?


Sorry for burdening you with all of these ideas. I don't think you can help me answer the meaning to life. It was worth a try.

Thank you for listening. I might be seeing you soon.

Dana

Questioning the Unknowns in Job Interviewing

I got an email from my last interview simply stating: "Thanks Dana. You should be hearing something soon."

Is this good or bad?

Grin and Bear it.

It was another scorcher on the Outer Banks today.

Around ten AM I stepped outside of the coffee shop to make a much needed bank run for smaller bills and change. I was already pink in the face due to the excessive caffeine and constant movement. This, compounded by the exhaust fan blowing hot kiln air from next door into our already steamy part of the building, combined with the 375 degree oven that stays on for a good 4 hours each morning, makes the inside of FPC stay at a constant 85 degrees. As I stepped out into the dense air, the sun blinded me and sweat bubbles instantaneously formed between my breasts and shoulder blades. As my vision returned, I noticed a haze hanging in the air and one deep breath measured the heat index to be at or around 100. I plopped down into the seat of my car, my bare legs sticking to the dark leather, ripping off thin layers of skin as I moved. Precisely why I hate leather.

My sweat bubbles turned to geysers and formed together into a thin steam. Sweat tricked down until sucked dry by the fabric of my dress like desert earth. I pulled on the front of my dress, fanning it back and forth. No help, just grin and bear it (My idiom of the day). The bank run was quick, unpainful, but exhaustingly tiring, as the haze seamed to suck all hydration from my body. I felt my fingers drying despite the sweat forming in the palms of my hands and between my fingers, as I wrapped them around the smooth leather of my steering wheel.

Back inside, I took a quick gulp of water from my favored pink water bottle and returned to manning my station at the register. Sometimes my favorite part of the day is standing at the register greeting each person with a smile, making a transaction, feeling the crisp paper money and round solid coins in between my fingers, making change, fulfilling orders, and talking to strangers.

Some days, I dread it. Those days I want to hide myself behind the mass of mechanics and hot steam pouring out from the espresso machine. I want to loose myself in the simplicity of lattes and cappuccinos, and love it when people order, not the specialty drinks,topped with whip cream and drizzle, but the drinks where I can practice the simple methods of preparation, the orders where I can steam the milk to perfection.

And there are those days, where I can't take either. That's when I need a day off.

At the cash register, a woman wanders in with her friend and begins to ramble about random nonsense. I engage her. I flirt. I smile. I earn a tip. She's easy. She puts a dollar and some change in the bucket. Others don't take so quickly. They're a little more complex. I test. I dip my toes. Maria, a fellow employee, jumps in with a cannonball. She knows everyone by name. She's been with FPC since its inception 11 years ago. I change my methods. Sometimes, I follow suit, a cannonball will do. Other times, it's a graceful swan dive. Sometimes, I don't jump at all. Sometimes, I get pushed in, like with the rambling woman and her friend.

"You are sooo beautiful!" "And your teeth," she continues, "Your teeth are wonderful." I flash her a smile showing my pearly whites that are slowly becoming stained by constant coffee consumption. "My teeth are horrible, back in the 70s everyone had bad teeth and no one did anything about it. Your teeth are great." "Years of painful braces," I respond. She continues. I'm fully soaked now. "You are so beautiful. You look just like my daughter," she says as I take her cash and make change. I smile. "You know, I get that a lot. I must have a common face." "No you look just like her, here." She pulls out her phone and shows me a picture. "This is a bad picture, but really, you look just like her." I nod. "I guess I kinda do," I agree. No, not really, not at all, brown hair, blue eyes. Not the same at all.

We disengage, I come up for air. I climb back out of the water. I begin to dry off. I knock a few more off the line that's waiting impatiently, and get down to one. It's her.

"Really," she says, "you look just like her. I wanna get these magnets. I can't believe how expensive they are though, but I just havvve to get them." She's pushed me, again. "This one is just perfect for my daughter, who you remind me of. She will be here in the beginning of August, she's 21 and my son he's 23, he'll be here in two weeks with his girlfriend." I'm in over my head and she keeps pushing me under. "How old are you?" "24." "Oh, well. This one," she says going back to the magnets, "reminds me of my brother. He's my best friend." She exaggerates the story. "This one reminds me of my first boyfriend. We dated 30 years ago and he got addicted to heroin." Drowning. "He's been clean 20 years, AA and all. And this is just perfect for him." I nod. Still drowning. "And these are just for me. I moved here all by myself and they are just for me, just because. I have to get them. You know, I don't really talk to people this much, but" she shrugs her shoulders. I come up for air. Really? "Maybe it's because I remind you of your daughter." I start swimming, fast, for the shoreline. "Let's ring you up," I say politely. I finish her transaction and walk away from the register. It's time for me to leave. "Do you need a mental break?" Sara asks, as I walk past her at the sink. No. I need a life break. I need a new face.

I grin and bear it. I count the tally of lookalike remarks in my head: six. I predict at least 12 by the end of the season. Half way there. Easily attainable.

I need to go home. Instead, I transfer down to the Nags Head location to fill gaps in the schedule. I orient myself with the different pace by spinning in a circle a few times and making a mess. Hmmm, feels like home.

Please save this space for a more inspirational message at a later date.

I am sorry to my readers who have been disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm on my part. Hopefully my apathy will abandon me soon.

My mind has been blank these past few days, as I continue my everyday ritual. It bores me. It leaves me empty and lonely. It leaves my mind blank. This message is just a place saver. Not even the celebration of my 24th birthday could inspire me to write something. I long for inspiration.

Click Link below. Turn up volume. Close eyes. Repeat.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wYHLimCpS2I

Life is brilliant. No?

As some of you may or may not know, I am temporarily working at a local coffee shop here on the OBX. I am sorry to disappoint some of you who may otherwise have thought I was a completely unemployed college graduate. No. After about 4 months of being a 23 year old bum, I decided to join the service sector and begin working my butt off at The Front Porch Cafe (which has actually been quite a fun experience). I do still consider myself to be part of the millions of US citizens unemployed for a few reasons: 1) I am currently working a temporary job; 2) This job does not require a college degree (or a high school degree for that matter) and does not relate in any way to my college degree; and 3) There is no potential for advancing in this position. I have already moved from counter staff to barista within 3 weeks and am very close to becoming the best barista in the world. Look out fellow FPC employees.

I am sorry if I have let some of you down. In any case, I still consider myself unemployed and so should you.

While I was at work the other day, I was having a friendly conversation with a fellow co-worker and asked how his life was going. "My life is brilliant" he replied. I was surprised by this answer, brilliant? I had never in my life heard someone describe their life as brilliant. I am not sure if the fact that he is from Lithuania factored into his reply or if he feels his life really is brilliant, but I didn't say anything in return. I mulled over his comment for a second while I swept the cafe floor, but eventually had to inquire. "Brilliant, huh? I have never heard someone describe their life as brilliant." He explained using me as an example, "You graduate college, No? You pay no student loans. Your parents pay. You have new car. All of this is brilliant right?" I nodded my head in agreement, was the Lithuanian onto something? Could I really have been overlooking it this entire time, was life really brilliant? No. I could not let him get the best of me.

Being the person I am, I like to define things, so I went home and typed brilliant into a blank word document and selected Look Up. My modern aged dictionary came back with the following: 1. Extremely bright or radiant (brilliant sunshine; a brilliant smile). No, I wouldn't describe my life as bright or radiant. 2. Vivid (a brilliant shade of green). That doesn't quite apply. 3. Intelligent or talented (a brilliant mathematician). Neither does that. 4. Excellent (distinguished by excellence). My life is not necessarialy distiguished by excellence, either. And lastly, my favorite, 5. Splendid (imposingly splendid or magnificent). Bing. Bing. Bing. Bing.

Additionally, the U.K. uses brilliant to express great satisfaction with somebody or something. The Lithuanian was onto something! (And possibly knows how to use the English language in a more diverse way than I do.)

Regardless, I have been mulling over the brilliance in life for the past few days. Today, I went to the beach, looked at a perfectly brilliant blue sky and swam in crystal clear brilliant salt water. Tonight, I will sit in perfectly brilliant green grass with two dearly brilliant friends and drink ice cold beer, double brilliant! And now that I have written this word so many times that I am positive it is misspelled in one way or another, I am going to have a brilliant dinner with my parents and talk about homemade ice cream.

How can one sentence, one comment, 4 little words, make you reevaluate your perspective?

Happy first day of summer!

Today is my day off. Oh Joy! Oh wonderment! The sun shines its peppy head in my window, bouncing off the open blinds casting images on the wall. I sleep in late, though my sleep is disturbed by my internal clock. It yells 'Get up lazy.' I hit the snooze button and my dreams combine the dancing sun streaked images on my wall with wondering ideas and brain waves.

Today is going to be a wonderful day: early morning job searches, then I have the afternoon free for the beach and an ocean swim. I might even try to get back on my feet and run. How wonderful it feels to not have to stand on your sore feet and legs for 6 plus hours, to think about work, to talk to customers, to put on a sweet facade.

Enough here though, I cannot waste any more of my day off. It is already passing too quickly and today is the longest day of the year. How did I get to be so lucky to have off on the longest day of the year? Oh sweet celebration. Oh sweet, sweet summer, you have finally begun.

Unfamiliarly familiar. Day 196.

I never realized how much I missed the companionship of my college town, the ability to walk down the road and recognize the faces of strangers. I use to hide inside of the thick cement walls of my dorm room, and in later years, the drafty cardboard box I called my apartment. I would hide myself beneath layers of blankets, in unreserved comfort. I would snuggle down and cover my head beneath the sheets filling my cocoon with hot breath and emotions. I would lose myself in my cocoon, sometimes even crying myself to sleep, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the day, after lunch. It never mattered when. After, I would peel off each layer, not fast like a band-aid, but slow and painful, like torture, but each time I was renewed. Willing to face the outside world again, willing to see the eyes of the passing strangers.

I never realized, even as I was running from it, how consoling it felt to have someone pass you on the street each day. Since I have moved, I think about those people often. What if I had said hello or offered to buy them a cup of coffee on a snowy day? What if I had somehow changed the norm and asked that familiar stranger their name? What if I had offered the guy with all those books, a hand? Or maybe if I had just said 'hey, we're heading in the same direction, would you like to walk a ways together?'.

I live 7 hours away from the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, my college town, the place that I have called home for the past 5 1/2 years, and all of the faces that oddly enough became recognizable. I think this is why I could never live in a large town. I'd miss seeing the unfamiliarly familiar.

It's a lonely place. It's not something you realize when you are surrounded by peers who are in a similar place as yourself. I know, it's hard to believe, you think you're different. You think no one else could feel like you, think like you, search for answers to questions like you. But in reality, we are all searching. And if we're all searching, why are we all so lonely?

I'm lonely here, surrounded by my parents who have raised me, cared for me, nursed me. How can you be lonely when you are surrounded by the two people that love you the most? But I am. Each night, I crawl beneath my covers and make my cocoon. Each morning, I come out new again, ready to face the day. But I'm not new enough. I haven't changed enough. And each night I search for something more.

Laughter is the best medicine and nudity is always funny.

As I was perusing a friends profile page on facebook today, I ran across this wonderful image. I'm not the type that normally gets caught up in searching/posting funny pictures and YouTube videos, but this picture caught me off guard. I actually fell out of my chair laughing.

They say laughter is the best medicine (and eating an apple a day keeps the doctor away). I've recently been trying to live by these two idioms.

So laugh out loud. It's good for you.

Congratulations graduates, welcome to unemployment.

It is graduation time. It has been graduation time for the past month. Just as college graduation ended, high school graduation began. Local shops advertise congratulations to high school graduates. People at the coffee shop talk about their kids preschool graduations. Elementary aged kids tromp around the neighborhood with a new sense of accomplishment mirrored with summer freedom. Newspapers announce scholarship accolades and write articles called: Advice for grads. While classified ads lack the dedication.

31,055 Bachelors degrees were conferred during 2008-2009 in North Carolina alone. The unemployment rate in NC soared to a whopping 10.8 % during April, a percentage higher than the national unemployment rate (Regional and State Employment and Unemployment Summary, http://www.bls.gov/news.release/laus.nr0.htm). Realistically, for new graduates the unemployment rate is estimated to be around 15%, putting approximately 4,600 hopeful North Carolina graduates jobless. This group consists of mostly twenty-something year olds or what has been termed by the general public as "young adults". These young adults are increasingly relying on their parents for support as the economy continues to decline. The age range of young adults and adults in transition between school and permanent full time employment is widening. This again can be contributed to the recession. So what are these twenty-something year olds doing?

About 2/3 are living in debt from student loans averaging $23,200 (Project on Student Debt). If you are in debt, find out how much you owe and figure out a way to manage it before it grows to be too big to handle. Check out: http://www.nslds.ed.gov/.

Others, are living with their parents and working in restaurant and other service oriented temporary jobs, like me. We are still looking for alternatives.

It's nice to read during such a tough time that people are still graduating, people are still getting degrees and people are still looking to the future.

But I won't lie, the echo of graduation haunts me.

Day 186.

Today I got called for an interview. This will be interview number three.

I am not getting my hopes up. I am not thinking this is the one. I am not thinking that I can put in my two weeks notice at my temporary job. I am not thinking any of this. At least, I'm trying not to.

I am thinking, I have two weeks til my interview, plenty of time to start preparing. I am thinking, I'm gonna blow their socks off. I am thinking, any job is better than my current job. I am thinking, I hope this is the one.

Uncle Earl Visits

Tonight, I had dinner with my 87 year old grandmother and her 85 year old brother. They are from a generation that grew up during the great depression, eating Hostess cupcakes costing 5 cents. They were teenagers and young adults when World War II drafted their older siblings. They are the generation that gave birth to the baby boom. They are called by Tom Brokaw "The Greatest Generation" for their desire to do the right thing. They grew up in a time that will never be compared to another, despite recent associations of our current economic state with those in the 1930s and 40s.

My grandmother's brother, Earl Edmondson, has a certain charismatic way about him. When he speaks he seems to take center stage, enticing and relating his story to everyone at the table, and simultaneously making it seem as if he was speaking just and only to you. He raised his glass and toasted: "To family." Expressing his old school ideals and moralities. "And to Dana, with good luck in finding a job."

He was a businessman before retirement and speaks often of his success and also of not so successful business ventures. Tonight, he spoke mainly of his son, who took over his meat distribution business and is doing fairly well as he expands into catering. He also mentioned a start up business that lasted for only a short while in the eighties. It was focused on energy efficiency and renewability and he mentioned a technique he used to heat water. This technique was even used in oceanfront hotels in Virgina Beach. This post is not about Uncle Earl's successes and failures as a businessman, but rather about Uncle Earl himself, his ability to chase his dreams and succeed. Behind his tired Edmondson blue eyes, I saw the motivation and energy that I at 23 year old have lacked the past few months.

Uncle Earl is only in town for one short night, but he has left with me the motivation and sense that I can be whatever I'd like to be. When he asked me of my future, he asked me in a way different from others with that similar question. He asked me what I wanted to do, not what my degree was in, or what jobs I've been applying for, but basically what I wanted my future to hold. And he made it seem like it could hold anything.

Uncle Earl was an entrepreneur in his younger years, with spunk and knowledge and desire. Though I am very different from Uncle Earl, I hope my life will be as fulfilling and joyful as his, with surprises and opportunity and possibly even some entrepreneurship.

Alternatives to life after college

Day 182.

I recently asked my friends and followers on facebook suggestions for life after college and alternatives to full-time employment. Here are some of their suggestions:

"stay in college so you don't have to pull long crappy hours"- Sierra, Classmate Fuquay-Varina Senior High School

"Master's, the PhD, stay in as long as you can!!" - Jamie, Western Carolina Alumni

"WWOOF. Americorps. Teach English Abroad. get outta here for a while." - Halley, Appalachian State Alumni

"AT" -Brother-in-law

"There's nothing more adventurous then moving back in with the rents. Rent, laundry, internet, cable, food, we should be so lucky. You're not missing much elsewhere. Like now, I'm in americorps doing backcountry trail work on the Toiyabe Crest Trail by Austin NV. You could get a better description of it here: http://www.austinnevada.com/wilderness.html One word: Boring" -Dan, Appalachian State Alumni

"i agree with Dan, move back in with the parents. Oregon is no fun either, there are huge snow capped mountains blocking my view all the time and these lakes and rivers are always in my way." -Derek, Appalachian State Alumni

I don't know if anyone is out there, but if you are: let's hear your suggestions!

Facing the Startling Facts of Unemployment

It has been 181 days since I graduated from college. I have applied to 464 jobs, interviewed with 2 companies, and received 25 rejection letters. I have been through 4 reams of paper, 4.5 books of stamps, 149 envelopes, 7 ink cartridges and 2 "how to find a job" help books. I am 23 years old, I live with my parents, and I am unemployed.

I've had this idea for quite some time, to create a blog in which to share my opinions everyday from the day I graduated from college until I have full-time permanent employment. Of course, I never started this when I graduated, but when visiting Raleigh this weekend I decided to go for it. I was having a really rough weekend and was especially frustrated about still being unemployed. Up until this moment I had been really nonchalant about it all, thinking it'll happen when it happens, but finally, after 6 1/2 months, it hit me. My wall crumbled into a pile at my feet and I was buried. I actually burst out into tears in the middle of my sister's birthday party when confronted with a question about the progress of my job search. That's when I decided that I had to do this blog. This is a blog for everyone out there who’s unemployed. You’re not alone.

Today, the unemployment rate is at 9.7 %. Let us just soak that startling figure in.