(An army of one) + x = Much More!

So, Blogger recently updated, which is pretty awesome. It's been so much more user friendly and now has a mobile app (Thank you!). To all of you that read my daily churning on your phone, I hope it is now formatting much better. I know it was a bitch to read there for a while, as blogger transitioned into this new platform. If it is still not working PLEASE let me know.

They have added this new stats page and I was amazed to see some of the statistics. Statistics are pretty awesome because they tend to tell the truth in simple laments terms. And that I like.You can't really hide the numbers (or hide behind the numbers). They just exist in true form. Anyhow, I'll stop trying to be poetic and tell you the cold hard facts!

Confessions of a College Graduate has had over 2000 page views during it's 18 month existence (and this isn't tracking the million times a day I look to see if anyone has posted a comment).

Most of my page views come from the United States (duh). But did you know that I have had page views from Russia, Germany and Alaska?

And most of you readers out there in cyberspace universe are Windows junkies. As am I, but I'd love to make the transition to Mac with my next personal computer. The one I'm rambling away on right now is my loaner from work. I take it home so I can devote my life to tourism and check my work email when I'm at home and not supposed to be working. Shhh, don't tell the boss!

Anyhow, those are the facts. Do with them what you will, but me, I'm celebrating the fact of a successful blog. I am an army of one and I only have 10 followers, but I make a pretty loud scream.

See you all in the New Year! Thanks for reading!

I forgot about new tune tuesday, so how about new tune Thursday??

Happy Holidays!

Thanks for reading. See you in 2012!

indecisive

I thought I would buy a house, now I think I will buy a trailer and save the rest of my money for my children. Just kidding, I’m gonna blow it all on drugs and scandalous activities. Who wants to join me? 

This is actually an awesome short article.

Today, I share a link from a Newspaper blog. I miss this newspaper dearly. It is about the only thing that kept me sane while I was working in the bureaucracy of state government. JK. I just loved walking around downtown looking for the indy newspaper box to reach inside and pull out the free publication to tuck under my arm and look cool. Ahhh, I miss that life.

http://www.indyweek.com/FWIW/archives/2011/12/16/indy-interns-why-your-next-job-should-be-fast-food

THE LONELIEST MAN // A NARRATIVE

Deep in the dark damp woods in the middle of nowhere there once lived a man. He lived in a home that didn’t have a driveway or a mail box to mark the turn. It wasn’t off a dirt road or a gravel road or a paved road. There wasn't a road at all.

Directions weren't easy, which was okay because he never had the need to tell anyone directions in the first place. In fact, he had nowhere to tell directions to, not a house or a home, and no one to tell either. No one knew who he was. No one knew he was born. No one knew he lived. And no one even knew when he died.

And he did die, eventually, with no directions, or road, or mailbox, or driveway, or house.  He just died and the smell of the damp forest took over his body and camouflaged him with the land. Not even archeologists would know he existed because when nature was done with him, there was nothing left. Not even his teeth, because, well, he had none to begin with.

So the man with no teeth. The man with no directions, or road, or mailbox or driveway, or house. The man that no one knew who he was and no one knew he was born and no one knew he died. This man actually was not a man. This man was nothing. This man never existed.

And so neither did his story. This story. These word.

The End -but then again this never existed either.

Three, Three, Three

Wait a minute. It might not be the curse of three little words, but instead the curse of threes. Yes. This makes much more sense. It is the curse of threes that I am stricken by. My apologies for the mistake. And my apologies for the curse of threes.

My apologies. I am cursed by three little words.

Please let me apologize. Each night I come here to write. And each night I write the same thing. I have been cursed and now all my blog posts are the same. I apologize for this laspe in creative material. I apologize for not being the writer I wish I was. 

Again, my apologies. I am cursed by three little words. 

your absence by my side (pockets and heart)

i can't wait until you and i become one
everything we own will soon become united
and as we share in the little fruits of our labor
we will rejoice with all we have to savor

i have never before imagined
until i have found you
little blonde pitter patters of children among me
i dream of small baby feet running across the gray tile
you catching him right before he falls into a crying pile

the sand between his little toes
and in between our hands
as we all join forces and speak to the land

these are dreams i have each and every night
as I lay awake reaching for your side
when these moments return in deja vu
i hope you realize how it is all so true

and one day we'll return to all that we knew
and our son will be grown by the ocean
as we continue to drink from its salty potion

New tune tuesday

i can never figure out what this song is about,

but i love it none the less. 

Life on a sandbar

I am currently trying to write in the midst of noise hyperbole. Let me try and paint a clear picture of what is happening over here at the parents house.

Imagine the sound of a vacuum on hardwood floors, a radio on top notch, a washing machine spinning off balance, a dryer full of jeans churning, and a yapping Welsh Terrier.

And though it is eleven a.m. right now and I should not be sleeping, and I am not. Just imagine all of this at seven in the morning. And then imagine this every morning. And now you have a clear picture of life with the folks. 

I have got to get out of here! And the funny part is, they don't understand any of that. Mom thinks I think living here is absolute hell. And sometimes it is, but most of the time it's really nice to be able to save some money and eat some yummy food and be around them, especially during the holidays. But really, she can't expect me to stay forever and she can't be mad because I want  to leave. Right?

I mean, am I being completely rude and ungrateful by saying: "Mom and Dad thanks for letting me stay, it's been really nice, but it's time for me to move now. I'm 25 and I need to have my own space?" Is that rude, am I a horrible daughter?

I can't believe I even have to think about that. I want to occupy my thoughts with finding a house or building a sweet little beach box that looks something like this (see above, right). Only surrounded by sand. I mean, couldn't you imagine watching the sunset from that porch or even while making dinner in the kitchen. This open floorplan would be beautiful and perfect (see above, left). And there's a loft: which means extra  room for overnight visitors! I mean really, this is all I need. Monk and LB and me would fit perfect here. 

Now I only need to find a large enough lot, in the perfect location towards the end of Old Oregon Inlet Road with marsh and woods as my backyard. Oh and room for chickens. Oh and all of this under 80Gs. real estate gods, please help grant me my only wish. Oh and that I want to move in before April 1st! 

Is it too much for a girl to ask for? 

Are you really my friend? The fb portrait project

http://www.facebookportraitproject.com/2011/11/shout-out-from-etsy.html

http://www.facebook.com/are.you.really.my.friend?sk=info

http://www.tanjaalexiahollander.com/

In the midst of economic destruction artists [and people] still explore reality,
no matter the cost. 

These people are my hero's, my motivators, and my idols. 

My dreams are as wide as their dreams.

My desires run as deep as their desires. 

My fortune dependent on their fortune.

And my future, 

as volatile. 

Writers block. I blame the elves.

I am a writer. Lately, I have not been able to write. Tonight I am forcing my fingers to occupy the keyboard. So let me write this:

Work is the only thing that is keeping me sane.

And right now, work is full of red nosed reindeer's, little elves in green and red suits, and flurries of snow.   

New Tune Tuesday

Snow makes me giddy.

And when I see forecasts like this, I can't help but get excited. 

I miss the cold, the wind . . . and the snow!

I doubt we'll get any here this winter, specially since we haven't even gotten our first frost.

And the mosquitoes are still here to prove it.

This is what I would be listening to if there was a snow storm outside:

My 2011 Christmas Wish List

When will I live in a place that snows?

Unfortunately, I've been really unhappy lately, which mostly expresses itself in a blast of impatient anger. Sorry folks, but I can't help it. It's a combination of being twenty-five and living with my parents, missing the ones I love, and being in a heatwave.

Thanksgiving weekend is slowly ticking away and though there are many things I am thankful about, that is not what this post will be about. Most of the time you will not find the stereotypical holiday meaningful posts on this blog that you find on other blogs. Sorry, but that is just not me, at least not today it isn't. If I am doing a holiday post you will probably find me complaining about the food or the traffic or about how my family drives me insane. Not about that top ten things I am thankful for.

I will however share with you, my 2011 Christmas wish list!

1. To have Monk and LB back in my life, I miss them both terribly.
2. To rent my room in Cary, so I don't have to waste my money there, and here. And so I can buy a beach shack and go back to my way of living.
3. AND lastly, SNOW!

New tune tuesday!

It's Tuesday, ekkk! I have missed "new tune tuesday" for the past, what, three weeks? . . . ever since I moved to the Outer Banks. I realize, I may be busy, but that doesn't excuse me from updating the world on extremely awesome and interesting new music. Right?

Alright, I know I'm overly ambitious but someone has to be.

Anyhow, I guess this is "new tune tuesday" and "i remembered to post a new blog update" all rolled into one. Here's the tune:

I wish I could dance this well. Unfortunately, I only know one person who can. You know who you are, (cough) Allison Jackson. Still waiting on the dance lesson to be taught these awesome moves.

Anyhow, Happy Thanksgiving and new tune tuesday!

learning to surf

Do you think that learning to surf is like confessing something really really difficult? Do you think you have to completely let go? Do you think you have to say:

Hey ocean. Here I am. I have something to tell you, you probably won't like it, but I mean it. I really really do. 


I'm going to surf you. I'm going to turn your water into my perfect barrel tube. I'm going to make you take me on a ride. I'm going to change your world, your way of thinking, your purpose. 


I know. It's hard for me too. I'm scared. I'll eat it, I'm sure. Will you be mad if I fall? If you don't like what I have to say or the way I ride? What if I'm too aggro towards you? Will you hate me? 


It'll be hard, at first. I know. We will both struggle.  But then you'll see, it'll be worth it. Right? If I just jump, It'll be worth it?

The ocean says:
 I have a proposal for you. 
Stick your feet in my water.


And I say:
I accept your proposal, but it may take me a while before I really ride. 

Personal Perks

Some people call these beach booty, or beach treasures or simply just beach findings. Whatever you call them, they are truly treasures. And this was a great find! I couldn't believe the amount of shells washed up on shore. Normally beach glass and scallops are the most prevalent shells, but since beach renourishment in Nags Head there has been a much greater variety. Sand dollars washed up everywhere this past summer as tons of sand were pumped on shore. And some can still be found washing up this winter. I only wonder about how beach renourishment affected their habitat.  And the brain coral is a rare find as well.

Yelp! I'm still alive here on the Outer Banks!

Oh man, I have been busy lately! I totally planned to blog everyday for the first week since moving down to the Outer Banks and of course I was going to accompany all those posts with beautiful pictures of the sand, sea oats and sunsets, but obviously those post haven't happened. And to be honest, I haven't taken a single picture of the scenery (or anything else) since moving down here.

I've been thinking a lot about this little man, who of course didn't even get to go trick-or-treating on his first Halloween since it was pouring down raining. But here he is holding his little pumpkin, so cute!

Halloween was my first day of work down here (and no I didn't dress up). I thought about it, I even bought some black cat ears to wear, but in the end I pussed out, ironically.

My first week of work went by in a whirlwind, meeting and greeting and eating, but so far this position seems great. It's still crazy weird to be down here full time. I keep thinking this is all a business trip (and a vacation and a dream), and by this time next week I'll be back to the Concentrated Area of Relocated Yankees. (Cary, for those of you that have no idea what I'm talking about.) I mean seriously, this is such a beautiful place (photos to come).And yesterday I got to be in a Passat photo shoot and I got paid for it! That's right Volkswagen owners look for me in the international magazine Das Auto. 

Anyhow this is just a small little greeting from me down here, yelping about to say I’m loving it, but missing some very important things that are at my permanent address in Cary.

Just thinking about the people I love. . .

On my lunch break: A beautiful fall day

new tune tuesday!

In the garden of good and evil (very few of you will actually know what this post is all about)

We all consist of negative and positive ions. In fact, not just us, but everything around us, everything that has ever been or will ever be consists of a negative ion and a positive ion. A yin and a yang. A source of good and a source of evil.

It must be stated that I am not religious. I do not believe we will all end up in either heaven or hell. I am not superstitious. I have broken many mirrors and crossed paths with numerous black cats. I don’t believe in the little green leprechaun and his rainbow of luck. I do however believe that everything is interconnected and that everything is balanced on a very sensitive scale of equality. Not religion, but science and fact.

Many of my childhood memories have an underlying activity. The activity of waiting. Singing the jeopardy song after school when my mother was late. At the end of this song she will be here, I said to my bff. This was the day my mother had fallen on her way to the eye doctor. She was late because she was getting stitches in her knee. The pain I felt in my chin as I waited for my dad to get the doctor from church to stitch up my chin on our kitchen table. Waiting for my mother to take me to the hospital after crushing my hand in the school door. Waiting to sell our home in Altavista to move to North Carolina. The sound of buzzers and splashing water at swim meets and my mother saying don’t draw that on your paper. It was the yin yang symbol. Something my mom thought was wrong. I will never know why she thought this, maybe she thought it was a gang sign, maybe she just didn’t know, but I didn’t stop drawing it. That image, that yin yang, has been drawn on my school papers, diary pages, schoolgirl notes, receipts for as far back as I can remember. But until this moment, until yesterday, when I experienced yet another balancing act I didn’t realize.

You are probably confused. Does this sound like the ramblings of a crazy person? I’m sure you are asking, What didn’t you realize?

I’m sorry I cannot answer that question. I cannot explain the yin and the yang, the opposites, the balancing act. All I know is when I would read The Runaway Bunny as a child and lose myself in the beautiful drawings I would replace the mother bunny walking across the tightrope with myself. I never knew how true this would be. I am a tightrope walker. And it is easier than it looks, the world balances out for me, but in return I have to deal with the emotional change. I am still frightened of falling.

Today I will go to my beautiful college town of Boone. And again, like last year I will have both good and bad news to bear. The world has once again balanced out on me in this garden of good and evil.

new tune tuesday!

love the violin. i wish i could play like that. 

sand in every crevasse - I move in 2 weeks.

I have moved every six months for the past 2.5 years.


Move one: Best formerly red door house in Boone to sweet little grandma house.
Move two: Grandma house to OBX Mom and Pops house.
Move three: First Solo apartment (loved this place).
Move four: back to roommates, but add a dog and an awesome yard complete with garden.
And drum roll for move five: back to the OBX! Whew, that’s a lot of moving for someone who hates moving.

Hopefully, I’ll stay put for a while. Can you say, beach shack and the sound of the ocean? Am I too young to buy a house?

BLOOD FULL OF BRINE

There was no pro con list for this decision. First of all because I didn’t feel comfortable basing my career (aka. Life) off a sheet of inked paper, but mostly because there wasn’t really a decision to be made. It would have been flat out dumb if I had turned down a new position, better pay, more opportunity, experience and responsibility, and the beach for what I have now. No offense current job. You got me in the door, you were my gateway job and an excellent one at that. But really, I would be beyond blond if I had turned it down.

Let me back up a bit (just for the sake of explanation and for those of you that might be saying what the hell is she talking about?) I have been offered a new position with the Outer Banks Tourism Bureau. It comes with a transformed job title: Events and Marketing Assistant (I can’t seem to kick that assistant thing). It comes with a pay raise. It comes with more responsibility. It comes with great co-workers (which I already have at the Division, but these new folks seem awesome too!). And it comes with a move.

I start pretty quickly, which has been why I am having such a hard time grasping all this. To be completely honest, I didn’t want to move until the new year, which is still 2 and a half months away. Naive, I’m sure, but that is the thing, I am naïve. I am young. I am 25. I have never made a decision like this before and I’m completely scared I’m making the wrong decision.

I have a magic eight ball on my iphone. I keep asking it the same questions: Is this the right move? Should I accept the job? Will I like it down there? Is this the right thing to do? Am I making a smart decision? I am officially pissed off at my magic eight ball and its bi-polar disorder. But I guess I shouldn’t trust my career (aka. Life) on magic eight ball either.

I’m just looking for someone to tell me what to do. Or more like I am doing is the right thing, since I have already accepted the position and written my resignation letter.

If I believed in signs, I would explain this as the Outer Banks reeling me back in. No matter how far I go (aka. Boone), I always somehow get back to the coast. I shouldn’t be complaining, I’m just trying to figure it all out. I know it’s in my family history, but is it also in my blood?

New Tune Tuesday.

Sorry everyone. I missed new tune tuesday. Here it is a day late, but still awesome!

HOME SWEET HOME?

Just wanted to share with you all a picture from this past weekend of little man and sister.

Can I make a pro con list for my career?

I’m an avid user of pro con lists. I think they are the fortune teller of decisions. The all for seeing eye. Seriously, if I had saved all the pro con lists I have ever made it’d be at least a foot high. But are pro con lists appropriate in every situation. Can I depend on a list when I’m dealing with my career?

I don’t even know why I am thinking of this, I must feel pretty confident that I will be offered the job I am interviewing for on Friday. I know I’m like the perfect applicant and all, but should I really be looking for apartments and figuring out my budget when I haven’t even been offered the position. It’s almost like I have already made up my mind that I’ll be moving back to the Outer Banks and tourism will by my career. Not just an intermediary job until I find the right fit or force myself to actually be an accountant, but tourism will be my life.

I think I’m stressing out about this because I never saw myself in tourism. Despite what my resume portrays and the fact that almost all my past job experiences have been rooted in tourism. I always saw myself being an eclectic art curator or even a teacher. The diploma always portrayed me as a wanna be CPA. My parents always wanted me to make lots of money and marry rich. So was it just luck of the draw that out of the 400 plus jobs I applied for tourism was what I ended up with and it was surprisingly a perfect fit? Was it the planets aligning? Was it fate? Or am I just looking too far into it?

Lets digress, none of this really even matters. I haven’t been offered the job. I haven’t even gone on the interview. I’ll save my pro con list until after that point, if I feel comfortable enough basing my career (and life) on a sheet of inked paper.

New tune Tuesday

Love. Love. Love. Love Love.

What more can I say?

Lola says: "Happy October!"

Do our titles and our jobs define us?

I recently heard someone say in regards to unemployment, joblessness, deficit, recession and all the other worldly problems as of late, that we [humans, Americans, etc] are defined by our titles and jobs. She thought of this positively and expressed this definition as a need, therefore this is why unemployment is such a devastating situation.

But is this statement really true? Let’s take my blog title for example: Confessions of a College Graduate. Does anyone really care that I graduated from ASU? Does graduation from university really make me entitled or even knowledgeable to speak on any means? Is a college graduate who I am as a person? Is that what really defines my lifestyle, my way of thinking, what I eat, wear, drink? Does anyone even care?

I find this statement to be a false positive. Meaning:

1. In medicine or science: an erroneous test result: the result of a medical, chemical or biological test that appears to be positive but is in fact erroneous;
2. Incorrect profile match: a situation in which data about a person produces an incorrect match against a checklist, e.g. when a passenger profile is matched against a list of suspected terrorists;

Or when someone assumes a fact based on my blog title, job title or career.

Does it really matter if you go to school, spend endless amounts of cash to get an education, study things like philosophy, English and romantics, and get a fancy sheet of paper called a diploma? You still won’t be able to get a job, do what you love, live easy, speak your mind, protest wrong doing. Paper still burns when torched. Lives remain the same after university. Don’t assume anything based on the title of this blog. I’m just another person searching to be heard. Read on . . . .

New tune tuesday.

Dedicated to the Miss Megan!

Dear Miss Megan!

Three weeks ago, I wrote you a letter, but it never got to you. I put two US stamps on it and put it in the mail, a few days later it came back to me. Yesterday you called me. I didn’t get your voicemail until hours later, but it made me smile and miss you. Thank you for calling me!

 
My favorite memories are of all my wonderful friends and the time we spent together in Boone. See you all in a few weeks! Megan - we'll skype you!

Searching for Body Parts and Careers

I have a interview next week! It is in the same place that I painted the picture above. The thought of moving back there scares me, but at least I am no longer a skeleton. I have found something to attach to my bones. To hold my heart (and tears) inside.

SOMEWHERE TO DISAPPEAR

"it's not really about running away,

it's about the desire to run away."

I am thrilled to be writing these words: I love my job!

But don’t worry I’m sure by this time next week, or even by Friday I will be back to my normal job complaints.

But for now, it’s a pretty good job to have. I spent all last week on the coast of North Carolina. We started in the north and worked our way south. We went on wild horse rides, ate pounds of fresh local seafood, climbed the biggest moving sand dune on the east coast, saw more wild ponies, climbed lighthouses, and stuck my feet in the sand, all in a day’s work. So yes, as of last week I can’t complain.

Here’s a little video from my excursion:

Don't worry I don't have a fever or anything. I'm just drunk from my work-cation.

COFFEE DREAMS

I miss being able to make myself coffee everyday. Silk mixed with a small amount of dark chocolate syrup and steamed to perfection poured over the most beautiful toffee colored crème. Or the days of iced coffee black or with cream depending on how strong I feel for the day. And small Dixie cups of frozen coffee slushies topped with homemade whipped cream. Or simply just the whipped cream itself, chocolate or vanilla, or both.

You know what else I miss. . . writing.

A needle in a hay stack

We’ve all been there. Searching for that perfect cup of coffee on an autumn day. Or that favorite shirt that would look perfect on you today. Or even your keys in the bottom of your purse. Impossible to find and always the last thing you put your hand on. It’s not exactly an idea that you want to use to describe your recent job search, but yet I still find myself facing the fact that searching for a job is like searching for a needle in a hay stack.

I mean is there something wrong with me?

I’m at the 25 year milestone of my life. I should be starting a career, aka. a long-term or lifelong job, with professional progress along a general path. This is what Google thinks I, a “young professional”, should look like:

This is what I look like:

I'm not anything like those overzealous young professionals, but I am young, and I am trying to be a professional (even if the door to opportunity slams shut in my face more often than not). So doesn't that make me a young professional. So why don't I look like them, why instead do I look like my kitten just got eaten by a mastodon?

Maybe instead this whole reality of a young professional is a skewed opinion. Maybe that image above is what society wanted us to be, but our predecessors didn't leave us with enough opportunity to achieve that success. You can't raise the dead, and you can't revamp an economy that is void of chances. I'm not saying don't try or even that I won't try. I'm still here everyday trying to figure out the next step, but I'm afraid I'm stuck at the bottom of an elevator shaft, with no way up. And what I'm even more afraid of is, I'm down here with all the other young professionals, the next generation of  . . .

Call me the princess and the pea, but I want a reality that is dreamlike. I blame Disney.

I do not want to leave that "next generation of . . ." question completely blank. In any great void, there is always space for new opportunity, however difficult to achieve. So I ask you to ask yourself a question that I ask myself  almost every day (that's a tongue twister): What do I want of my future? Followed by: I have nothing to loose (no money, no house, no collateral), so why don't I go get it?

THE COOL WIND // POEM

The cool wind blowing in

Cold front is on its way

Dear lord I’m so ready

I can’t wait for this change

Bring on the new air, new air, bring on the new air

I can’t wait till the end of these days

Wrap a sweater tight around your arms

Wait for the sun to drop on down

Night time brings the bleak and black

Waiting for this time, this time to collapse

Bring on the new air, new air

Open the windows, bring on the new air

I can’t wait til the end of these days

Cut my hair

Change my shoes

Exfoliate the tan away

It’s time to change from old to new
Bring on the new air, new air, bring on the cool new air

I can’t wait til the end of these swollen summer days

Are millennials cut out for this job market?

Are millennials cut out for this job market? By Ruben Navarrette, Jr., CNN Contributor

This article sheds bad light on my age group and does not accurately represent our generation. I am not afraid of a red pen, compromise, criticism or washing both sides of a dirty dish. In fact, I do all of this each day. I understand the fact that you think we are lazy and self-obsessed because we want the perfect job, with benefits, paid vacations, ability to earn raises, and to rise up throughout a company, but isn’t that what you wanted at our age as well?


We are suffering through the biggest recession the United States has ever experienced. We are graduating from college with the highest hope, that you, yes you, the older generations instilled in us, that we would get a good job, but in reality we can’t. I mean isn’t that why we all went to college in the first place, to get a good job, to make good money, to be “educated”, to thrive like our parents did.

But don’t let me use the struggling economy as an excuse.

Even though these are our dreams, our realities are much different. Our realities are filled with the older generation’s leftovers. Millennials are working jobs that are well below our education and pay range. Instead of our dreams we are choosing other realities: lower pay, volunteer and community building positions, living with our parents (which is as much of a struggle for them as for us), entrepreneurship, etc. I’m sorry some of you think this means all 50 million of us needs a “reboot” or that we are failing as a generation, but that’s just your way of looking at it. When faced with a reality, we handle it. We may not make the same choices or vote for the same president or back the same ideals as other generations, but we believe in what we support and we stand behind it. So go ahead “reboot” the millennial generation, if you can. You’ll be losing some of the greatest assets you have in this struggling economy. You may not see it now, but one of these days you’ll be thanking us for who we are and what we believe in. And if that makes us arrogant then so be it.

Dear mockingbird sitting in a tree, why don't you peep just for me?

You could tell the world what I see and that this place wasn't made for you or me.

I can't wait to see this song again LIVE!

I'm looking for a sleepy town where in the winter it's covered in snow. I drink whiskey to stay warm or I stumble down to the local brewery for delicious mouthwatering ipa's.

And during the summer, there are mild temperatures and cold mountain streams that clear my head.

Does anyone know of a place like this?

I can’t “afford” to live

You know there are some serious issues in your life when suicide seems easier than trying to budget your finances. Seriously. But don’t worry. Don’t put me on your suicide watch list or call me just because of this. I simply only think that life would be easier without money. Or if we were all dead.

Anyhow, good job congress for doing something about the debt ceiling, other than of course sitting on your asses. Give yourself a big pat on the shoulder and go home to your million dollar houses.

Up until recently I didn’t really understand what the implications of letting the debt ceiling default really meant. I mean, I’d followed the news, listened to endless reporting on how no one would budge. Got sick of endless reporting and read all the breaking news today. But it still didn’t click until someone said, “we would turn into Greece”.

What’s so bad about that?, was my first thought. I mean attractive Europeans with beautiful accents, wine and food. Hell yeah. No, not seriously. Though that would be nice. My thoughts were more like, maybe it’ll give the U.S. a reason to get off our fat asses and protest, change things, show the world what we really want. Or maybe it won’t, but I still would have liked to have seen what we would have done, had the Senate not come to a decision. Didn't any of you?

Hello, Goodbye

First and foremost, I need to apologize. One, for not finishing my 100 day challenge and two, for complaining about my job every other (or every) post. I am sorry.
Ironically enough, I logged on today to talk about how frackin boring my job has been and how awfully painful Monday’s are, but after reading over my past few posts, I have decide to spare you the mundane details. Isn’t that funny, my boring job has become mundane. Ahh, I could pull out my hair.
Anyhow, I sit here twiddling my thumbs trying to figure out how to entertain you all.

Back to basics (or a reminder)

Obviously, I suck at anything that requires me to do, well, anything. Schedules are out the door, having one specific way to do things is just plain boring, and well, daily activities of even brushing my teeth or posting to my blog obviously gets swept to the wayside. I’m a much more here-and-now person, which is why most of you can never get me on the phone. I’m much more content with what’s happening right now in front of me, than what happening in five states over with you. That sounds bad. I am not that self centered, it’s just hard to stop the present to deal with things that have happened in the past or things that might happen in the future. If that doesn’t make sense to you then you can assume I am that self centered. Really. Go ahead. Believe it. It’s okay with me. I’ll survive.


So this is Day nothing. This is not a daily writing prompt. This is not me trying to be a writer. This is not another ritual. This is a reminder. This is a reminder of why I started this blog in the first place.

On my commute home last night, I listened to NPR, as always. And as always, I was battling traffic and trying not to fall asleep, when a story peaked my interest. It was called Hope: A precious commodity in this job market. It spotlighted Randy Howland, who is one of the six Saint Louis residents NPR is following in the story: The Road Back to Work. And for the next 4 minutes and 54 seconds I listened to the soft voice of Randy Howland detailing his struggles with the job market. BTW, unemployment is now at 9.2%, it was 9.7% last year ago in June when I started this blog. Gives me hope. Does it not you? (read in sarcastic tone)

Randy is employed, making 10 dollars an hour working from 3 pm until the early hours of the morning. He says at one point all he wants is a normal job, with normal pay, and normal hours. God, he reminds me so much of myself. While my job has normal hours, that’s about the only thing normal about it. My pay is way below the normal wage, but I am thankful at the end of every month when I get a paycheck, even if it doesn’t stretch very far. My job is normal, for someone who does not have a college degree and can sit for hours in a gray cubicle staring at a computer screen. But then again, I guess this is our reality and I guess this new reality is now normality.
This reminds me of a shirt my sister had as a kid. It had a guy hanging upside down and the words “Normal is boring.”

I think about my work when I’m not there. I think about the people. I think about doing my tasks. And what’s worse, I dream about them too. So basically, what I am trying to say here is: work is on my mind 24-7, work is on my mind when I’m not there, work is on my mind when I should be relaxing and not thinking about work. Work. Work. Work. I asked my roommate the other day if he felt the same way, yes, he said, my work is always on my mind too.

If this is how its gonna be, if I’m going to always be thinking about work and dreaming about work, I want to do something I love. I don’t want my thought and dreams to be filled with something that bores me.

And these were the thoughts I was having as I drove home (from work) last night.

Are we all mutually unhappy with our jobs? Does it show? What would our society be like if we could all do what we loved?

Day 37 (or 43)

Make something with a stapler. You can staple things together or, heck, just work with the loose staples. Even the stapler itself can be transformed.


Um, I’m a little behind. I’m not sure what day I am actually supposed to be on, it may be day 43, but I can’t be for certain.

I went on vacation. Stuck my toes in the sand. Devoured sea creatures like I was a starving kid from Japan. Got some sun on my skin (and freckles on my cheeks). Overindulged. Precisely everything the doctor ordered. Oh, and I celebrated my 25th birthday by falling on my ass trying to skim board. I am not sixteen anymore and my body can feel it.

Anyhow, I did not think about staplers or this blog for that point (except for once and it went like this: “Holy shit I haven’t posted in forever, I wonder if my fan base, aka. All 3 of you, are hating me now. Hmmm, probably . . . not. OMG, I’m out of beer, much bigger problem.”) I did ironically think about work a lot, which is about as dull as a stapler. For an industry like tourism, you’d be surprised at how frackin bor-ring working a 8-5 day can be. Good god, I need to be an event planner or do something that actually requires a brain (or a college degree).

But then again if I changed jobs I wouldn’t be able to ramble on daily about my efforts to take over the world or at least live in unison with it. And, that giant ongoing game of scrabble I just started, what would happen with that? Loss by forfeit, I think not.

So, I keep staring at my stapler.

This is what I have for you today:

My job is like a stapler as:
a. Zebras are to pencils
b. Pineapples are to kites
c. Genghis Kahn is to feud
d. Spots are to ladybugs


P.S. I love this song.

Day 36

Take something old and make it look new.

I preface all my decisions, thoughts, conversations, ideas with I am an old woman. My children say, why does it matter and I try to explain, but they never truly understand. It does matter. I am an old woman. My knees creak when I sit. My hands swell when I eat salt. My breath is no longer fresh. I am decomposing and if I am not careful I fall when I walk. I am an old woman and the only thing that’s missing in my life is a fast forward button.

P.S. I love this video.

Day 35

Create instructions that others can use to make something and then have someone try it out.


How To: Recycled Wind Catcher

What you need:
copper wire
old t-shirts, various colors
fishing line
scissors

1. Form the wire into a circle. I made mine about 6 inches in diameter. To make this step easier, find something round to use as a mold to form around, just make sure you can get it off.

2. Cut the t-shirt into equal strips. I start by cutting a section a little less than one inch and then I tear the fabric with my hands. Any length will do, but I think the longer the better.

3. Stretch the newly cut strips by holding one end and running your hand down to the opposite end pulling lightly. This should make the strip almost double in length.

4. To place the strip on the hoop: Fold in half. Feed the two ends through the top part, wrapping around the hoop. Pull tight. You should have a hoop with one strip on it now. Repeat this process until your hoop is full.

5. Tie 4 pieces of fishing line (each about 18 inches long) around hoop, be sure to place them equally around the hoop. This is what will allow it to hang and spin freely. Tie the four pieces together in a simple knot about 6-10 inches from the base of the hoop.

6. Use the excess fishing line to hang in a tree.

7. Watch it spin and enjoy.

Alternatives: needlework hoops work well for this if you don’t want to mess with forming a circle on your own, ribbons for a lighter wind catcher, string

P.S. I love this song Bonnie ‘Price’ Billy The Worlds Greatest. It helps if someone loves you.

Day 34.

Work with wire. Thin-gauge wire can easily be bent by hand, so no special; tools are required. You don’t even have to buy wire if you have some paper clips handy.


Yesterday, I gashed my leg open on a piece of rebar. A few days ago I sliced my finger chopping vegetables. Two weeks ago I nearly broke my wrist stumbling over a root during a run. A month ago I dug a piece of glass from the heel of my foot. My Mom said to me the other day, “Dana, I think you are accident prone.” You think?

This past weekend, my roommates and I got the brilliant idea to put in a garden. The container garden I had planted in April was doing great, but we wanted more. So on Friday night we said, let’s put in a garden and on Sunday just as my stomach started to rumble for lunch, we had finished. I spent the rest of the afternoon fishing, eating, chilling by a fire, loving on sweet Lola Bear, and making garden art. I created a really beautiful wind catcher out of recycled t’s, copper wire my roommate had brought from work, and fishing line.

Tomorrow’s prompt is to create instructions, so come back tomorrow for a full How To tutorial. See you then . . .


P.S. I love this song.

Day 33

Use pens as your material/inspiration today. Draw with them, use them as construction material or . . .?

A pen. Blue or Black ink. Wet or dry. Push or twist. So many choices for a pen. I picked up the one next to me and placed it behind my ear.

“Excuse me, I think that’s my pen,” said a soft voice behind me.

When I turned around she was stunning, I quickly tried to think of a way to prolong this conversation. I thought of nothing, instead pulled the pen from my ear and glanced at it. “I don’t think so,” I said.

“No it is you see, it says Greenville, NC. That’s where I’m from. R & D recyclers is my dad’s company, and I wouldn’t normally mind, but I have to address some mail and that’s the only pen I have on me at the moment.”

I wasn’t listening to her. Instead I was trying to figure all this out in my head. There was no way that she was actually there, standing in front of me, beautiful as the day I left. Her standing in cut off jean shorts. Her blond hair hung down to her waist. Her breasts like mosquito bumps, undeveloped . She was thirteen.

I was sixteen and left her smoking a cigarette from her dad’s pack as I drove away on my motorcycle. I was so tired of that hell hole. The only thing that had been keeping me there, was her. My best friend. The girl I had grown up with. Now fifteen years later here she was, in the middle of the airport in Madrid, Spain, developed.

“Excuse me, sir, my pen?” She interrupted my thoughts.

“Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty Peggy Sue.” I sang as if I was a child again. She blushed like one.

“Danny?” she whispered.

I gave her a slight nod of recognition and she jumped into my arms. Her mail and the pen that connected us dropping to the floor. She kissed me on the lips and buried her face in my neck. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered, “but I never stopped looking.”

And then I just blurted it out after fifteen years, “ I love you, Peggy Sue.”



P.S. I can’t wait to see them live. KOL, Revelry.

Please note: I have just now realized after re-reading this post what a hopeless romantic sap I am. I’m sure you all are bored with my quest for true love as much as I am. Why couldn’t I have been a sci-fi writer?

Day 32.

Make something ephemeral. Can you create something using material that will dissipate quickly, like soap bubbles, smoke, butter on a griddle, or cream in coffee?


I woke up this morning groaning. The 6 am alarm had come too early and it was only Tuesday. Could have sworn it felt like a Wednesday or Thursday, but nope. It was Tuesday. Day two of work week 47. Still uncomfortable employment.

I am beginning to think I am someone who will never be happy. Even confronted with a big ole Hawaiian pizza pie, a side of ranch and an ice cold #9, I would still be unhappy and probably find a hair on my slice or a fly in my drink.

I used to have this friend who would tell me elaborate stories about his dreams, only they weren’t dreams, they were nightmares. Last night I dreamt I was dating this friend, only it wasn’t a dream, it was the first nightmare I’ve had in years. And when I woke up groaning about the day of the week I was also awaking from a life where I was with him, sharing his waking dreams everyday and nightmares every night. It left me wanting to see him, talk with him, tell him about my dream. Only I can’t because we aren’t friends anymore. And though my dream was short lived, I can’t get him out of my mind. And now I realize it isn’t the dream that’s the nightmare. It’s the reality in which I react to the dream. It is the waking dream, it is life.

P.S. I love this song.

Day 31

Make a path for people to follow and invite people to try it out.

I do this all the time. I make a path to my heart and then people trample on it.

I’m over making paths. I’ll let people find their own way to trample all over my heart.

P.S. I love this song.

Day 30

Play time. Work with toys: If you don’t have any, borrow some form a friend with kids, and maybe even work with the kids!

No writing today. Just this song and my lack of motivation.

Day 29

Make a disguise for yourself, a friend a pet, or an object. See if you can fool anyone with it.


Each day I wake. I strip bare and stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my hair. I inspect every bit of me to see what has changed overnight. Something has always changed. Today my butt sagged a little more. Yesterday it was my boobs, a little less perky, but today it’s my butt. Flatter, droopier, hairier. And there’s a new mole on my back. Mole #347. A tiny little thing which no doubt will grow to be the same size as the others, maybe even larger.

When I am done brushing my hair and adjusting to my changes, I shower. Most on the time it’s a long drawn out shower where I turn up the heat and sit on the floor and let the water burn my skin and prepare me for today.

After my shower I dress. I have all sorts of costumes: business woman, bohemian, young professional, simple, slack, and then there are also the no clean clothes costumes, for when laundry needs to be done and I have run out of clothes in my closet.

And of course after I have found my personality for the day I put on my face paint. Purple shadow and lines, and stick red lip paint to help me look more or less like a clown, but really to cover up the truth.

Beneath it all I’m still lonely.


P.S. I love this song.




 
Lonely anywhere.

Day 28

Back to school. Use traditional school materials like number 2 pencils or lined paper notebooks to make something nontraditional.

It all happened because she was making me learn math. The most dreaded, fearful, awful subject ever. I was tired of looking at the fractions and much more tired of the sticky palm she kept placing on my shoulder as her high pitched voice squeaks, “Pay attention, Devon. Do your work.” Then she waddles back to her desk like a buffalo and crams a piece of hard candy into her mouth. What flavor was it this time? Spider legs and nose hairs? This happened three or four times until she isolated me in the back, so I could concentrate, she said. But that only made me want to not do fractions even more. So instead I broke my pencils, which earned me a trip straight to the principal’s office. I wonder if mom would be called. I took the long way to the principal’s office. I took the stairs down and snaked through each level through the 1st graders in their reading groups and the kindergarteners in the play stations down to the first floor. On my way I saw a door I had never seen before. It shined red in the fluorescent light. I twisted the handle to see if it was unlocked. It was. I pushed it open and walked into the darkness, imagining cobwebs and staplers. The door shut behind me and I fumbled around for the light to switch on. A chain dangled in front of me and I pulled it, illuminating the space around me. And this is when I saw the most brilliant magnificent room ever. . .

To be continued.

Day 27

Dreamland. Use a recent dream as inspiration for what you do today.

This is one of my favorite poems, by Bessie Pease Gutman:

Dreamland isn’t far away;
It’s very near your bed
It’s there beneath the pillow
Where your rest your sleepy head.

How curious you must agree,
That dreamlands here each night,
And in the morning when you wake
It vanishes from sight.

Oh, can you think of other lands
That you might recognize,
Ones you can only go to see
When close shut your eyes?

The time had come to snuggle in
and hug your Teddy Bear.
And off you go together now;
Sweet dreams will take you there.

My night time dreams have been negligent. Each night I wish to lose myself in dreamland adventures but find myself lost in the void of what is my mind. My waking dreams are much more vibrant, as I am sure you have seen from my past few postings. I like to explore the world of the unknown, but only in my mind. In reality I have trouble making the jump. In reality I am lost. My entire life, my dream has been to have a dog. I think I will make this dream come true. Maybe then I will feel much more settled and much less uneasy in my life. Step one: dog. Step two: happiness.

Day 26

Make something portable (or that seems portable) that normally isn’t.
I made this crazy wonderful machine.
It’s a bed frame and mattress but it’s not what it seems.
It spins around in circles and up in the air.
It takes me anywhere I care.
I’ve traveled to the most wonderful marvelous lands,
To mountains and beaches with pink sands,
To jungles with crazy lions and bugs,
and crazy secret animals called Huffulbooglugs.
They joined with the boll weevil
and together in unison we fought against evil.
I almost lost a finger, an arm and a leg
but don’t worry I didn’t even have to leave the bed.
In fact I didn’t even leave the room
and I didn’t even eat special mushrooms.
I simply allowed myself to get lost
in dreams and ideas and imaginative thoughts.
You should try it one day and you will see
Anything is possible as long as you dream.

Day 25

Work with nature. Go to your yard or nearby park and collect materials to work with.


On my way to work this morning, I admitted out loud that I would gladly go back to high school, endure the endless torture, teasing, and awkward moments all over again, if I could only relive the summer months. The child inside of me is dying for less responsibility. It wants to spend its summers basking in the heat, sweating out the bad things, peeling off layers of skin, forming new ideas and identities. It wants a life of freedom. Is this normal?

Of course I want to go back to this life knowing what I know now, impossible, right?

I feel unsettled. I feel absent. I feel something’s not right. I feel I’m on the wrong path. Will I feel this way forever? Does everyone feel this way? Is there always something that’s just not quite right?

I know what I ultimately want. It is simple. It is plain. I just don’t know how to get it.

I don’t know how I ever majored in Accounting, graduated, survived. Whenever I think about money I get an woozy feeling in my stomach. Bills I feel in my left shoulder where my neck meets my back. Money a pang in the middle of my chest accompanied by shortness of breath. Whenever I think about financial security I feel it in my heart as it shatters my dreams.

I want the simple life. And no, not this:

But this:

I want to spend my days in a garden wearing a sunhat, in the company of sunflowers taller than I am. Skin covered in dirt. And during the winter, I want there to be snow on the ground and smoke rising from my chimney from the wood burning stove, my only source of heat. I want to eat canned veggies from my summer yield. I want to make my own clothes. I want to have a dog at my feet. Is any of this too much to ask?
My one problem, how do I afford this life of simplicity?

I find it frighteningly ironic that you can’t even afford to have nothing in this world. Is this really how we have made it, difficult to live with nothing?

Day 24

It’s not easy being green. Work only with green-colored materials today. Try working on a green surface for a real challenge.

If I was a man who saw in only green,
what would the earth look like to me?
Would it be a colorful jungle-like affair,
with green bombs bursting off in the air?
Sounds like a scary slimy place
with lots of people who will stare at my face.
I hope they don’t torture and make fun of me
because of the difference that my eyes see.
But if they do, it is because I see through green lens
or maybe it’s the drippy green boogers that hang to my chin.
My body is tinted seasickness green,
woozy waves wash over me each time I breath.
My hands all monster-like straight down to the hair
that grows out of each finger and under the nails.
I scratch my face with my file-like nail
And off flakes a few of my green scales.
I breath out of water, so I’m not a fish,
and I guess I am filling my own little niche.
The niche of green monsters, creatures and things
but don’t worry my bark is worse than my sting.
I’m actually a friendly green giant of sorts
And the only thing that oozes are my few little warts.
Trust me when I say I am just like you,
The only thing that’s different is I see in chartreuse.

Day 23

Waste not. Dig in a recycling bin for all of today’s materials.

The world is my oyster, and the scrap yard my land of fortitude.

Pat Brenner, knew no other life. To him there was no other life to know. He lived, breathed and would die in that scrap yard, full of rusty old cars, abandoned refrigerators, broken machines, and other disregarded junk. It wasn’t worth anything to anyone but him, but that didn’t bother him much. His life had become to him, perfect.
Now Pat wasn’t always a scraper. He had been born in a large city, far away from this country stuff that he was so fully immersed in now. He had a decent job at one point in his twenties, wore a suit, drove a fancy vehicle, took girls out on dates, but that was forty years ago. Pat was changed.

To him that alternative life never existed. Everything about it he had forgotten, except for her, of-course.

There is always a girl, is there not? Most of the time there is always more than one, but not for Pat Brenner. Pat only had one girl, and like I said that was forty years ago. But of-course he couldn’t forget her and her emerald green eyes. He also couldn’t forget how it ended. Night-time, darkness, rain, the blood on her polka dotted dress, death. He had killed her, not purposely mind you, but it was him none-the-less. He had been the one driving.
He had also been the one drinking, and the one to walk away scratch free from the scene. Into the pitch blackness of the night, away from it all, Pat Brenner fled never to return to that city again. He had taken the best thing about that city, and destroyed it. He had come here, to this scrap yard, and created his own life of fortitude, forever repaying his debts, and living with his burdens and recycling his frustration with the world into that land.

Day 22

Create a bridge. Connect two things in a creative way. It could be small enough for an amoeba or big enough for an elephant to cross it.

I have been carrying around an unfinished painting since summer of 2007. I can’t bring myself to paint over it, but I can’t bring myself to finish it either. It is of the most beautiful bridge scene I have ever witnessed, over the Grande River of Seville. It is sunset and there are men fishing for their dinner.

A few weeks ago, I dragged myself to the craft store to purchase some oils with the intention of finishing this painting, but I walked out empty handed. Financial security once again kicked me in the ass and stomped on my dreams of ever finishing this painting. Is this going to be a lifetime struggle? Eat for a day or paint for a day? That is the question. That is the never ending question.

Hopefully one day I will finish this painting, but if I do what will I carry around to remind me of my fragmentary dreams?

Day 21

Write a ten-word love story. Bonus: Illustrate it!


Love story number 1: You had me at hello, but we couldn’t endure immaturity.

Love story number 2: Three years. You turned our relationship into a joke. Butchery.

Love story number 3: Sweetest guy I've ever been with, but can it last?

The truth: I wanted to be loved. Turns out, no one has.

Day 20

Buy or make some clay and then use it like you never have before.

How to make homemade clay:
2 cups flour
1 cup salt
1 cup water
1 ½ tablespoons vegetable oil

Mix the salt and flour together in a mixing bowl. Slowly add the H2O and oil. Mix together until smooth.
Place the dough on waxed paper to shape.
Cook the dough on a cookie sheet at 250 degrees for 45 minutes to an hour. Allow to cool before painting.


The Claymaker's Diary
I will never forget the first time I immersed my hands in the cool thickness of that artistic mud. I pulled off a clump of clay and threw it on the wheel. I had no idea what I was doing. I only knew the clay felt smooth in my hand. The wheel purred as I pushed it to life. I wrapped my hands around the small cube and pushed slightly, but it was too hard. The top of the block whirled off splattering clay all over my apron. More clay to dry onto the mud drenched dressing. It was much harder than it seemed. I labored over that wheel for hours, long after the class had finished, the teacher had locked up and left for the day. I sat in almost darkness watching my clay gloved hands shape the mud. My block of clay turned into an oddly shaped bowl. It resembled a piece of Tupperware melted in the microwave, but to me, it was a masterpiece. An Andy Warhol of clay bowls. Today that piece sits gallantly on the desk in my studio. It seems to emanate prestige to all the other pottery, the pottery that I sell for hundred of dollars. I could never sell that lopsided bowl. It's not worth anything, to anyone but me.

Day 19

Create something that floats on water (it doesn’t have to be a boat).

Things that don’t float:

turds

Dead bugs

Sunglasses

Earring backs

A coke, but not a diet coke

Dead bodies

Bricks

Bathing suit bottoms

Day 18

Work with the things you find in your car (or a friend’s car if you don’t have one).

It was the summer of my dreams, a boy, a dog, a glove box full of cash and drugs, my beat up Volkswagen and the open road. The wind ruffled through my long hair immersing every aspect of my body and soul. I felt exhilarated, free, and care free. As much as I could be with 40 grand of college debt and only as much cash as was stuffed in my glove box behind me.

The boy in my passenger seat winked at me when I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His emerald eyes like a rare gem emanating desire. Did he really love me?

The dog hung its head out the window. It’s tongue flopped out the side of his mouth and his ears mimicked my hair and flapped in the wind. It must be nice to be a dog.

We were driving west. Road trip. Desire for something new, obscure, different. Part of me knew we would never find it, but we still had to dream. We weren’t too old for that yet. So that summer we let our dreams keep us young.

Day 17

Make something inspired by and/or that goes over an eye (yours or someone else’s)
I often imagine the time when glasses were unavailable. I think about how the older sister from Little House on the Prairie eventually went blind and wonder, did she just need glasses? I imagine myself groping around without corrective lenses, hands always out on front of me reaching for the unseen. I am legally blind without glasses or contacts. I use to walk around my college campus, I’d slip my glasses off my face and tuck them into the neck of my shirt where they’d hang. The faces of passing strangers would sneak up on me like ghosts, their eyes and mouths dark, black. Were they even alive? Are any of us alive? Maybe this is where my theory of the living dead came from. Maybe this is how I figured it out. Maybe this is how I realized. We are all dead. Stuck. Waiting. What’s next?

I do not cover my eyes anymore. I do not need to. I see the truth, and the truth is death.

Day 16 -Part 5

Make a unique print by cutting up a potato or sponge, and use it to stamp on a material of your choice.
After a while of silence Bart and Jamie got up and went into the back alley to smoke a cigarette. Genie and I stayed at the booth, with the pistol, the candle and the pile of maps. I sat in silence with her as she studied each highway, bypass, road, and street.

“They were shooting people over in our neck of the woods.” Bart said out in the alley. “We woke up around 3 to the firing of guns and explosion of bombs. We slipped out of the back door and came immediately here. They had already been here. Trashed the place looking for people.”

Bart was packing back and forth , his hand shaking violently as he dragged his cigarette like he was being timed. Jamie put his hand on Bart’s shoulder to calm him down. Bart stopped pacing and looking dead into Jamie’s eyes. “They killed everyone, those bastards.”

“Who?” Jamie asked. “Who’s killing everyone?” But Jamie already knew the answer to this question. The new military. Jamie rubbed his head in angst. It’s worse than he had thought.

“What are we gonna do?” Bart kept going. “What are we going to - .” He was thinking about his family.

“Look man, we’re gonna be straight. Genie’s gonna be straight, Diego’s gonna be straight, Your gonna be straight. You gotta be strong for those two women in there. We are gonna make a plan, figure out where the fuck to go and get the hell outta this town. But first, you have to be strong. You got it man?”

He shook his head. “Yeah Man. I’m just. . .”

“I know, I’m scared too, but you’re smart we can figure this out. Now, what have you seen? Tell me everything.”

“Not much man, just that. I got the hell outta there. What was it like on your end?”

“Quiet, like everyone was hiding.” The calm before the storm.

“I heard an announcer on the radio say it was as far North as Silvana and he had a cousin down in Sacramento he couldn’t get in touch with. I heard all this right before the airwaves got dispatched. He was telling people it was the rapture. Telling us to pray to our god for forgiveness. How have we not seen it coming? The military’s been swarming all over the place the last few years. Showing up randomly in their uniforms replacing every single street cop. Man you remember when we fucking hated street cops, we’ll there aren’t any more around to hate. Now it’s the fucking military. They’ve swooped in here and turned us into fucking target practice. They’re everywhere too, they were all over NY when I was up there last fall. They are taking us all out. Shit’s collapsed and they are taking us all out and starting over.”

“We don’t know that man.”

“We knew our government was going to collapse, but we didn’t know the logistics or how people would react. Our government has collapsed and this is how they’ve chosen to deal with it.”

Bart was right. It had been happening for years. The increased military involvement on every level. The decrease in state and local funding coupled with the increase in military support. The continued recession. The unemployment rate has been increasing since the housing bubble collapse. It is greater than 50 percent. And the poverty level is much worse. It was well known that the collapse of our economy was happening in its own time, but no one ever knew when the collapse would actually happen or what would happen after. Did they throw the master switch, turn everything off, completely shut off access to funds? How has it occurred so quickly? Or has it been occurring elsewhere and we just didn’t know. They have the ability to control it all. But wouldn’t we have noticed? Have we all been so blind?
Jamie told me all of this after our dinner of baked potatoes, raw vegetables, and hamburger buns. Genie had been resourceful, she took inventory of every food item at Frankie’s. We ate the food that would go bad first and the food that could be eaten without being cooked. It was a well rounded meal for what we had and after 6 potatoes I was stuffed.

Jamie and I pushed the bench seats together and made a bed one for him and one for me. I snuggled deep down inside of my sleeping bag and turned to him.

We had sat silent all day camouflaged in our surroundings to avoid being noticed. The boys had decided we needed to lay low for a few days, let things settle down. That made me nervous. Each breath I took I felt like something was gaining on me, getting closer, sniffing me out, hunting me. I had failed with getting through to my family and finally Jamie told us all to turn off our cell phones. Save the batteries, he said. We took the batteries out of our phones and laid the pieces in a pile on the table. Later Genie put them all in the front pocket of her book bag for safe keeping. We had decided to take shifts watching the doors. Every two hours we would change up. Bart was on first shift. We were all scared. All shaky and it scared me that any of us would have to stand guard with a rifle ready to shoot down intruders. But we all agreed, I mean how could we not? It was their life or ours.