God Is In Control, People!

God's got it. A cheery little bon mot from Hallmark card writers to liven your day, but really its true. I've been so down lately, because of a lot of things not just what you may expect, and I have to keep reminding myself that I have a purpose in this world other than to be what I am this very moment. Things can and will change, the currents of my life will vacillate and go bursting forth in the other direction until I am somewhere new.

Fruitful Friday

"You look like hell. You should get some rest."

That's all I ever get any more. Rest. Never ending rest.

Although not really, since when my body is still my mind is not. Lots of things jockey for elbow room in my head space these days, chief among them not having a job. Join the club, you're saying. Many of my recently-graduated peers are lingering on the threadbare line between joblessness and dead-end job-ness, be it in the food service or retail industries, or nannying or what have you. I am not knocking any of those jobs or anyone who is hustling and doing what they have to do to make ends meet. I'm just expressing disappointment in myself that I am not more who I thought I would be at this age. Perhaps it's another one of my delusions of grandeur, and Lord knows I am prone to them, but I thought I would be in grad school, or backpacking through Europe or Asia, "finding myself." The truth is, I seemed to have indeed found myself in this wasteland in Texas, languishing and withering away in housewifely duties.

There has ceased to be a beginning and end to my days. I sleep so often and do so little with my wakefulness that there seems to be little point in getting out of bed. And this is worse than boredom, you guys. This is a chronic fatigue of my whole being, making me stumble in a haze at the grocery store, unable to cut my food at dinner. The lack of anything stimulating my brain seems to have osmosed into the rest of my body, sending me caterwauling into Zombieland. If only Emma Stone and Woody Harrelson were there to keep my company. I need more than a job to keep me and my checking account occupied. I need a new and better perspective on my life, I have realized. I should at least try and go to bed at a decent hour, even if David has to get up 4:30 and puncture my fitful sleep for a few minutes; to make time to write more, since it really does help, after all it was/is my life's passion since I was 5 years old. I would welcome suggestions on how to crawl out of this little hole I have dug, but luckily (or unluckily, depending on how you look at it) not many people visit this little blog. So I will end by saying thank you, whoever you are out there in the ether of the interwebz, for listening.

Daydreams

What I think about:

a big girl job

a froofy soft plushy cool-against-my-skin down comforter for cozy fall nights

a wedding

David to never having to go back "over there"

being motivated to blog more, vlog more, and live more outside of our sad little apartment

Mini List

Some things that should probably be shuffled off to the "Not Right" section of my life:

1. My diet lately consists of Monster energy drinks and leftover take out, occasionally punctuated with Haribo peaches and other various candies.

2. True Blood has take over my life. Redneck vampires cannot be beat.

3. Next to David, my most important relationship is with my Blackberry.

4. I have an irrational fear of attempting to do the things I most want to succeed at. Is that just me?

In other news, it is Senor David's birthday and he will not be home until after dinner. More time for laying around and looking at wedding and shower stuff on The Knot and The Bump? Don't mind if I do.

Joblessness

Counting my non-blessings and thinking about my non-life have become my two latest and only passions. As I write, David is sitting next to me watching Star Wars and studying for his work exam that is the day after his birthday, September 7.

You know. Because he actually has gainful employment and goes to work everyday and is fulfilled and stuff.

Unlike moi, an increasingly malcontent imp who lays around our teeny apartment in a fog of lethargy.

Being jobless since January did not really hit me until I moved to Texas, since until May I was preoccupied with trying to graduate and missing David. Somehow I assumed that once I graduated I would be flooded with job prospects. Foolish. I probably picked one of the worst majors for that dream to be a reality, and now I am dealing with the hard and painful fact that I have a degree that is virtually useless in a military town in central Texas.

I am not and will never be qualified to fill any of the following positions that are most popular around here: tank mechanic, sheet metal cutter, nurse, insurance salesperson and finally restaurant employee of some ilk or another.

These are the reasons why I am not and will never be qualified: I shouldn't be allowed to work in the underbelly of a Matchbox car, let alone a tank; I'm less than accurate with a pair of safety scissors; I failed high school (and college) biology; being in sales of any kind robs you of your soul and makes you into just another lemming for The Man, or whatever; I would most assuredly spit in someone's food if they threw me shade.

I'm not asking for the world with a fence around it (Copyright: my Mom), or an executive suite in the top PR firm in the country with a view of the city skyline; or even an entry-level position with a view of a parking lot. At this point I would settle for subterranean-level with no lunch break and a view of a cubicle farm.

All I know is that I love to write; I love non-profit work and I love certain aspects (read: the fun ones) of the public relations industry. Writing for my college's newspaper showed me that news reporting probably isn't for me, but I still love the thrill of seeing my work published. So who knows where life will take me from here. I'm just along for the ride.

someone please hire me

How I'm Feeling

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_QffCZs-bg

Devil May Care

One of these days, I will be that girl. If only for a day, I want to know what it's like to be her, you know the one. The one who lets her hair blow in the breeze through open car windows even though it's going to mess up her hair; who dances in parking lots and twirls around and doesn't care what people think because she's cool like that; who wears super awesome outfits that no one would ever think of putting together but she does because she's just that effortlessly fashionable; who gives and loves with abandon and speaks her mind without fear of retaliation because she knows that those who love her will always love her, no matter how different she is.

This devil may care idea is one I have toyed with adopting since oh, forever. But I have never been one to follow through with grandiose persona changes (another post entirely), and on days like this where I am buoyed by a filmy, electric haze of energy, I see that girl in myself.

Why? I'm glad you asked. I think I have always been attracted to these people because they are the complete opposite of my loserbookwormalwayspickedlastforteamsportsinfifthgradeandbeyond self. I would always say I was comfortable that way, because it was easier than owning up to my social failings. Lately I have been thinking that now is the time to do this, to be that better version of myself that I know is deep deep deep down there somewhere, who is outgoing and strong and independent and beautiful and celebrated by all as the epitome of womanly.

Don't get me wrong, though. I am so loved by my someone that it makes me crazy, makes me ill with joy and sorrow and fear and lovelovelove. But I know I could be better, be stronger and braver and wiser. And if there were any time to attempt this Change For the Better, it is now.

Because apparently I am now a Big Girl with Big Girl Responsibilities. This must mean that the Big Girl that has been hiding, or hidden, frustrated with her vessel's lack of progress these last twenty-some years is going to have her time very soon. Her captor has given up on sucking at life, and there is no more room for excuses. It's going to happen. Big Girl Things. Promise.

Gwen Blogs at Work

So here I am at Habitat, ostensibly doing work ie cataloging bootleg lighting fixtures for Ebay, but really I have the urge to write. I talked to my friend Jace last night about why I don't write as much anymore and it all comes down to THE FEAR.

What kind of fear, you ask? Fear of failure. It's what usually keeps me from doing things I know I could excel at because let's face it, putting yourself out there is scary. At I'm not usually much of a risk-taker.

I'm thinking of doing Em's 30 Days of Blogging fandango to get me back into the habit because one day I really do want to write The Great American Novel, or something. And what is great writing without practice, even if it's sludge like this?

So here I am. This is the prologue to a New Me who loves writing just as much as she used to, and maybe one day will be good at it like she used to be. The "prodigal" writer, as her teacher's called her in grade school. Seems laughable now, but that talent (and moxie) is still in there somewhere. I just have to find it. So wish me bueno suerte.