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.

On Blogging

Me (and my wonky eyebrowns) in Ma's coat in last night's blizzard from HELL

Recently I have been inspired to blog more. And by recently I mean in the early morning hours of today, when I stayed up til almost 8 a.m. perusing other people's blogs and being jealous of their coolness. Woe to me in my neverending unhipness. I think my thing with blogging, tweeting, fbooking, or interneting in any kind of way is that it is hard for me to put so much of myself out there to be judged. I'm such a private person and I hate to think that people I don't even know will come across my posts and judge judge judge. I admire people like my cousin Em who puts herself out there, bare bones and daringly honest and beautiful and fascinating in her honesty. I want to be like THAT. Someone once said you have to be interested to be interesting and I think that is so spot-on. Those who have shared their interests with the interwebz have become ludicrously successful over the recent years, because they struck a nerve with people like me, holed up in their rooms, huddled under blankets, laptops firmly situated on tummies, hoping to find a kinship with others and thus not feel like such a freak. Feel me? Anyways, that is one of my resolution for the year.