I've read advice from many prominent writers in which they pontificate that having a regular day job can actually help with your writing. It provides valuable inspiration. I don't know about any of that, I work because I have bills to pay and I enjoy eating. Writing is something I have to make time for on the side, in hopes that it will one day be my only job.
I will admit that I do get a lot of my inspiration from my daily life and the experiences and actions of the people around me. I often find myself channeling my frustrations in any given situation into a piece of writing. The two are connected. I don't think I'd have near as many ideas if I didn't work around people as much as I do. People are strange creatures, and one can spend their entire life trying to understand their motives.
I'm still hoping to one day have writing as my only job, but until then I can appreciate my day job for what it brings me, money to pay my bills and buy food, and loads and loads of inspiration.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
The Lesson The Hedgehog Taught Me
I recently read a novel called The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery. It was beautiful. The author, an extremely intelligent woman, is not only a gifted story teller, but has untold skill with language. Her prose were utterly beautiful. I never thought a good book should have beautiful prose (not to say it should have bad or awkward prose, but rather that the author shouldn't be overly obsessed with making the words beautiful).
I'd always held the belief (and had read enough to back it up) that the power of a story would get lost in beautiful prose, that the reader would get too caught up in the language to appreciate the subtleties of the story. Instead, I found myself luxuriating in the silky flow of her words, puzzling over the intellectual phrases, and still finding myself immersed in the clever observations of the characters. I became invested in the main character's journey, so much so that the ending brought me to tears. But I wasn't upset. I appreciated the way the author chose to end it. I saw the beauty in the moment she created, the beauty of the ending itself, not just the lovely words she used to describe it. The book challenged me not just on a human level, but as a writer. It made me want to be a better. And for that, I will always be grateful.
I'd always held the belief (and had read enough to back it up) that the power of a story would get lost in beautiful prose, that the reader would get too caught up in the language to appreciate the subtleties of the story. Instead, I found myself luxuriating in the silky flow of her words, puzzling over the intellectual phrases, and still finding myself immersed in the clever observations of the characters. I became invested in the main character's journey, so much so that the ending brought me to tears. But I wasn't upset. I appreciated the way the author chose to end it. I saw the beauty in the moment she created, the beauty of the ending itself, not just the lovely words she used to describe it. The book challenged me not just on a human level, but as a writer. It made me want to be a better. And for that, I will always be grateful.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
A Call for Spring
Will winter last forever? As we near the end of March, I can only hope that spring will show its face sometime in April, because (and I'm sure you feel the same way), I can't take it anymore. There's something about winter that wears on you, that pulls at the corners of your soul and drags you down. Maybe it's the bitter cold and the way it nips and chews at your skin, the way it locks you indoors. Maybe it's the several hundred layers you need to pile on if you dare to leave your house. Maybe it's the snow and ice drenched roads, causing you to ponder the sum total of your life's accomplishments every time you leave the house. I suppose it could be the infuriatingly dry air (both indoors and out) that causes your hair to buzz and crackle and your skin to dry and crack like a sun baked desert. It could be the mind numbing abundance of grey. Either way, the magic twinkling of Christmas has long since passed and all we are left with now is the cold and the dreariness.
I imagine when spring finally does arrive, the peoples will stagger forth from their houses, arms outstretched like the thirsty reaching out for rain. Just as spring causes the seemingly dead trees and plants to burst forth with fresh blooms and greenery, we too will be as the dead coming back to life. That is, if it ever arrives. With each passing day we grow more hopeful and more depressed. It isn't here today, perhaps it will show up tomorrow? We're like a lonely old man, continually checking the mailbox for letters, or the window for a visitor.
Do you remember the story of Rip Van Winkle? I wish I could go to sleep and wake up when spring arrives. Although, in a way, I guess I am asleep. How else can you describe the sort of sleepwalking we all seem to be doing? We're shut down, waiting for spring to wake us up again. But it can't be much longer. It may not have shown up today, but maybe tomorrow...
I imagine when spring finally does arrive, the peoples will stagger forth from their houses, arms outstretched like the thirsty reaching out for rain. Just as spring causes the seemingly dead trees and plants to burst forth with fresh blooms and greenery, we too will be as the dead coming back to life. That is, if it ever arrives. With each passing day we grow more hopeful and more depressed. It isn't here today, perhaps it will show up tomorrow? We're like a lonely old man, continually checking the mailbox for letters, or the window for a visitor.
Do you remember the story of Rip Van Winkle? I wish I could go to sleep and wake up when spring arrives. Although, in a way, I guess I am asleep. How else can you describe the sort of sleepwalking we all seem to be doing? We're shut down, waiting for spring to wake us up again. But it can't be much longer. It may not have shown up today, but maybe tomorrow...
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Dwindling Patience
I've noticed lately that I have even less patience with people than usual. Take work for example. The other day a couple of our regular shoplifters came in, so sadly I, being the first one to see them, was forced to follow them throughout the store in an effort to prevent them from taking anything. I made no attempt to disguise the fact that I was following them, I had no desire to prevent their embarrassment or make them anything less than uncomfortable. So, when they eventually turned and demanded, "Are you following us?" I saw no reason to tell them anything but the truth.
"Yes," I said with a completely straight face. I made no attempt to look apologetic or polite. I simply didn't care anymore. They looked a little shocked, I guess they assumed I'd get embarrassed, lie and say I wasn't and abandon the chase. Nope. Sorry. I don't care. Frankly, I just want you out of the store so I can get back to doing my real job. I never signed up to be a babysitter, and I'm not a big fan of it now. I don't know what they expected to happen, I certainly didn't stop escorting them through the store. Even after they left I stayed by the door for fifteen minutes, as they have a tendency to leave, wait a few minutes and then run back in, grab something and run back out.
The next day I was back at work, this time at the till. Every time we ring through a customer we are required to ask them for their phone number and their e-mail. It's optional, they can say no, but what few seem to understand is that it isn't optional for us to ask. We have to ask. It is our job. Yes, it's annoying, but such is life. After one too many harsh answers and looks of sheer hatred for daring to request their e-mail, I became a little on edge. When the next customer gave me a blunt and rude "No" to the request for their e-mail, I couldn't help but look them in the eye, smile sweetly and say, "No, thank you." Luckily, she said nothing about my correction. That could have been the kind of thing that developed into a big issue. I was aware at the time that I shouldn't, that I should just hold it in, let it go, but I just couldn't. What has happened to basic courtesy? Where are our manners? When did it become so expected that staff should be ground under the boot heel of their customers? I blame the old adage "the customer is always right". No they're not. They are very often wrong.
Look, just so we're clear, I have no problem with providing excellent customer service. I just don't see why we can't also be treated with respect and good manners. You wouldn't expect your kids, your friends, your coworkers or your neighbours to talk to you like that, so why would you think it's okay to do it others? Others who've been nothing but kind and helpful to you?
Frankly, I think I just need a vacation. Or a new job. People are never going to change, it's a terrible idea to expect them to. But still, I find myself wondering if I got through to that one customer. Maybe next time, when someone asks her a question she'll think twice and answer with a no thank you, or a yes please. I hope so, cause that would mean a lot.
"Yes," I said with a completely straight face. I made no attempt to look apologetic or polite. I simply didn't care anymore. They looked a little shocked, I guess they assumed I'd get embarrassed, lie and say I wasn't and abandon the chase. Nope. Sorry. I don't care. Frankly, I just want you out of the store so I can get back to doing my real job. I never signed up to be a babysitter, and I'm not a big fan of it now. I don't know what they expected to happen, I certainly didn't stop escorting them through the store. Even after they left I stayed by the door for fifteen minutes, as they have a tendency to leave, wait a few minutes and then run back in, grab something and run back out.
The next day I was back at work, this time at the till. Every time we ring through a customer we are required to ask them for their phone number and their e-mail. It's optional, they can say no, but what few seem to understand is that it isn't optional for us to ask. We have to ask. It is our job. Yes, it's annoying, but such is life. After one too many harsh answers and looks of sheer hatred for daring to request their e-mail, I became a little on edge. When the next customer gave me a blunt and rude "No" to the request for their e-mail, I couldn't help but look them in the eye, smile sweetly and say, "No, thank you." Luckily, she said nothing about my correction. That could have been the kind of thing that developed into a big issue. I was aware at the time that I shouldn't, that I should just hold it in, let it go, but I just couldn't. What has happened to basic courtesy? Where are our manners? When did it become so expected that staff should be ground under the boot heel of their customers? I blame the old adage "the customer is always right". No they're not. They are very often wrong.
Look, just so we're clear, I have no problem with providing excellent customer service. I just don't see why we can't also be treated with respect and good manners. You wouldn't expect your kids, your friends, your coworkers or your neighbours to talk to you like that, so why would you think it's okay to do it others? Others who've been nothing but kind and helpful to you?
Frankly, I think I just need a vacation. Or a new job. People are never going to change, it's a terrible idea to expect them to. But still, I find myself wondering if I got through to that one customer. Maybe next time, when someone asks her a question she'll think twice and answer with a no thank you, or a yes please. I hope so, cause that would mean a lot.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Dusting Off the Brain Wheels
Ah, ambition. You make it all seem so easy. And yet, I find myself staring at the computer screen, waiting for brilliant words to flow out of my fingers and onto the page. Suddenly, it isn't so easy any more. Suddenly, it's overwhelmingly hard. Even after I've managed to pour some questionably brilliant thoughts onto the page, I must tear it apart again and again with editing. Fiddling and adjusting, rewording and getting rid of entirely. All in an attempt to create literary perfection. Cruel, cruel brain that can't supply immediate genius.
At least when the words come out I have something to play with. It's when they won't that I'm really in trouble. What then? I sit, staring, waiting, giving an awkward cough now and again as though I'm sitting in a doctor's waiting room. Wishing the rusty wheels in my head would start turning, praying for something smart to come out, or at the very least entertaining. Being a writer is not an easy job. It requires miles of creativity, hours upon hours of hard work and worst of all - self discipline. It is not just literary accomplishment I strive for, it is a better, more responsible self. I don't just want to be proud of my work. I want to be proud of myself.
At least when the words come out I have something to play with. It's when they won't that I'm really in trouble. What then? I sit, staring, waiting, giving an awkward cough now and again as though I'm sitting in a doctor's waiting room. Wishing the rusty wheels in my head would start turning, praying for something smart to come out, or at the very least entertaining. Being a writer is not an easy job. It requires miles of creativity, hours upon hours of hard work and worst of all - self discipline. It is not just literary accomplishment I strive for, it is a better, more responsible self. I don't just want to be proud of my work. I want to be proud of myself.
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Book Party
Last night I went to a book party. My mother in law had invited me, it was an acquaintance of her's that had written the book. Initially, I was very excited. I couldn't wait to meet the author in question, even make a few connections in the publishing world. When I got there, however, I realized I was sorely mistaken. It was in a dark, nearly deserted basement of an obscure little hall. Confused, and a little embarrassed for the author, I sought her out in hopes of picking her brain. I wanted to hear all about her adventures in finding an agent, going through the editing process, selling the book to a publisher. As it turns out, I would hear none of it. She self published. Which of course immediately explained the deserted basement book party. Yikes.
I don't think I'll ever self publish. I think it takes away from the feeling of accomplishment. When you self publish, you only need your own approval. When you get published by an actual company, that means you passed inspection and actually warranted their investing their time and money in you. Even if you never become a best seller, at least you'd know that there were people who thought your book was worth publishing. Instead of, you know, just you. The whole night was an eye opener for me on how much harder I need to work, and how much it will all be worth it when I don't end up throwing myself a book party in a sparsely attended hall basement.
I don't think I'll ever self publish. I think it takes away from the feeling of accomplishment. When you self publish, you only need your own approval. When you get published by an actual company, that means you passed inspection and actually warranted their investing their time and money in you. Even if you never become a best seller, at least you'd know that there were people who thought your book was worth publishing. Instead of, you know, just you. The whole night was an eye opener for me on how much harder I need to work, and how much it will all be worth it when I don't end up throwing myself a book party in a sparsely attended hall basement.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
The Road to Improvement
Yesterday I took my first Personal Essay Writing Class. I'd signed up for it a while ago and was especially excited for it. I've been looking into freelance writing over the past little while, brainstorming pitches and what not, hoping to find a way to support my novel writing that didn't involve catering to rich, bored housewives who enjoyed using me as their personal slave. But here's the thing, I don't like writing dry articles.
After I'd bought a huge stack of my favourite magazines, snuggled onto the couch and begun reading them in the hopes of figuring out what the magazines were looking for, what had already been done and etc, I realized one thing. I don't read magazines. They're boring. The only thing I do with a magazine is flip through it. I never read the articles. They're boring. When it comes to a magazine I'm all about the visual, with the information in short, concise blurbs. I hate long articles. They're dry, boring, and exhaustive. I don't even enjoy the true stories. They're always about some brave individual overcoming some horrible obstacle like "I spent seven days lost at sea" or, "my brother turned out to be a serial killer". No thanks. I flip right past.
How can I write something I won't even read? The only articles I enjoy reading are the snarky, sarcastic, self deprecating personal essays. Which is why I took the class. Maybe, I could make my income writing hilarious personal essays on society, technology and everything else under the sun. Much the way my favourite author, Jen Lancaster, does. Each month she writes a personal essay for the Chicago Tribune. They're funny, completely unserious, and utterly delightful. I could do that.
The only problem? Newspapers and magazines aren't really looking for that. They're looking for articles, products, information. They don't care about my humorous take on movie theater etiquette. (Even though they should. Have you gone to the movies lately? It's insane.) I don't know what to do. I can't keep working retail. Every day I go in another piece of my soul dies. I have to find a way to support myself while I'm finishing the book. Perhaps the class can shed some light on the situation. Meanwhile, at least I'm attempting to improve myself.
After I'd bought a huge stack of my favourite magazines, snuggled onto the couch and begun reading them in the hopes of figuring out what the magazines were looking for, what had already been done and etc, I realized one thing. I don't read magazines. They're boring. The only thing I do with a magazine is flip through it. I never read the articles. They're boring. When it comes to a magazine I'm all about the visual, with the information in short, concise blurbs. I hate long articles. They're dry, boring, and exhaustive. I don't even enjoy the true stories. They're always about some brave individual overcoming some horrible obstacle like "I spent seven days lost at sea" or, "my brother turned out to be a serial killer". No thanks. I flip right past.
How can I write something I won't even read? The only articles I enjoy reading are the snarky, sarcastic, self deprecating personal essays. Which is why I took the class. Maybe, I could make my income writing hilarious personal essays on society, technology and everything else under the sun. Much the way my favourite author, Jen Lancaster, does. Each month she writes a personal essay for the Chicago Tribune. They're funny, completely unserious, and utterly delightful. I could do that.
The only problem? Newspapers and magazines aren't really looking for that. They're looking for articles, products, information. They don't care about my humorous take on movie theater etiquette. (Even though they should. Have you gone to the movies lately? It's insane.) I don't know what to do. I can't keep working retail. Every day I go in another piece of my soul dies. I have to find a way to support myself while I'm finishing the book. Perhaps the class can shed some light on the situation. Meanwhile, at least I'm attempting to improve myself.
Friday, January 28, 2011
A Rant on Texting
I think today's young people are getting dumber. Seriously, people today have no English skills. They can't spell, their grammar is in the toilette, and acronyms run rampant. Why is everyone in such a hurry? OMG? Really? Is it that much faster to say the letters?
I blame texting for most of our problems. It started out as a useful tool for getting quick pieces of information to someone when you didn't have the time to call. That's all it's for. It's for simple messages, quick blurbs of essential information. "Honey, I'm in a meeting. I'll be home late." Done. Instead, everyone has extensive conversations with it. Why? Why can't you just phone the person and get it over with in a quarter of the time? How much time are all your acronyms saving you that you couldn't just dial the number and talk to the person? Don't even get me started on "sexts". Really? You want to impersonalize and short cut foreplay too? Cause that seems like a step in the opposite direction.
Now we have a generation of young people that can't spell or form a proper sentence to save their lives. In one of my other blogs, it becomes especially apparent in the commentary. I'm sorry, but if you can't form a sentence I don't authorize it, which means a lot of comments never see the light of day. It's their fault though, if I can't understand what point you're trying to make, how is anyone else? I just assume it's spam and throw it out.
The other thing that bothers me about texting is the exaggeration. LOL. Really? That comment actually made you laugh out loud? It wasn't that funny. Maybe it made you smile, but laugh out loud? I don't believe you.
Twitter is another of my sworn enemies. I'm sick of people belting out tiny insignificant thoughts all day long. If it isn't something you can write a paragraph about, it probably isn't a great out loud thought. I like cookies, but I'm not going to tweet it. I'm going to think it and then move on, or possibly go get some cookies, but that's none of your business. All I'm saying is, there's a thousand better ways to communicate. Remember letters? When was the last time you received a handwritten letter in the mail? You want to make your BFF smile? (PS I HATE the term BFF) Write her a letter. Believe me, it's a thrill to receive something other than bills and flyers in the mail box. Plus, it shows that you were willing to take the time and put in the effort to make her smile... with complete sentences. Just a thought.
I blame texting for most of our problems. It started out as a useful tool for getting quick pieces of information to someone when you didn't have the time to call. That's all it's for. It's for simple messages, quick blurbs of essential information. "Honey, I'm in a meeting. I'll be home late." Done. Instead, everyone has extensive conversations with it. Why? Why can't you just phone the person and get it over with in a quarter of the time? How much time are all your acronyms saving you that you couldn't just dial the number and talk to the person? Don't even get me started on "sexts". Really? You want to impersonalize and short cut foreplay too? Cause that seems like a step in the opposite direction.
Now we have a generation of young people that can't spell or form a proper sentence to save their lives. In one of my other blogs, it becomes especially apparent in the commentary. I'm sorry, but if you can't form a sentence I don't authorize it, which means a lot of comments never see the light of day. It's their fault though, if I can't understand what point you're trying to make, how is anyone else? I just assume it's spam and throw it out.
The other thing that bothers me about texting is the exaggeration. LOL. Really? That comment actually made you laugh out loud? It wasn't that funny. Maybe it made you smile, but laugh out loud? I don't believe you.
Twitter is another of my sworn enemies. I'm sick of people belting out tiny insignificant thoughts all day long. If it isn't something you can write a paragraph about, it probably isn't a great out loud thought. I like cookies, but I'm not going to tweet it. I'm going to think it and then move on, or possibly go get some cookies, but that's none of your business. All I'm saying is, there's a thousand better ways to communicate. Remember letters? When was the last time you received a handwritten letter in the mail? You want to make your BFF smile? (PS I HATE the term BFF) Write her a letter. Believe me, it's a thrill to receive something other than bills and flyers in the mail box. Plus, it shows that you were willing to take the time and put in the effort to make her smile... with complete sentences. Just a thought.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Why I Hate Social Media Sites
I've come to the conclusion that I really ought to delete my facebook profile. Here's the thing, it turns out I have no social skills. Apparently I am without a filter. Facebook actually causes me to hate people I normally would have liked. It's too revealing. People are self indulgent, hypocritical, judgmental (yes that one is me), and to be perfectly frank - unbelievably irritating. And I can't keep my mouth shut about it (obviously).
You see someone posting insanely personal information and you have to wonder, who is this for? For instance, a girl I had as a friend on facebook recently posted three messages in one day to her dead grandma. I knew this girl in high school. I barely know her now, and yet I'm looking at this deeply personal message to a deceased loved one and I found myself thinking, are you on crack? Why on Earth would you think this is a suitable medium for those thoughts? Don't you have any close friends you can call? A counselor you could talk to? Hell, even a journal would suffice. Why are you putting that up on facebook?
There are many other seriously annoying habits people have with facebook which I won't get into at this time. I've made enough enemies this week alone by being honest and blunt about my feelings on the matter. All I can say is, facebook seems to cheapen relationships. If it isn't important enough to pick up the phone and call me about, it probably isn't worth posting. I guess I'm just old fashioned, I prefer real conversation. The only posts I actually enjoy are the ones that make me laugh. If it doesn't serve a purpose, don't put it up. If we all asked ourselves 'who is this for?' before we posted anything, there'd be a lot less random shit I'd have to scroll through. And remember people, be a good friend - don't put up a chain post.
You see someone posting insanely personal information and you have to wonder, who is this for? For instance, a girl I had as a friend on facebook recently posted three messages in one day to her dead grandma. I knew this girl in high school. I barely know her now, and yet I'm looking at this deeply personal message to a deceased loved one and I found myself thinking, are you on crack? Why on Earth would you think this is a suitable medium for those thoughts? Don't you have any close friends you can call? A counselor you could talk to? Hell, even a journal would suffice. Why are you putting that up on facebook?
There are many other seriously annoying habits people have with facebook which I won't get into at this time. I've made enough enemies this week alone by being honest and blunt about my feelings on the matter. All I can say is, facebook seems to cheapen relationships. If it isn't important enough to pick up the phone and call me about, it probably isn't worth posting. I guess I'm just old fashioned, I prefer real conversation. The only posts I actually enjoy are the ones that make me laugh. If it doesn't serve a purpose, don't put it up. If we all asked ourselves 'who is this for?' before we posted anything, there'd be a lot less random shit I'd have to scroll through. And remember people, be a good friend - don't put up a chain post.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Brand New Year
Well it's a brand new year and I have a few resolutions. Now, normally I completely ignore New Year's eve. I hate it. It seems like such an arbitrary celebration; "hooray the calendar is changing over, let's get drunk!" But this year, I'm actually taking the time to make a few resolutions. I've never really done that before because usually I'm pretty happy with the state of things in my life.
This year I'm making a few goals and I intend to see them through. Am I going to tell you what they are? No, they're personal and none of your business. But the point is I'm making them. I even took a little time last night to put them down on paper and outline how I planned on accomplishing them. Pretty organized right? We'll see how it goes. Perhaps by the end of the year I'll be able to proudly announce my resolutions and tell you that I accomplished them all. Thankfully, losing weight isn't one of them. I feel bad for people who make that their new year's resolution. They never do it. They wind up sitting at the table, making the same list each and every year without ever seeing change. It's sad. I don't want to be like that, I want to see my goals through.
If anyone else out there has made resolutions, I wish you the best of luck and hopefully we can all hold our heads high this time next year.
This year I'm making a few goals and I intend to see them through. Am I going to tell you what they are? No, they're personal and none of your business. But the point is I'm making them. I even took a little time last night to put them down on paper and outline how I planned on accomplishing them. Pretty organized right? We'll see how it goes. Perhaps by the end of the year I'll be able to proudly announce my resolutions and tell you that I accomplished them all. Thankfully, losing weight isn't one of them. I feel bad for people who make that their new year's resolution. They never do it. They wind up sitting at the table, making the same list each and every year without ever seeing change. It's sad. I don't want to be like that, I want to see my goals through.
If anyone else out there has made resolutions, I wish you the best of luck and hopefully we can all hold our heads high this time next year.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Miserable
Lately, I haven't had the best attitude. I find myself getting extremely angry at small inconveniences, and eight hour shifts at work that once flew by now make me want to hang myself just to make it end. The customers are grouchier, my fellow associates are grumpier, and I'm mentally disemboweling people several times a day.
I wouldn't say I have a thick skin (quite the opposite), but yesterday I cried the entire drive home from work and that's not normal. What got me so worked up? Nothing in particular, just bad customers and an even worse manager. It wasn't anyone's fault, it wasn't even the manager in question's fault. I actually like her, outside of work. But at work I sometimes daydream about slapping her. (Don't worry, I wouldn't ever act on it). I'm not sure what caused it all to bubble to the surface and escape out my eyes. I was just miserable. I still am.
Maybe it's all the holiday bustle, although that's unlikely because usually that puts me in a good mood, or maybe it's because work (which wasn't very fulfilling anyway) has now become endlessly tedious. It's not okay to expect someone to be able to smile and be cheerful for eight hours straight. Especially when most of the customers she must be cheerful and overly helpful to are rude, insulting and just plain cold. Without being able to distract oneself and give oneself some small feeling of accomplishment, it all becomes undeniably pointless.
I realize that this is a long and rather depressing rant, but I can't help it. Well I guess I could help it, I don't have to write any of it down, but I'm not going to help it. I just have to look at this as a positive. There are still things I like about work. I like a lot of the associates (many of whom bring homemade baking!), I'm allowed to wear jeans to work, it's relatively easy (except for the strain on my sanity with some difficult customers), and it's helping to pay my bills and feed my loved ones. That's not bad. Aside from the bad days here and there, overall it doesn't usually get me so down. This is just a momentary lapse. It'll get better, and until then I can always rant.
I wouldn't say I have a thick skin (quite the opposite), but yesterday I cried the entire drive home from work and that's not normal. What got me so worked up? Nothing in particular, just bad customers and an even worse manager. It wasn't anyone's fault, it wasn't even the manager in question's fault. I actually like her, outside of work. But at work I sometimes daydream about slapping her. (Don't worry, I wouldn't ever act on it). I'm not sure what caused it all to bubble to the surface and escape out my eyes. I was just miserable. I still am.
Maybe it's all the holiday bustle, although that's unlikely because usually that puts me in a good mood, or maybe it's because work (which wasn't very fulfilling anyway) has now become endlessly tedious. It's not okay to expect someone to be able to smile and be cheerful for eight hours straight. Especially when most of the customers she must be cheerful and overly helpful to are rude, insulting and just plain cold. Without being able to distract oneself and give oneself some small feeling of accomplishment, it all becomes undeniably pointless.
I realize that this is a long and rather depressing rant, but I can't help it. Well I guess I could help it, I don't have to write any of it down, but I'm not going to help it. I just have to look at this as a positive. There are still things I like about work. I like a lot of the associates (many of whom bring homemade baking!), I'm allowed to wear jeans to work, it's relatively easy (except for the strain on my sanity with some difficult customers), and it's helping to pay my bills and feed my loved ones. That's not bad. Aside from the bad days here and there, overall it doesn't usually get me so down. This is just a momentary lapse. It'll get better, and until then I can always rant.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
The Magnificent Writer in Residence
Today I journeyed to the great and powerful Writer in Residence for advice on the book I'm currently working on. What is a Writer in Residence you ask? Well, it's a program with the public library in which a published author offers their time and attention to budding new writers. They are available at specific hours during the week for you to make an appointment and offer some of your work for their editing and advice. You don't have to show them your work either. It can simply be about questions on how to get started, how to submit your work to a publisher, etc. Do you want to know the best part? It's free! That's right. You get editing assistance from a published author for free.
My experience was fantastic. The writer in residence was wonderful. She gave me fantastic advice on the work I was doing and really helped me delve into why I want to be a writer, what my voice is, where my strengths and weaknesses are and etc. I was positively delighted. She got me all pumped up to keep working on my book and gave me great guidance. To all the budding writers out there, I highly suggest you give this a try.
My experience was fantastic. The writer in residence was wonderful. She gave me fantastic advice on the work I was doing and really helped me delve into why I want to be a writer, what my voice is, where my strengths and weaknesses are and etc. I was positively delighted. She got me all pumped up to keep working on my book and gave me great guidance. To all the budding writers out there, I highly suggest you give this a try.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Clearly I Need to Become Independently Wealthy
November is nearing its end, and as I finish my first month of working strictly retail I can say only this: I really need to find a new career. It's strange how a job that is so fundamentally easy is so frustrating. I feel as though I have no purpose. Every day is the same. Be happy, achieve sales target, impress my managers with my sales and customer service prowess. I find as I bump into people I know I'm ashamed to tell them that this is all I'm doing. I shudder at that unavoidable question of, "so what are you doing these days?" It's horrible. I feel my face get hot as I explain that I work in retail and then scramble to add "I used to be a massage therapist but right now I'm just trying to figure out what comes next." What does come next? I have no idea. I want to be a writer, but that's not something you announce to acquaintances. Until something is published I'm just that sad little person chasing a dream, like those people who talk about being an actor or singer. It's just sad.
Monday, November 1, 2010
It's Done
It's done. My career as a massage therapist that is. My last day is behind me, all of my possessions have been brought home and my key returned to the clinic. Now, I look toward the future and try to assemble a new career. The only problem? (okay, not the only problem, just the most prominent). I'm lacking in the confidence department. Here's the thing, every time I read a delightful new book I get incredibly intimidated. All of a sudden my inner dialogue starts up with the usual, "I've never written anything as good as that" or "I'm not that funny!" and I feel my ambition shriveling away. It's hard enough getting motivated to write, let alone overcoming your inner self confidence demons as well.
Obviously, I can't piss away the rest of my working years in retail. I need a real career, something I can be proud of, and preferably something I love. I want to be a writer, but do I have it in me?
Obviously, I can't piss away the rest of my working years in retail. I need a real career, something I can be proud of, and preferably something I love. I want to be a writer, but do I have it in me?
Saturday, October 30, 2010
My Last Day
My last day of massage is tomorrow and my biggest regret is that I didn't clear out more of my stuff from work earlier. That's right people, after tomorrow I'm out of there!! And I can tell you right now that I'm not going to miss it. Ugh, there's so much crap I have to take home. I can't wait to be done with the place. Never again will I have to rub lotion on greasy strangers, listen to their obnoxious and idiotic complaints and have to feign interest in their tedious lives. I'm so excited! I'm not sure if tomorrow will speed by or if it will drag on like molasses. Either way, once it's done, it's done. Soon, a new chapter of my life will begin.
Monday, October 18, 2010
All That Untapped Genius Going to Waste...
It should please you to know that over the last few days I've been very productive. I've busily been editing my book (that's right - editing. It's done!), and today I spent the majority of my day cleaning the house. Let me tell you, it needed it! I was thorough too. I pulled out all of the furniture and swept underneath it. I found enough dog hair to make another dog. Anyway, my house is sparkling, I'm steadily making my way through editing, and frankly, I feel pretty good about myself. The only problem is that I will soon have to leave to go to work. How unfair is that? Obviously my time is much better spent at home, and yet I must up and leave and trudge off to a quite literally, thankless job. (Would that be so difficult people? Thank your massage therapist when they give you a good treatment. And of course, tip!). It's so annoying knowing that your time is better spent elsewhere. It's irritating knowing that brilliant thoughts will go unwritten as I'm forced to rub lotion on strangers. Yuck.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Two Weeks Left...
I find it hard to tell my clients that soon I will be gone forever; mostly because they would try to book one more appointment with me before I left. Not to mention, it seems weird to just bring it up.
"Okay, well make sure you drink lots of water tonight and by the way I'm leaving forever."
Right? It sounds weird! I pretty much only mention it when people try to book with me for November, or when they ask me what's new. Otherwise, I don't bring it up. After all, there's quite a few clients I'm happy to disappear on. It makes me laugh to think of all of those slimeballs calling in to make an appointment with me only to find out that not only do I no longer work there, I no longer work anywhere. (I won't lie, it always makes me gleeful to think of them being someone else's problem).
Yes, I prefer to slip away into the night, disappearing from all of their lives. I suppose it's slightly unprofessional but I don't care. The grand majority of them never bothered to tip, so why would I bother to give them any notice?
"Okay, well make sure you drink lots of water tonight and by the way I'm leaving forever."
Right? It sounds weird! I pretty much only mention it when people try to book with me for November, or when they ask me what's new. Otherwise, I don't bring it up. After all, there's quite a few clients I'm happy to disappear on. It makes me laugh to think of all of those slimeballs calling in to make an appointment with me only to find out that not only do I no longer work there, I no longer work anywhere. (I won't lie, it always makes me gleeful to think of them being someone else's problem).
Yes, I prefer to slip away into the night, disappearing from all of their lives. I suppose it's slightly unprofessional but I don't care. The grand majority of them never bothered to tip, so why would I bother to give them any notice?
Thursday, October 14, 2010
My Feet Hurt
It has only been two days since my weekend and already I'm exhausted. Working seven days a week is no picnic. For instance, I need new shoes. My current work shoes have no real padding or arch support and after eight hours of standing on ridiculously hard floors my feet hurt like hell. My husband and I went for groceries tonight and when I wasn't hobbling along behind him I was riding on the edge of the cart while he pushed. Clearly if I'm going to be only working retail pretty soon I need to prepare myself (and buy better shoes).
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
18 Days Left...
That's right. I have only 18 days left before I'm done massaging forever. Or at least, I hope forever. I'll always have it to fall back on, but if it ends up that way then something will have gone horribly wrong. No, I pray I never have to return to my old profession again.
Instead, I'm focusing on my impending freedom. Halloween approaches and with it comes new possibilities and a future that is, as yet, undecided. True, I'm glamourizing a transfer into full time retail work but I don't care. As everyone begins to find out about my leaving the massage therapy profession, they always ask the same question. What am I going to do? My answer? I haven't the foggiest. I desperately want to be a full time writer, but how often does that happen? And it sounds so delusional to proclaim to all that I will be a writer. After all, if I don't make it then everyone will be aware of my failure. Not to mention, I haven't a clue as to what else I'm interested in. Writing is my secret dream, one I follow doggedly and relentlessly, but I accept that I may have to settle for something else.
As long as my new career is something that I love, than I don't care what it is. I just don't want to get out of bed every morning dreading the work day ahead. That to me is real failure. I just want to be happy. I'm sick of hating my job. I want to love my job. Is that too much to ask? Shut up no it isn't.
Instead, I'm focusing on my impending freedom. Halloween approaches and with it comes new possibilities and a future that is, as yet, undecided. True, I'm glamourizing a transfer into full time retail work but I don't care. As everyone begins to find out about my leaving the massage therapy profession, they always ask the same question. What am I going to do? My answer? I haven't the foggiest. I desperately want to be a full time writer, but how often does that happen? And it sounds so delusional to proclaim to all that I will be a writer. After all, if I don't make it then everyone will be aware of my failure. Not to mention, I haven't a clue as to what else I'm interested in. Writing is my secret dream, one I follow doggedly and relentlessly, but I accept that I may have to settle for something else.
As long as my new career is something that I love, than I don't care what it is. I just don't want to get out of bed every morning dreading the work day ahead. That to me is real failure. I just want to be happy. I'm sick of hating my job. I want to love my job. Is that too much to ask? Shut up no it isn't.
Friday, October 1, 2010
30 Days Left...
In just thirty days I will be done massaging forever, and I have to tell you, it couldn't possibly come fast enough. In fact, here is a list of things I will not miss about being a massage therapist.
1. The farters
2. The moaners (that's right. Some of you out there make weird, moaning, sex noises when you get a massage. Please stop.)
3. The greasy
4. The hairy
5. The bacne
6. The B.O.
7. All of the accounting
8. The creepers (by which I mean the excessively creepy men I so often find myself trapped in a treatment room with)
9. The weird and sometimes creepy tattoos
10. All of the people who never tip
11. All of the inane and irritating questions
12. The body aches and pains
13. The complainers
14. The bossy
15. The wuss bags
16. The crappy money
On the other hand, I will miss a few things.
1. The hours
2. Being my own boss
Clearly I'm making the right choice.
1. The farters
2. The moaners (that's right. Some of you out there make weird, moaning, sex noises when you get a massage. Please stop.)
3. The greasy
4. The hairy
5. The bacne
6. The B.O.
7. All of the accounting
8. The creepers (by which I mean the excessively creepy men I so often find myself trapped in a treatment room with)
9. The weird and sometimes creepy tattoos
10. All of the people who never tip
11. All of the inane and irritating questions
12. The body aches and pains
13. The complainers
14. The bossy
15. The wuss bags
16. The crappy money
On the other hand, I will miss a few things.
1. The hours
2. Being my own boss
Clearly I'm making the right choice.
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