A sign of the times

An e-mail in my inbox tonight had this for the subject field:

"What’s better than botox?"

And because I’m tired, or maybe just because I’m marginally sane, my initial reaction was, "What’s better than food posioning? Gee, I could name a few things off the top of my head."

Botox, botulism. Same thing.

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Know when to fold ’em

This entry is going to be long, as long as it takes to get all of this out of my head, and knowing me, that’ll be at least a couple of screen scrolls down. Maybe I’ll stick an outline up top, just to help you decide whether it’s going to be worth your time, perusing through this slough of words. Then again, maybe I won’t, as it’s nearly 2 a.m. and I feel kind of crappy.

I’ve been questioning my existence online today… I’m constantly signed into AIM– the only reasons I wouldn’t be are if 1) my Internet is down, 2) Kipper is running off the battery and is currently in sleep mode as per energy-saving settings, or 3) I’ve taken Kipper somewhere, like Summerlin– but I rarely ever *use* AIM. And given that most of my friends from high school and college live at least 300 miles away from me and AIM is the most convenient way for me to keep in touch with them, given that these are people I care about, you’d think I would be all about the IMs, and I used to be, but not so much anymore. I can’t remember the last time I initiated a conversation with anyone online, and it’s kind of sad.

With that in mind, I think my journal has become a sort of apology to those people, my way of saying, "Hi, here’s what’s been going on with me, sorry I haven’t been able to tell you directly and privately, but, um, yeah."

So… hi. Here’s what’s been going on with me. But first, let me stress that I AM OKAY AND AM NOT IN A WORRYABLE CONDITION. There are a million and one ways you could be spending your time wisely, and trust me, worrying about me is not even remotely close to being one of them, not even the million-and-one-th one. And that’s a number if I say so.

I honestly don’t know what’s been going on with me. I have a job. I have a house. I have a job that pays pretty well for my first full-time job ever, a job that pays pretty well for a newly-turned 21-year-old girl. I have a house which is looking nicer and nicer with each addition (the curtains got put up this afternoon).

As mentioned earlier, I should be happy. And as mentioned earlier, deep down, I think I am. But the rest of me, the layers of me that are more immediately accessible and thereby more prominent in my conscious observations, there’s an unhappiness that permeates my every iota of existence. And I hesitate to blame it on my situation because it feels so much like this has everything to do with the internal and nothing to do with the external.

I know everyone has, at least at one time in their life, a job they can’t stand, a job they could honestly say, and justifiably so, they hate. I know life has hard knocks and to go through life sheltered in a conflict-free, perfectly lovely world where everything comes up daisies and is filtered through rose-colored glasses, is a bad idea. Taking the sour to appreciate the sweet, etc. I know.

I don’t *hate* my job. But every Sunday for the last two or three weeks (okay, I guess that’s not a long enough time span to use the word "every," but it’s late and I’m tired so screw it), after I’ve woken up and I’ve realized that it’s Sunday, that it’s the last day of the weekend, that tomorrow I have to go back to work, that tomorrow is Monday and Monday is production day and oh god, not the same old shit again?– after I’ve realized all this, I feel whatever in me has been revived from Friday night or Saturday, die. My heart sinks, my stomach turns, and the panic attacks set in.

Granted, they’re mild panic attacks compared to ones I’ve had before under other circumstances, but they affect me all the same. And the thought alone of what’s to come on Monday actually prevents me from enjoying Sunday, which is half of my weekend. Which sucks. A lot.

I guess I’m just trying, as always, to figure out my life, and I’m probably not supposed to know for a while, but dammit, I want to know NOW. And right now, my life isn’t right, which means I haven’t figured it out yet. This isn’t what I want, this isn’t the career I want to invest my life into. But– I thought I loved doing this? And I do, part of me does, but apparently not enough– I don’t know. I don’t know anything tonight.

What I do love about this job, and maybe I’ve already said this, is the fact that I have tangible proof of my efforts, every week when the paper gets printed. I can hold it in my hands and say, this, this is a product of my labor. And I can’t get that, working in retail or in the service industry. And it’s something I’m finding I need.

But what I don’t love about this job is the repetition, and I struggle with this a lot, because I can’t think of a job that *isn’t* repetitive. So maybe it’s a matter of finding something I can tolerate repeating week after week with no end in sight?

And it always comes back to the arts. It always comes back to my ambitions to be a writer, a painter, an actress, a dancer, a photographer, a director. The writing thing is a big one; and you’d think, don’t I write enough?, based on the passel of entries I throw onto this site, but– oh, it’s different. This, to me, is nothing of substance, voice aside.

And in a day and age when it seems like everyone is putting out books, when anyone can get published and literature is falling apart at the seams– I feel almost blase when I think about the books, two in particular, I’ve wanted to write for so long now. Anyone can write a book; what makes me think I can write books that will still have literary value five, ten, twenty years down the road, if ever?

Well– my three years at USD do. In those three years, I received more than a few implications from more than a few professors who gave me the impression that I could actually do something with my writing. And maybe they were right, or maybe they weren’t, but what’s frustrating is that I can’t find out. Not now, and maybe not for a long time, and what if by the time I have the opportunity to sit down and write and research and interview and compose, it’s too late?

For the record, I suffer from small-town pastoralism. As much techno-joy as I encompass, it’s true.

This entry feels like it’s going nowhere in particular. I’ll wrap it up with this: I’ve never been so consciously unhappy in a situation yet at the same time, so unwilling to get out of it. And the reasons driving me to stay are all for other people– for my parents, for my sister, for The Guy, for my editor-in-chief, for everyone who could possibly become disappointed in me. So maybe actually all those reasons are at heart for me, for self-preservation, because I simply cannot cope with the mere prospect of people being disappointed in me.

Go figure.

Fingers have limitations

Whenever The Guy has been over, we usually end up watching a movie on television, or rather, I usually walk into a room and find him watching some movie on television and I eventually sit down and join him. Lately, he’s had the Oxygen channel tuned in, and to be honest, I was a little perplexed because I couldn’t understand why any guy would willingly check out the Oxygen channel. The movies that were being shown at the time always had the co-ed appeal, but why was he on the Oxygen channel to begin with? And how did he even know what station it was on?

Today, I found out. The Oxygen channel is one station down from Comedy Central, the station we usually watch together.

I cringe to think of what might happen should the Home Shopping Network ever take over channel 55. Or 57, for that matter.

More reasons why 91X is better

-Because they play The Postal Service

-Because they were playing The Killers over a year ago and they’re already airing a third single, "Smile Like You Mean It," and they’ll probably be playing "Indie Rock ‘n’ Roll" if that becomes a single, too

-Because of their Saturday Block Party

-Because they play local bands’ music, EVERY DAY

-Because they play Mars Volta, Jack Johnson, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Gary Jules, and OH MY GOD, BOB MARLEY

-Because they showcase indie bands before they become mainstream

-Because this is their current playlist, and 90% of those songs will never make it to their Vegas sister station, just like 90% of their entire music database

-Because they stream their radio, which allows me to keep a little piece of San Diego alive in my heart

-And finally, because they broadcast from a tall stick on a hill on the Baja Peninsula. Who couldn’t love that?

I should be happy

And I guess I am, but I’m still operating under Project Quattro. And man, it took a toll on me yesterday, and I did sleep in today, but as per guidelines, I woke up before noon. Actually, I woke up at 7 a.m. thinking I had to get ready for work, then couldn’t go back to sleep because I’ve had to be up so early these last couple of days, my stupid intenal clock’s alarm was ringing its bells like heaven and hell were calling and the apocalypse was near, or something like that.

Luckily, I fell back asleep, then woke up at 9, then 10:30, then finally 11, and then my phone rang and I grabbed for it but my motor coordination skills were still getting themselves situation and in the midst of flipping the phone open, I, um, dropped it, but you know, the point of this entry wasn’t to talk about this morning, so…

Last night, The Guy met The Parents. And I swear, the whole hour preceeding The Meeting, I thought I was going to throw up because I was JUST THAT NERVOUS. But he walked into the restaurant, and immediately my parents jumped up to greet him and I just kind of shrank back in anticipatory fear, but then we were at the table and The Guy started talking computers and IT with my dad, and my mother leaned over and whispered, "He’s *cute*," in the sort of way that implied she expected her youngest daughter would be the type to be attracted to not-cute males.

Everyone got along and the conversation was hearty and everything went well, much better than I had expected. Not that I think poorly of The Guy, nor do I think poorly of my parents, though part of me had been worried that The Guy would meet my parents, realize I was a product of their upbringing, and run far, far away because my mother can, on occasion, be a little idiosyncratic and my father, on occasion, can be extremely difficult. But then, I suppose my consistent idisyncratic and difficult personality in itself would have been enough to drive The Guy away if those qualities really repulsed him, but it hasn’t, so I guess it’s all okay.

The nervous part on my behalf stemmed from the fact that I haven’t had to go through this experience, this first meeting sort of deal between family and significant other, since… I can’t remember when. My mother knew the three-year boyfriend before he was actually my boyfriend, and the last three exclusive relationships never had any interest whatsoever in meeting the parental units, actually they were all very against the idea, and I would never have brought any of the flings home, so yeah, it’s definitely been a while.

And I had my first piece of Mud Pie, and it was pretty damn not-bad.

Listening to Teitur on a grey, cloudy Saturday morning. I could possibly never get out bed.

Type A typing a-way

Looking back on that age chart thing, I don’t know that I’m not also a teenager at heart, because I still question authority, all the time. The stubborn independent in me, I guess. But then, I’m still sort of on the cusp of teenager/young adult, being as I just turned 21.

I made baked ziti last night. As with most recipes, I abandoned it halfway through and just sort of winged it, and as with most recipes, the resulting dish came out pretty darn well, though I should have baked it for a little longer to get a deeper crust. The Guy approved, anyway, so… yeah. New topic.

Finally opened the bottle of Midori, which I bought approximately a month ago. And LET ME TELL YOU, if I didn’t have a justifiable reason to have a drink before I tried to open the top, I *certainly* had one after ten minutes of struggling with that effing cap. It got to the point where I was screaming at the bottle for being so damned stubborn and not caring at all that I was screaming. At a bottle. That wouldn’t open.

I did test the four-hours thing last night, by the way. Not sure if it worked, or if it’s going to work, or even what the signs are that "it" is "working," but– I do know that it’s only 8:30 and I’m already tired and my eyes are already starting to hurt a little. And I have shadows under my eyes, or at least did before I got in the shower, according to El Mirror del Bathroom.

I would love, a lot, to go to sleep right now. But I have social obligations to fulfill and blah blah blah, tomorrow’s Friday so if it drags, at least I’ve got the weekend to look forward to. It’ll be another four-hour night of sleep, though, so I’ll be amazed if I’m even coherent tomorrow.

Stuff, and then some. If you’re living alone and you’re not all about being home a lot, you should at least have a cat to come home to. Because cats don’t need to be taken outside and cats won’t call you at three in the morning and bitch about how you’re still at work and you’ve missed dinner the last two nights in a row and how is this relationship ever going to work if you’re never around? Cats are just ultimately cool like that.

As defined by Blogthings.com

No surprises here…


You Have A Type A Personality

 
  A 


You are hyper, energetic, and always on the mood

You tend to succeed at everything you attempt

And if you don’t succeed at first, you quickly climb your way to the top!

You could be called a workaholic, but you also make time for fun

As long as it’s high energy and competitive, you’re interested

You have the perfect personality for business and athletic success

"Always on the mood"? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Does that have anything to do with "always on the rag"? Because that would explain the constant PMS (which encompasses more than just bad moods– like cramps and over-emotionality in general).


You Are 27 Years Old

 
  27 


Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view – and you look at the world with awe.

13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.

20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what’s to come… love, work, and new experiences.

30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You’ve had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!

40+: You are a mature adult. You’ve been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

LORA
L is for Logical
O is for Odd
R is for Revolutionary
A is for Alluring

To a "T"! Except not really.

Again. I could have been sleeping. ::sigh::

Project Quattro

I’ve been thinking of doing this thing, I guess I’ve been in Project Mode lately, and it’s been an idea of mine for a while now. I suggested it casually to The Guy, or maybe it was more like hinted about it– but I said it in a way that implied I was joking even though I sounded TOTALLY serious, kind of the way all those people were swearing up and down that they were going to move to Canada if Bush got a second term, but two months after the fact, they’re still living in the U.S. of A.

Here’s the thing with the sleep and the not-so-much getting it: um, I’m… not-so-much getting it? And sometimes it’s because I just honestly don’t have the time, like that one instance two weeks ago when I pulled an all-nighter at the office, or that instance last week when I came home from work after 3 a.m. and had to leave for the office again four hours later. But usually I have more than enough opportunity to get at least 7 hours of sleep, but usually I average five, six if that average includes my weekends.

But of those five or six, about two hours are usually taken out because I spend one hour tossing and turning and another hour hitting the snooze button because I’ve lost my wonderful talents at getting out of bed, ever since I learned that yes, it IS possible to get ready for work in 10 minutes.

So this is my project idea: see what happens if I give myself four hours to sleep during the work week. So my bedtime will be 2 a.m., my alarm set for 6 a.m. Or something of the sort. Right now, I don’t have a set bedtime and as aforementioned, I wake up about half-an-hour before I need to be at work, which lately has been fluctuating between 7 and 9 a.m.

Even in my head, even as I write this, the whole proposal seems preposterous. The Guy would possibly throw a fit if he knew I was really considering going ahead with it… but 1) I like pushing my limits, not only to see how far I can stretch them, but also to see if I can actually break *through* them, and 2) it’s about what I’m averaging as-is, only this way, there’s be no guesswork involved.

And I’ve heard the whole lecture series on getting better sleep, on falling asleep faster, etc. I know that it’s bad to have Kipper in the bedroom, not to mention IN MY BED. I know that stimulating the brain so late at night is bad, such as watching television (though I usually turn on the small set in my bedroom for noise, not for entertainment). AND I KNOW that if I want to get a regular sleeping pattern, I’m supposed to just start training myself to go to bed earlier, that I’m supposed to crack down on my bad self and turn everything off and put everything away and just get under the covers and close my eyes at, like, 10 p.m., and eventually my body will understand that it’s supposed to go into hibernation when these things happen, but–

But. It doesn’t work that way. I’ve tried. But my brain WILL NOT shut up. Ever. And when I’ve tried to go to bed early, if I have even a few ounces of energy left over at that point, my brain will use them all up to produce hundreds of millions of bijinkisquillions of thoughts of things I did today, things I need to do tomorrow, things I need to do a week, a month, two months from now. People I need to call, errands I need to run, projects I need to start, projects I need to finish.

It’s 2 a.m. right now. I’m getting to the point where my vision starts to blur, which is the only true indication that I’m getting close to being ready for sleep. And it sucks that this is how it is, but I’m sort of used to it.

In all honesty, I’m afraid of sleeping. I crave it all the time and I love it deep down, but first and foremost it terrifies me. There have been too many occasions in my lifetime when I’ve slept soundly through alarms, too many occasions when things I kept telling myself before falling asleep I needed to do the next day, I completely forgot about upon waking. To me, sleep is a catalyst for error, for lost opportunities. I used to be a night owl and that was why I stayed awake until the sun would start rising. Now, while I’m still a lover of the night at heart, I stay awake as late as I do because I won’t allow myself to sleep when I know there are other things I could be doing. Why sleep when I could be writing? Reading? Cleaning the sink? Organizing files? Doing paperwork? Balancing my checkbook? Working on projects? Planning the next 10 years of my life? Watching a movie? Painting my nails?

Etc.

I’m a little mental, I know. A lot, actually. And yes, I’ve tried sleeping pills, I was once actually prescribed Vicodin to help me sleep (I was only supposed to take it for two or three days, but the pharmacy gave me a bottle that had no less than 20 pills in it), all to no avail. My tolerance levels are too high; I’ve technically OD’d on Tylenol PM Extra Strength before only to be bouncing off the walls an hour later. Same with the Vicodin. And Nyquil knocked me out once, but ever since it’s done nothing to affect me.

Will Project Quattro ever actually happen? I don’t know. I’d like to do it, just for the sake of experimentation, but like with most diets, it will possibly forever be slated to start "tomorrow." A one-week trial, possibly two, so that if it majorly sucks as I expect it will, I’ll at least know there’s an end in sight. Something like that.

As far as weekends would go, sleeping in can go no later than noon. Unless I’m with The Guy, in which case all bets are off and I’m not getting out of bed until he literally pulls me out from under the covers.

Coming soon

One of these Saturdays soon, but I guess not in February because there are three weekends I need to be here, I’m going to take another day trip to San Francisco. Just me, my camera, and a $20 budget. Should be interesting. The budget is primarily to keep me focused on photography and not idle shopping, but also for economical reasons. I might up it to $25 to make the total trip expense an even $50.

Also: I predict that in August of 2007, I’ll find out that I’m pregnant. Which hopefully means I’ll be married sometime in 2006, or at least early 2007.