I am not the sign you are looking for
I am not your rescuer
I am not the sign you are looking for
I am not the sign you are looking for
I am not your rescuer
How many cups of tea
And warm comforting showers
“I don’t like it. I’m gunna have to write you up for an attendance issue.”
“You do what you gotta do. I have a fever. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Okay. Talk about this later.”
That was it.
I hate calling in sick. Mainly because I hate being sick. I called into my other job last night with no problem. I wasn’t going to endanger anyone. Especially myself. But the second retail has the last day of a major sale, they freak out. I’m a diabetic that is uncontrolled with the immune system of an AIDS victim. What do they want me to do? Die selling cosmetics?
No thanks. There are much cooler ways to die.
I got home about 11:45pm, called him on Skype to say goodnight, reluctantly ended the phone call, and collapsed into bed. I woke five hours later exhausted, feeble, having broken out into so many night sweats I couldn’t count. I had to work both today. Both jobs. Both retail and food service and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep in the next day, because not only do I work again tomorrow, but I work early tomorrow morning.
I have to give props to people who can manage two or more jobs. It takes a lot out of you. It plants the seed of exhaustion, mixed with anxiety, and on top of all that, it’s not really worth the pay (though I did just recently purchase a new bedspread, seen above). I prefer a quiet life. Something even part time. Maybe a husband to work another part time or full time and between the two of us we could make a decent living. Live simply. Not have to run around all the time and be in a million different places.
I don’t mind working 40 hours a week. I just wish it was all at the same place. One location to drive to and be worried about. One uniform. One job. Is it too much to ask for? I suppose.
I have a feeling I need to go job hunting again.
I have a regular that comes in to buy fragrances every so often, she always gets red on all her nails but one. Her pinky. Which had a false gold nail on it. I inquired weather or not it was an actual metal nail, or if it was a gel foil. She informed me it was a 14k gold nail. She picked it up in the 70s and has worn it ever since. Every so often she gets it polished to get rid of the scratching that can happen on gold jewelry. She had once been a model. Now hair grey, but makeup immaculate and nails done pretty I could tell she carried the mentality of keeping up appearances well. She was stylish. Lovely. Smart and thrifty. With fingernails that made me envious.
I looked at my ever brittle and breaking nails. Too short. Placed upon fingers that were simply…nubby. Short and stubby. My friends tell me I have dainty hands. Really I think they’re disproportionate to the rest of me. I have tiny wrists. My arms are full. The rest of me (I’m told) is a “Marilyn Monroe body type.” Which is just another way of saying I’m a fuller figure, but not quite fat….just on the fence leaning towards fat.
My hands look like they’ve worked all their life. Which isn’t inaccurate, but at the same time, they lack a certain beauty about them. They lack the nail length to paint pretty and do cool nail designs on. They lack the finger length to be lovely for photographs, not to mention all the scars from projects and chores gone wrong.
I suppose what I really am trying to say is I’m disappointed with the state of my fingers. An odd disappointment to have. Most women want to lose a few pounds or have better hair, I just want prettier fingers. Nails that don’t chip, or peel off in layers like mine do, and don’t get me started on how I nervously bite and peel the skin off my right thumb. I call it my ugly thumb, simply because it is uglier than my other thumb, which looks more normal. Even skin. The knuckle it proportionate to the width of the thumb. Normal.
The other thumb however, has become damaged from too many years of nervously biting the loose edges of my cuticles and peeling it anxiously with my forefinger. It bleeds often. It always looks like it’s been through a war. The nail often breaks and shreds. Besides all that, the knuckle is too big for the rest of the thumb, which is much more slender. It looks a bit off. It also acts as one of the signs I’m anxious. If I’m anxious, I’m picking at it. It’s ugly. An ugly thumb.
I suppose I sound like I have a weird insecurity about my ugly thumb. I do really. Firstly, because it’s on my right hand. It’s the hand I shake hands and high five with. People notice it. People see it. People interact with my ugly thumb more than my normal one. But why does that matter to me? Because I work in food service and it looks….gross, and I work at a cosmetic counter which means my nails are important to keep neat and clean and looking pretty….which they almost never do because my nails are so fragile. My nails are very telling of my health and life. I don’t like it.
It almost seems metaphoric. To have those brittle and easily broken nails and that ugly thumb everyone sees all the time, but to act as though one has it together. In my insecurity about my hands and fingers, I have come to realize there is a lot one can tell from the appearance of ones hands. I have identified vitamin deficiencies in people because of the irregularities in their nails. I have been able to tell the kinds of occupations certain men and women have because of the dryness or scaring people have on their hands. I have been able to tell how wealthy a person is by the quality of their manicure, in both men and women. I have been able to tell who also suffers from depression like myself by the quality of their hand and nail care compared to the brands of clothing they buy (always brand name, but never full price and never quite what they need to look the kind of quality they want to). It’s telling and sad really.
I suppose I really ought to go get my nails done soon.
There is nothing more discouraging than waking up to winter all over again. It felt like yesterday that spring was nearly taking over. The patches of grass were exposed more and more each day. Then suddenly I wake up this morning to 4 inches of snow, that came in the dark of night. Sneaky weather. I really hope it melts soon.
In the mean time I wish also to be covered up and cozy like the grass. Resting under the heavy weight of sleep and my covers, waiting for the storms of life to pass as I rest. Morning came too quickly and I desire nothing more than to rest from my busy week of working far too much. Okay it isn’t too much work, but it is more than I am able to appropriately adjust to right now.
My adaptability is a bit rusty. Mostly because I’m so tired.
I feel like in a blog it is appropriate for the readers to understand the writer a bit. I’m not quite sure how to give you more insight into who I am as a person, since I feel quite a bit of what I write is more about the external forces and how they affect me….and some poetry, which gives minimal to no information about who I am.
I suppose I give off a vibe of being this sad starving artist. The kind that doesn’t seem to take much joy in anything. Which is untrue. I do have things I like, and on occasion the sadness from my depression subsides when I do certain things.
So I offer you a list. It is not a large list, but a list of simple pleasures. Things that peak my interest and I enjoy. Little things usually. A few I’m sure you have discovered a love for as well. Or perhaps you will realize for the first time you too enjoy.
Some of my favorite things:
The sound of glass clinking on glass like two wine glasses kissing.
Fresh snow because it’s so pretty.
Kitty noses, because they are so cute….okay the whole cat is cute.
Eyes, because they are beautiful.
Scrolling to the bottom of people’s Instagram profiles to watch their life work backwards. I just don’t wanna miss anything.
Anything steampunk. It’s cool okay?
Warm tea and books. Introvert right?
Going to restaurants alone. Again….introvert alert.
Not wearing socks in the grass. Especially soft grassy moss.
Being naked under felt sheets. Warm and soft.
Collecting tea sets. My aunts traveled a lot. They just kept buying them until I became obsessed.
Miniatures of anything. Especially salt and pepper shakers. Idk why.
Soft things I can snuggle with.
Wearing knee highs and thigh highs. They make me feel sexy.
Glitter nail polish. What girl doesn’t love glitter?
Deep tone wind chimes. They’re hauntingly beautiful.
Running water. Beaches. Rivers. Faucets. Showers. I love laying in it. Under it. Listening to it.
Hiking. Wood bathing as some call it.
Kayaking. It’s like freedom.
Snowshoeing. It’s peaceful,
Long exposure photography.
Opening coffee tins. They pop open and then the smell.
Putting flat wear in timeout (aka filling the dishwasher).
Organizing my underwear drawer.
Giving gifts, because it makes people happy.
Making jewelry, because it’s creative and pretty.
Writing , because it’s expressive.
Graphic design, because it is what I was made for.
When you take your first drink of soda after pouring it and it fizzes on your nose. I love that feeling.
Cooking, because it is such a functional art.
Hard questions I have asked myself in 2013 and the answers I have concluded:
Am I worth the expense it takes to keep me alive? – Yes because I have purpose.
Why am I treated as less of a person because I am a woman? – Because people are broken and we have all contributed to a society that is based on pleasure and what you can get from people to make yourself happy instead of what you can give people for fulfillment. That is why we are a culture so saturated by sex and objectification of both genders.
How can I feel better about myself?- I cannot promise that I ever will, but I do not think what society tells me will make me feel better will actually make me feel better. Why? Because it’s shallow and I have great depth and no time for shallow conventions.
Is life really just about being happy? And if so why?- No it isn’t. Because happy is temporary. Life is about experience, good or bad, because both are important to living the complete human experience. Besides I never learned anything worthwhile by having everything go my way.
Since when has being a feminist meant that I was a lesbian or man hater? – Since culture has concluded those are the only people groups to which feminism matters. Everyone else is okay with inequality if they aren’t a lesbian or man hater. Apparently.
Did I choose my degree well? – Even if I am not in a job that pertains to my degree, I love my degree. I cannot imagine doing anything else in my spare time. I was born to be a graphic designer.
What next? – Keep living. God has plans and I don’t mind where they lead. Just go with the flow.
Is buying this new car worth the loan?- It’s worth the peace of mind of driving something that isn’t a piece of crap and gunna fall apart on me.