In No Particular Order

I have to remind myself that my best entries are the honest ones. It's not that I don't know this innately and through years of professors pounding it in my head. It's not that I don't notice better feedback when I open up and get down to the nitty gritty. It's all duly noted and I wish it were easier said than done.

It's just that there's this part of me that doesn't want to let go of the privacy I find in my own head. I don't want to overwhelm people with honesty and make them think I'm this self-absorbed vagina who can't pull her head out of her ass and relate. I don't like those kinds of bitches and I think it's safe to say that most of you don't either.

At the same time, if I don't let my readers in, I'm losing out. I lose out because y'all are the best readers in the world. If I'm going to let anyone read my inner-most, wouldn't I want it to be your eyes doing so? Most of all, I lose out because I'm not honest with my writing or myself.

So welcome back in, guys. I didn't realize I'd put up this wall until I began my journey back toward creativity. It hasn't been a lengthy one yet, but it has certainly been doing its job of slapping me in the face and saying "You can't give up now, girl! Here, drink this ice water and walk with me to Connecticut!" Did I mention my creativity vision-quest spirit guide is Katharine Hepburn?

I've been pondering what my next step should be in life now that my contracted stint with a great company is over. In no particular order, here they are:

• Med school. No, not because I've recently and sporadically begun watching House, but because I've been beaten up like a skinny kid at a fat camp by the medical system, and I'm tired of it. I have also spent far too many hours on WebMD and have too many medical dictionaries than I'd like to admit. I also self-diagnosed myself with Scarlet Fever once, so there's that.
• Teach women in prison how to read, write, etc. I really think they get the shaft on most of their charges and they especially get the shaft when they come back out in society. The problem with the world today is that no one thinks reading is important, but if you can read, you can teach yourself to do anything. I want to give them a fresh start.
• Start my own business. Not that anyone in their right mind would give me a loan with my lack of credit, but this seems to be the idea that I keep coming back to most. I have a blog as the basis for it, I have an outline, and within the week I'll be finishing my business plan.
• Nab my teaching license because let's be honest, I'm lazy, and the thought of getting summers and Christmas breaks forever seems really amazing. P.S. As long as I don't have to teach... ugh, children.
• Apply for the (very) few jobs in my field and take one (or two) that will make me happy, even if they have shit for pay and are only part time.
• Drop everything, drag my boyfriend and pups to New York, and become a world famous actress, comedian, singer, and all-around awesome person.

Thanks for tuning in to this edition of "What's Been Keeping Me Up at Night." Stick around for more after the commercial break.

How the Real World Killed My Creativity

Even now as I try to write this blog, things keep pulling me away. Articles, stupid and informative. Noises, loud and soft. Issues, big and small.

I've been programmed to keep my eye on a prize that I don't want. Thanks to that programming, I have some mutant form of adult ADHD, brought on by years of procrastination, overstimulation, and worst of all, keep-what-you-love-on-the-back-burner-while-you-take-care-of-what-you-need'ism.

Now that I've gotten the requisite education and some experience under my belt, I'm trying to unleash my long-abandoned creativity into outlets that will do something for someone somewhere. Unfortunately, thanks to those multiple years of different "You have to be responsible!" messages shoved down my throat, I've kind of lost the art of making the internal external. I've actually forgotten how to do the only things I'm good at doing.

I am not good at selling things because I can't fake my way into believing in mediocre, half-functioning products. I am not good at talking to strangers who don't automatically understand things. I am not good at kissing ass, pedaling junk, or sitting inside a claustrophobia-inducing cubicle in front of a computer, overusing that devil contraption called the telephone.

I am good at writing... most days. I am good at memorizing useless facts. I am good at creating weird little crafts. I am good at planning things that are fun, organizing items before they are a mess, and endless other "non-important" tasks. However, I live in a world that doesn't grant those things merit. In fact, this world stifles them.

I won't say that it's not fair, but it is certainly counterproductive to live in a society where we scold people for wanting to do things outside the box. Sure, we award that pesky 1% for their films, television shows, music, clothing lines, etc., but the rest of us are expected to fall in line and work ourselves to death in an impossibly dull job. Even worse off are the people in countries who have two equally dire options and will never know the joy of doing something they love, not even for a fleeting moment.

This has to change. We have to fight against the powers who dictate our happiness. We have to let it be known that we aren't okay doing what we've been assigned. We have to remind them that we're individuals who long to simply be.

So I'll begin my part of that great journey. I'll start the long and arduous process of retraining myself to think how I was literally born how to think. Because I find myself in this time of unjust prejudice against art, at least as a serious subject, I have to push myself harder than I ever have before to reclaim the mind in my own head.

It sounds like a paradox. If I'm already me, it should be easy to stay me, right? No. It's going to be insanely difficult to reattain the creative programming that I was lucky enough to have at birth. It's been so stifled by so many that the hours I spend relearning my own brainwaves will be endless. I will have to structure my life rigidly around retraining my brain not to be a boring corporate asshole.

And you know what? I've never been more excited about a new job in my whole life. Me, meet me. I'll be here forever.

You Mean I'm Not on TV?

I feel like making a fort tent and not emerging for quite some time. I want to roll around in it and laugh hysterically (like this - maybe even Elmo can be there). I want to revert to my childhood while still being an adult.

It's not that I've had some kind of mental break (completely) or that I didn't do what I said I was gonna do yesterday (I did), but this whole job search fiasco has just gotten to the point where I feel like employers are purposefully not responding to test my sanity. "Yes, you've got the job, but only if you can withstand MONTHS of non-communication first!"

It helps when our parents network for us, when our friends tell us to just keep looking, when that too-good-to-be-true job pops up on Monster.com, but it doesn't solve the problem. We, all of us, still want what we were bred to believe we would have.

Here's the thing: we were told that we could do whatever we want. We were more-than-well cared for by the generations ahead of us who wanted to spoil us and give us a better life than they had. We believed that when we graduated, we would get to enjoy that freedom by exercising our creative talents, becoming singers, actors, Kardashian sisters!

But then these generations of employers and strangers and parents and friends get confused when we don't have the drive to work a job that doesn't nurture our inner-fame whores, our money-hungry appetites. They don't understand why we don't want to work a hard day or why we can't take our time accomplishing our dreams.

Well, we can't do that because we weren't prepared to do so. We were ready to sign record contracts and helm the camera of a blockbuster movie. We were ready to be handed more on a silver platter than we already had been. Even those who weren't so charmed still led a pretty damn charmed life if they were born in the 80's and beyond. They were gonna be superstars in the end, you know?

I'm not blaming anyone, not even the teachers who didn't prepare us, I'm simply pointing out that we're not a bunch of lazy fools. Half of us worked our asses off in college to add another shiny gem to our resumés, and half worked even harder. But now we're out and there's no payoff. We're not getting jobs. We're not getting movie deals. We're not writing the next great American novel. We're not famous, and like the brilliant Chuck Palahniuk said, "... we're just learning this fact, so don't fuck with us."

Don't call us lazy. Don't misinterpret being disheartened as being disengaged. We care. Maybe we care too much, and that's the problem. We want to do what we love so we can be happy, whatever happiness is, and we want to be recognized for how good we are at what we do.

I will always want to make money off of the things I love to do, but I absolutely recognize that it might not be a possibility, at least not in the immediate future. I want to bathe in the filth of that horrendous realization for a while before I force myself into grunt work I will probably hate, but possibly love more than I could ever imagine.

Today I'm gonna continue my job search and play in my yard like a sloppy little 5-year-old, fueled by the vitamins I bought yesterday (adult) and some good old-fashioned carelessness (child).

Sweet Success

Yesterday was such a success. I woke up at 4 a.m. (beat that, Kathie Lee) and relaxed my face off. Okay, well except for the part where I fought off the excruciating pain and sickness, a given of post-massage. If you've never been on the receiving end of a professional one, consider yourself warned about the terrors of the day after.

I drove to my long forgotten hometown to get my car fixed (gonna #1) and hung out with an old friend who may or may not believe that I should do away with the quotations on this blog's title. It'll never happen, but thanks for the always-accepted input of ideas.

I came back home & got some quality time with my family-away-from-family - which I'm counting as my unexpected-but-lovely third gonna - including this precious little lady:

I came home, walked to my room, and quite literally crashed. At 10:30! AGAIN! I bet the sweet ecstasy of rest that is running through my veins right now is how a crackhead feels when they finally sleep it off after a binge.

This early sleep thing might be impeding on my job application-related gonnas, but it's nice to see the other side of 6 a.m. It means another 2-out-of-3 day, but it also means my left eye no longer twitches like it's dancing to some techno I can't hear.

Today I'm gonna: go to Target and grab a few essentials, make pizzas with Mom, and for the love of CHRIST, do more resumés.

C'mon, baby. Three outta three.

There's No Picture For Imperfect

Yesterday was bittersweet. I woke up tired, but less sore, less scared, and my heart felt at ease. I also basically "walked" into a wonderful offer to start... well, the rest of my life if I'm being honest.

But then I found that what I thought were spots of strength in my plan were actually points of weakness, and I spent a great few hours crying. It's not out of my system, but I got out of the floor and pulled myself up by my (stylish) bootstraps.

Now that my health is out of the red and I've gotten my self-pity out of my system, all there is room for is fighting for what I want, for growth, for determination, for positivity.

I might have my days, but I am not a weak person. I have always fought for what I wanted, especially if I think those around me can benefit from it. In this situation, I see 98% positive results for all of those involved. The other 2% will fix itself or maybe it won't, but I'm going to be selfish.

Yesterday, I managed to accomplish all three gonnas, despite the emotional roller coaster or whatever other kind of vomit-inducing theme park ride you can think of.

Today, I'm gonna: APPLY TO MORE JOBS! A lot more jobs. I'm also gonna go see my dad.

The bigger gonnas are just around the corner. Stick with me while I get the smaller ones underway. I'll bake you a cookie or a "Shaun of the Dead" cake.