when there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire

I hate myself today.

I am struggling.

I've been perfectly content for such a long stretch (almost a year)... I think I forgot what struggling feels like. It's depressing. Disheartening. It makes me want to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, take a deep breath and pretend the rest of the world beyond that sheet does not exist.

I'm so tired of this ring-around-the-rosy bullshit. I want to jump into the field, wet my tongue, really get a taste for this career I've picked out. I want to be actually doing something, anything, other than wasting time frittering with rulers and smudge-less lines and perfection and prissy measurements. I want a good night's sleep. I want someone to listen, actually listen, to the words strung pretty in my brain instead of blahblahblahing themselves.

I want my happiness back.

The universe bitchslapped me in the face today.

Please don't get me wrong; I love the fact that I can depend on something bigger than me to direct my life along the necessary path. I couldn't be more grateful, truly.

But every once in a while, when it does things like rip my choices away from me, I want, even just for a second, to hurt it back.


Whatever, universe. You know what you're doing, I guess.




p.s. I heard you playing this song to remind me. I know, and thank you.

I am sick.

Not just a little bit sick, either.

Full blown (through my nose, har-dee-har-har), fever, mucus, sneezing, closed throat kind of sick. I'm the kind of sick where all you can do is lay in bed and think about how sick you are.

My life has apparently taken some swan dive toward the bottom of the misery pool. I think there is a lesson I'm supposed to be learning through all of this, but I'm too sick to figure it out currently. Let me explain the happenings, and then maybe one of you can figure it out for me.

I woke up yesterday to an one-oh-one fever and a sore throat. The first word out of my mouth– before I'd even pulled the covers off– was "No!" It was a long, stretched "no" that went on as long as possible, strangled like a dying dinosaur.

I got out of bed; all of my muscles felt like goo. I got dressed. I had to get dressed: I had to go to work. I drove to work while my muscles protested against working in general, pissed about the unhealthy body temperature. I shoved my foot against the accelerator with more vicious intent that usual while I sped off toward the one place I'd never not wanted to be more in my life.

I thought I could do it, to be honest. One eight hour shift at the register and then I could go home, crawl into bed, and imitate the lifeless. Just eight hours. I could totally do it.

Five minutes into the door, my boss pulled me aside to have a "chat." This is generally not a good sign. The managers at Barnes and Noble never find the time to pull you aside and chat about how well you're doing, so if you're chatting, you can pretty much guarantee it's because you've fucked up somehow.

"We got secret-shopped yesterday," my boss said.

"Oh," I said. "How did it go?"

"Not good."

It was about this time that my sickly brain started putting the puzzle pieces together. Not good. "Not good" as in Katie, you fucked up royally. "Not good" as in we should probably fire you but you're fairly attractive and kind to the old people so we won't fire you today.

"You were shopped," my boss explained. "You didn't push the membership."

"What?"

I didn't push the membership? I always push the membership. I push the membership so much that I annoy myself. I should be elected President of Membership Pushing. I am an official Membership Pusher. I am so good at Membership Pushing, in fact, that asking unsuspecting customers if they have a membership has become second nature. "That's a nice blouse you're wearing" is now automatically followed by, "and think of how many others you could buy with what you'd save if you bought a membership at Barnes and Noble."

Ok, ok. That's a slight exaggeration. I never say the word blouse out loud. But I would, if I thought it would better push the membership.

As it turns out, my boss was exaggerating slightly (I asked about the membership, but the woman declined and I didn't berate her for it), but I didn't find this out until after the mental breakdown. After our "chat," I really tried to keep it together. I tried to ignore the fact that I couldn't walk faster than a crippled person because my muscles were seething. I tried to ignore the fact that it was really rotten luck that I'd been put at customer service that day. I tried to ignore the fact that none of the customers would ask me for help because my eyes were constantly on the verge of brimming over with unshed tears. I did try– but it wasn't enough.

When I got my break, I snatched my keys from the breakroom and made it into my car just before the first wave of OhMyGodWhyIsThisHappeningToMe? hit me. Then came the sobbing, more mucus (as if I weren't already producing enough or something), and the desperate phone call to my mother.

What I've decided, sitting in bed today, is that all the detox this week has a reason: something's coming in my life– something big– and I have to clear out every last bit of negative before I'm ready for whatever that is. My body is choosing to purge said negative in the two most efficient ways: crying and sickness, but if it works, it works, and that's all that matters.


p.s. SMeyer needs to grow up. Seriously. She's embarrassing herself.

I'm so excited right now, I can hardly sit still.

Everything is about to happen... Can you feel that? There's nothing else like it in the world.




p.s. I'm going to a psychic this week. I finally decided. Anyone else done this before? Tips? Suggestions?

p.p.s. Much bigger, much more informative update is in the works...!