My Mumbling Thoughts

Jon and Helen liked to call it "weather hugs" when they were here for their visit two years ago. I just like to call it muggy. SO. MUGGY. The heat and moisture in the air that likes to cling to my body the moment I walk outside, and feels like it's suffocating me from the inside out it's so thick.

On a day like today with the mugginess, I remember when Jon and Helz were here and we spent nearly two glorious weeks being American together and I proudly showed them around all of Northern Virginia. This is my state. This is where I live. This is where I know the back roads and try to maneuver my way out of traffic when things tend to get backed up whenever there's the slightest disruption on the roads. This is me.

Only it's not me anymore, and I realized it last night when I was in bed staring up at the ceiling for nearly forty minutes before I decided to turn off my lamp. I'm not Sam from Virginia, I am simply Sam. I am a girl who is indecisive, constantly changing and retracing my steps because sometimes I get a little lost and don't know what to do.

Last night I got to thinking about all of those big Life Questions that I mentioned a couple of days ago, and thought I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be in this state of Virginia, or this state of mind. I'm tired of going round and round in circles wondering what it is that I want or don't want and teeter-tottering back and forth between everything. So I came up with a simple list of What I Do and What I Don't want.

I do want to be home and near family. I'm glad I came back to be closer to Momma and Mel, and now that I've been back for a couple of months I really see how much they need me, just as much as I need them. My sister needs me, and part of me feels guilty for even leaving her in the first place. My mother needs me to help with my sister and I'm glad I can be here to help.

I don't want to be in Virginia anymore. As much as I love being back near family, this state just isn't for me. I thought I wanted to come back and get back into the government scene and be a kick ass admin again, but I really fucking don't. The only bad part is that I'm going to have to do it anyway now since I only have $65 to my name. At least for a little while.

I don't want to take this shit job that I've been offered earning (what I consider to be) pennies. I don't want to make their charts and graphs and do gay research for a contract that probably isn't going to last any longer than a year. But part of me already knows that I'm going to accept it, because it is a paycheck, and when you only have $65 to your name, and a debt of roughly $50,000.00, you'll take anything you can get. I tell myself that it'll only be temporary, and if something better comes along, I'll totally jump on it, but still the other half of me is screaming WASTE OF FUCKING TIME. DON'T EVEN BOTHER.

I do want to get into writing. I don't have any fucking idea how I'm going to do it, or if it'll actually manifest into something potential, but every day I'll give it a go and see where it takes me. I applied for an internship with another online blog/magazine and should have a phone interview set up for sometime next week. Obviously all of the work that I'll be putting in now will be unpaid (we all gotta pay our dues I suppose), but I don't care. I need the experience. I want the experience.

In time, I do want to move back to England permanently. The goal I've set for myself is about two years. I'm giving myself two years to work at crappy jobs here that I hate (hopefully paying much more than this shit company has offered me), save up ass loads of money, then apply for a work visa. I've already started getting emails ready for my "contacts" that I have over in London that I know will know how to help point me in the right direction of getting a job. My awesome recruiter, Tabitha, for starters who loves me and always got good feedback from me wants me to come back. And then there's my tutor from second year, Sarah Turvey, who was born in the states and has been living in England for the majority of her life. She'll definitely know all of the ins and outs of the red tape I'm sure I'm going to have to fight with.

I thought about all of that before I closed my eyes, and thought, "yes, that is exactly right." Before I left I was so naive, thinking that I knew everything about everything and had never experienced anything substantial, but certainly had an opinion about it. Work was work, money was money, friends were friends, family was family, and I never worried about anything else.

Then I went away and learned so much about myself, I can't even begin to try to explain it all. "Life changing experience" doesn't even chip away the corner of what happened to me. Those three years taught me more than the previous twenty years when I was in the states. And now I am more comfortable with myself and have cold hard experiences to back up all of my opinions now.

I know I had to leave. Even though every single day is tough because I miss everything I left behind, I know I needed to come back. For Momma and Mel, yes, but for myself. I was a fucking mess the day I left and mentally, I needed some time to cool off from the city that I liked to battle with. I had no stability, and I certainly didn't have any balance. But I had a life. It was my life that I could call my own, grab with both hands and do whatever I wanted to do with it. It was all mine.

I never really had a life in Virginia. I definitely don't have a life now. All I had back then was work, a little bit of money and the mall to visit every single Saturday buying up things that I'd probably throw away two months later.

Of course I say all of this now, but who knows what will happen within the next two years, hell, the next two weeks? Maybe I'll decide to move to Boston, or Texas, or New York (liked I said I would) and find a new happiness there. Maybe I'll find a dream job here and decide to live out the rest of my days in Virginia and laugh at this post that I've written when I'm much older. All I know at this very moment, though, is that when the time is right, and when I'm properly set up, I'm going to leave. And hopefully I'll finally be able to remain stationary, instead of rocking from one side to another.

Posted by Sam at 12:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Today I got ready backwards. Well, sort of. Generally before I get in the shower, I pick out clean underwear and clothes so I can have them with me in my bathroom. See, my room is all the way on the third floor of our townhouse, and the bathroom that I lucked out with is the one on the bottom floor next to the garage. It may sound a little dodge, but it really isn't. Since we re-organized the entire family room, now I spend the majority of my time downstairs with the big TV. I feel better when I'm not laying in bed 24/7. Now I'm on the couch.

Anyway, I was downstairs today and I couldn't be bothered to walk all the way upstairs to get my clothes. I decided to just hop straight into the shower knowing full well that I'd have to go back upstairs eventually to get some clean clothes. So I took my shower, dried off, blow dried my hair, brushed my teeth and put on deodorant all completely stark naked. Then I walked upstairs (still naked) to my room, put on some clean underwear and pajamas.

It was a different routine that I usually follow, and it felt daring. I was living outside of the box. Hell, I was completely defying the way that I live!

And it was amazing.

I thought I should do more crazy things. Maybe I could blog two days in a row? HOW INSANE WOULD THAT BE?!

Someone stop me now.

**

As I mentioned yesterday (and one time on twitter), I found a new, upcoming online magazine that has so graciously let me write for them. Granted, I've only written one article so far, but I've got another idea brewing for this week and I thought I should probably give this whole "writing" thing another go. For real this time. I should honestly think and act like how a real writer would do, like writing a little bit of something every day, regardless if it's truly revolutionary, or ultimately run-on sentences that make absolutely no sense whatsoever, or even have a point.

Hence the blogging two days in a row.

Not only do I have some articles I need to write every week for this new online magazine, I have some unfinished work that I need to get cracking on really soon (like, yesterday kind of soon), because before you know it, I'm going to be a part-time student again with two final projects that I need to whip together for a final grade so I can officially have a goddamn Bachelor's degree that I've been struggling on for the past three years. Honestly, I need to sort it out.

I've set up the desk, organized it, cleared off some space and am practically ready to go. Now all I have to do is stop watching movies on Mel's laptop through Netflix and actually do some bloody writing.

Write Sam, write Sam, write Sam, write Sam, write Sam, write Sam, write Sam, write Sam.......

One of the things I wrote on my first article that I sent in for the online magazine was talking about how a person should get to know themselves when they're unemployed (P.S. my article is called "10 Things to do When You're Unemployed - aside from look for jobs"). It's number six on my list of things to do. A person should sit and properly get to know themselves. You know, like ask themselves all of those really hard life questions that people eventually have to ask themselves at some point in time, and then make a decision. What are they passionate about? Did they really enjoy the last job they were at? Do they want to go traveling? What is it that you want to really do with your life? Waste it? Put it to good use?

I was writing it all and I thought, "fuck, I haven't even asked myself these questions." Here I am advising people to do it themselves, when I haven't even done it. That hardly seems fair.

So today I started asking myself some of the questions. What do I want to do with my life?

What an insane question! Who knows that answer? Well, I suppose some people know that answer. Perhaps some people have always known that they've wanted to cut people open, poke around on their insides and then sew them back together hoping that they make a full recovery. Or maybe some other people have always known that they are simply born to mix ingredients together and wow (!) people's taste buds with their edible works of art. I'm sure some people must know.

But I don't know. And I hate to say it. I know I'd like to write, but I don't know how to go about it. I know that I need a job for the time being to start collecting some money to sustain some kind of life that makes me feel more independent and less like a fourteen-year-old girl living in a small rural town listening to 3 Doors Down and thinking that their words mean something. And I know that all of these jobs that I'm applying for, I'm very much qualified to do, but it's certainly not a place I want to be stuck in for the next twenty years.

I know I want love. Don't laugh! It's cheesy, but it's true. I may always sound like some kind of commitment phobe that doesn't want to get emotionally close to someone because I'm scared of, well, commitment. But I'd like to find someone some day who knows that I speak in a baby voice to make people laugh when they're mad at me, and someone who knows I hate the lovey dovey shit out in public, but when it's just the two of us I'm just as corny as a Hallmark card.

I wonder if I'm doing the right things. I worry that someone may never hire me because I sweat when I'm nervous and make bad jokes about the weather. And I keep thinking that the reason why I'm still unemployed is because I'm wasting time looking for jobs that I'll end up hating (given enough time), and I'm not spending enough time doing what I should really be doing. What I'm meant to be doing.

It's just some things I've been thinking about before I have to go and pick my little sister up from her job.

Posted by Sam at 07:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"Tell me," she says to me while we sit across from each other in the interview room.

"Why should we hire you?"

The first thing that comes to mind is, "geez, they really ask these questions in interviews? I thought it was just something for people to write about on the internet."

The second thing that comes into my head? Because I need the money.

Of course I don't say that. I say something along the lines of, "because I'm an excellent and hard working individual. I believe I can fulfill everything that you're seeking in an employee and will happily if given the chance to do so."

Something like that. Only I stutter and shake because I'm shit at interviews. I have come to the conclusion that interviewing with a company is just like dating, only with suits and much more forward questions that you're supposed to cleverly answer while believing in everything that you say. I am equally shit at dating, so there ya go. Unemployed and single. Awesome.

I've been on three interviews now, which I suppose is a good thing. At least I know my résumé isn't shit anymore. People are calling and asking me to come in to meet with them. Now my only problem is the actual talking portion of the process and I seem to be failing spectacularly at it. I mean, I once prided myself at being a fantastic conversationalist and now all I keep thinking the second I walk inside is, PRESSURE, PRESSURE, PRESSURE. MUST GET JOB SO I CAN PAY BILLS AND LIVE. I try to do research about the company beforehand so I can have something to talk about with them, or perhaps even ask some semi-educational questions towards the end, but nothing seems to stick in my brain. It's nothing but oil and water up there.

So I just go to these interviews thinking that I can wow (!) them by sitting pretty and smiling and hoping they don't ask me anything too hard.

Oh, the job market. It sure is hard to deal with these days. Surprisingly, I am dealing okay. After my first really sad breakdown, I've actually been upbeat, staying positive and moving forward. I've been applying for not just the administrative roles, but also some writing gigs that I find whenever I get tired of looking at all of the office jobs. So far I've managed to land one gig that is pretty flexible and I'll be able to show off the finished product once the website launches in September. It's so cool, I even have my own "About Me" section, with a picture and everything! How cool is that? Um, for someone who has absolutely zero writing experience, it's pretty damn cool. I've already written one article for them, and plan to write at least 1-2 articles every week about.....stuff. I have to think of the topics, but the point is I get to write about it without many limits.

And while Home Life can be pretty boring most of the time, and looking for jobs round the clock isn't the most stimulating of activities, I think I've gotten used to hanging out here on my lonesome. I just keep thinking that we'll have our own little baby running around soon (once he's old enough to leave his doggy mother), and then I won't be so lonesome. And that every day you never know who might call with a potential offer for....something. I've decided to take some good advice and enjoy unemployment life while it lasts. Once it's over with, it's finished, and who knows when I'll get another break? If anything, I should really take this time to stand in front of the mirror and rehearse some educated speeches for when I'm sitting across the table from another recruiter asking me why they should employ me.

Posted by Sam at 09:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Let's just get this out of the way right now, shall we?

I used to take drugs.

There. I said it. I used to take a myriad, cocktail-induced amount of drugs back in the day. You name it, I've probably taken it. There was my phase with prescription pills when I was in high school (somas, percocets and speed were my favorites), and then there is of course the time I spent in London at university. I smoked my fair share of weed, enjoyed chilling with the white lady from time to time, went on a far out ride on mushrooms once, took adderall for "concentration reasons" and enjoyed coming up on MDMA. It was just something that I did to experiment, experience and feel for myself. Now I can say I lived it and am officially over it.

I was never really "addicted" to any of the drugs to the point where I was willing to do unimaginable things to get my fix. I wasn't turning tricks on the corners or giving head to strangers just so I could get a free line or two out of someone who probably had crushed up some aspirin and wrapped it in some paper. It never got to that point. I was a regular user though. A recreational user. A social user. A whatever user. On and off during my three years at university I was on one the above mentioned drugs at some point in time.

If I had to pick, I'd say that cocaine was the worst, and the ugliest of everything I used to do. I did it for the longest time and there was a point for a couple of months during my first year that I thought I might have developed a problem. I used to cut up my lines, roll up a five pound note and snort every last morsel of powder that I could find, and rub the remaining remnants on my upper and lower gums. One time I even attempted snorting a dangling earring that some famous person was wearing on the cover of a magazine, which I had mistaken as a second line. I was so excited until I realized that I was actually snorting nothing and looked like a moron in more ways than one.

MD was the last drug I took, and it was on May 30th of this year, only a mere three months ago. MD I would have to say was my favorite out of everything I've ever taken and was "good" in a lot more ways that put cocaine to shame. The first thing would be when I would "come up" when the drug would start to properly kick in. God, coming up was one of the greatest feelings in the world, especially if the environment that you were in complimented the drug. Drum 'n' bass music on full blast, a dark room and strobe lights would race through your body and you felt everything from the inside out. All you want to do is dance with your water bottle and be left alone to enjoy the moment.

It also would last for ages and one hit would keep you awake the entire night, rather than having to constantly run to the toilets or a dark corner to sort out another line of coke. The come downs once the drug started wearing off weren't as horrible as my come downs used to be on cocaine either. MD was definitely the drug of choice.

I hate it when people who look down on drugs or don't agree with them ask, "why did you do it?!" as if I was forced in a corner with a gun to my head and didn't take the bullet instead. The thing is, I don't really know why I used to do it. I don't think it was because "everyone was doing it" that appealed to me. I think it was more of a curiosity that I wanted to know what would happen to me if I did indulge. I thought it would make my nights out amongst all of the city lights better, enhance them a little more and I would be more in control of myself and remember more things, unlike whenever I was drunk off my face. Drugs did give me a little more control funnily enough, and yet still allowed me to be completely wrecked on a different plane.

Our uni world that we lived in made it seem like taking drugs was normal, acceptable and safe. No one would ever bash you for not taking drugs (more for me!) and everyone seemed like an expert. This batch looks like good MD, this coke is weak or whatever. I never felt like I was going to get caught, harm myself or others, or that it was even bad. It was just there, a part of our lives and I happened to be one of the people that said yes, rather than no. Once the drug would wear off and clear itself out of my system (usually a process that required a full day), then I'd go back to doing normal every day things that didn't require me to be high.

Now that I've been "clean" for three months, I don't find myself having any cravings or itching for a little dab here and there. I think about it from time to time, but that's about it. Besides, it wouldn't feel right for me to even be doing it here in the states, because the scene isn't right, the people don't understand and it doesn't feel as natural as before. Thinking about me doing any kind of drug in the states just seems really weird.

However, just because I have that mentality and I don't consider myself to be an addict, doesn't mean that my past of using doesn't still follow me around. It is proving to be extremely difficult to get a job of any kind around here, because all of the security paperwork requires me to list all the drugs I used to take in the past and how often I used to take them. It also doesn't help that the last time I dropped an MD bomb was just three months ago. Not enough time has elapsed for anyone to consider me as "rehabilitated" and with all the rest of the drugs I listed together makes me look like I was some kind of crack whore on my applications.

I'm not a bad person because I used to do drugs. I'm simply a person who happened to take drugs. And just because it is going to be a lot harder for me to get a job now, I wouldn't change one thing about any of the drugs I used to do while I was over there. The experiences, the knowledge I gained and stories I have will always be with me and have helped shape me into who I am today. I realize that there are risks and that other people may have not had the same kind of outcome as I did, but it is a part of who I am, who I was back then and who I want to move on from in the future.

Posted by Sam at 08:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It is so true what they say: when you're busy, you're usually so busy you can't see straight and it never feels like you can catch a break. But when you're not busy...when you're stuck at home with absolutely nothing to do, you don't really know what to do with yourself. There's never a happy medium of "in between," which is so annoying.

The first month was great. Lizzie came to visit, we had good times and it was nice to finally get that break from the stress and worries that used to follow me around in London. I didn't have to worry about cooking for myself anymore, bills piling up around my feet or any of the local drama. I was at home baby! And I was loving it, living it up and soaking in this newfound relaxing freedom! I mean whew (!) why didn't I do this more often?

The second month came out of nowhere and it finally hit me that maybe I should get a job. A good paying job at that. December would be here in no time and that's when I need to make my first student loan payment. And then of course when I found out about my lacking of 30 credits, I realized that I need to pay for that hefty payment in one lop as well. And I wanted to go places, do things, socialize. That all required moolah that I just did not have. So the search began. And so did the waiting.

Now I'm rolling on month number three. Three months since I left London, came back home and have spent 85% of my time in bed watching re-runs of The West Wing on dvd, and eating soft chocolate chip cookies for lunch. I would say it's the good life, but my time of relaxing is over. I'm tired of doing nothing. I want a job! I have things I want to buy and save for. My list of Things I Want is getting longer with each passing day, and I'm headed straight for the Unhappy Place in my head.

This past Friday I cried for two hours. And the whole time I hated myself because I know things aren't that bad. Things have been a lot worse for me in the past, and things are hella bad for a lot of people out there that I don't even know. Why am I being such an impatient whiny baby? I mean, hell, at least I went on one interview. At least I have a few people on "the inside" at a couple different companies who are trying to pull strings for me and shove my CV into different people's hands. At least I have a caring mother who lets me stay at home completely rent-free, feeds me and wants me to do nothing else except pay off all of my student loans. Why was I crying? AGAIN? OVER NOTHING? I'M SO UNGRATEFUL.

I was crying because even though I know all of that, I still get frustrated with things. I am super impatient and when things don't go my way I tend to get cranky. I am a five-year-old living inside of my nearly 24 (!) body and sometimes the only way I know how to cope is to just sit and cry. Cry, cry, cry, C-R-Y. I cried in the shower. I cried in my room. I cried when I was brushing my teeth. I just cried. And if felt good to do something other than me sitting like a bump on a log watching re-runs on the telly.

I'm trying to stay positive. I know these things take time and I'm trying to relish all of this free time I have to finish up the books on my night-stand, or lay out by the pool when it's sunny outside. But those worries and stresses aren't far away in my mind, and I still think about when it's time for me to pony up some money and I just don't have it on me. What will I do then?

Probably cry.

But after that, I'll have to wipe my eyes, blow my nose and figure out a different solution to the same goddamn problem.

Posted by Sam at 05:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)