I want to be punished every day!

So my manager at my bar doesn't like me, or is pissed off at me, or something. I talked to my owner and checked to see if it's ok if I get some shifts covered this week, sort of ease back into going to work. Sunday was my first day back, and it was horrible. Kept having to go to the bathroom to cry and all kinds of fun stuff! My owner ok's it, and I get Wednesday and Saturday covered, leaving me just working Thursday and Friday. Today, my manager calls me and tells me, 'Emily, you can't just pick the days you work, so don't bother coming in til Sunday.' This is the same manager who constantly tells us, 'If you get your shifts covered, you don't need it ok'd by me.' As in, you're all adults, deal with your schedule, don't call me unless you need to. Which I agree with. In other words: I'm getting punished for doing what she told me to do. But I'm looking at the positive: I had lots of time to spin today!


115 yards Kool-Aid dyed merino, plied with rainbow thread. I'm lovin it.

Nothing less than water.

I wake up and it's raining.
I left my window open, and my hair is wet.
Rain seems such an obvious metaphor, a cliche way
to describe what's inside.
Today it is raining, and it is nothing more,
nothing less than water,
maybe a cleansing way to wash off yesterday,
but even now my humanity pervades what
has nothing to do with me.
Nature didn't give us this precipitation
to fuel our poetic and often dramatic hearts.
Our day does not depend upon the weather,
nor weather upon it.
What's inside my heart depends on nothing,
and as the water rises, I am safe in my air tight container,
watching those who are drowning in their beliefs
of a higher meaning.



I'm bringing back Emily online and puttin some STANK on it! Well, maybe not too much stank. Wouldn't want to stank up the place. All the same.

My dad died. It's knocked me off my feet a little, but I suppose that's to be expected. My days are a whirlwind of taking care of my mom, taking care of everything there is to be taken care of, trying to get through a work day without crying, and somewhere in there, trying to shut my brain off via knitting, World of Warcraft, or booze. I have to creep up on my grief and visit it a little at a time, because I have so much else to do. I don't have the luxury of breaking down, even though everything in me wants to. Sleep seems non-existent, except when it does come, I'm out cold for 15+ hours. I know all the bullshit, 'Time heals all wounds....time is your best friend right now.....it's gonna take time,' and I've decided that time fucking blows. I want to call time up on the phone and tell it it can shove its patience up it's ass, then lend it fifty cents so it can call someone who gives a shit. Then I'm going to write time a strongly opinionated letter, pointing out time fell out of the noob tree and hit every branch on the way down.

I want to skip this part, the part where I feel the constant presence of a void that can't be filled.
But in the meantime, there are some wise words that bring me a little comfort:
"Live every day like it's shark week, and remember: nothing is impossible except dinosaurs."

Long time no post.
There are moments in your life when you feel it's time to make a change. Looking the down the new road ahead of you, full of scary things you've never experienced, you try to talk yourself into staying where you're comfortable, change be damned. But no! You are a man, not a mouse, and you bravely begin the journey down the dark, terrifying road of the unknown.

I have made a decision. I've been thinking about it for a long time.

I'm switching toothpastes.

The one I'm using leaves this weird grainy film on my teeth, and it kind of smells weird.

In other news. I've had two customer complaints at work and I am not taking this criticism lightly. My boss told me just to try harder and reminded me it takes time to be good at bartending if you have no experience with it. These words of comfort have done no good for my knotted up stomach every time I go in for my shifts now. I know I'm a perfectionist, I know I want to be good at everything immediately even when that's completely unrealistic, I know I'm being too hard on myself, and I know that everyone makes mistakes, but I can't stop going over and over and over the complaints in my head, and feeling like I'm no good at this job, and that I'm just going to make more and more mistakes until I get fired. Gr. 

 A large, large part of me, a part even larger than my ass, wants to quit, but I'm not letting myself. Every time I get to a point in a job where I'm bored/not good at it/not getting along with coworkers, I just quit, go through a 'Jobs stop me from being truly free!' phase, and eventually find something else when I'm tired of not having money. This is a pattern I could get away with in high school over even last year. But now I have grown up bills to pay, and some grown up student loans to pay off. So I'm just going to suck it up, go to work, do the best I can to have fun, and silently repeat my mantra in my head: "Fuck it." I figure the worst case scenario is I get fired eventually, and at least then I'll get away from the job, and qualify for unemployment.

Well fuck.
My grandmother died. She was the strongest woman I know. I like to think I got it from her. I sure as hell didn't get it from my mother, who crumples and sobs at every downfall.  I know I got my obsession with yarn and making things out of yarn from her, she's the only other person in our family who suffers from the same affliction. I still have a pile of chevron stitch afghans she made, one every year, only for me. She and the rest of my extended family were wealthy, respectable, dignified. My family was the fuck ups, the black sheep. Sometimes looking back, I wonder if she made those blankets for me out of guilt. I wonder if she blamed herself for raising my father to be an abusive drunk. I know once I got older, she talked to me about my family. She'd say things like, 'You're going to go much farther than the rest of them.'  She was constantly laughing, even at the end. She had a great laugh, you could tell she loved being happy the way someone does when they've seen too much grief. Making her laugh made you feel so fucking good. 

The sad part of someone dying is the loss, the grief of them being gone forever. But the gift it gives us, or at least gave me this week, was a reminder that I am still alive. It made me look around and ask myself, 'What the hell am I doing here?'.  I don't have an answer yet,  but it's stewing.

I am quantam physics.
I was telling my ex how I could be happy spending the rest of my life studying quantam physics. He laughed and said, 'Oh, yes, that is very you. Spending your life coming up with answers that only lead to more questions. Emily, you ARE quantam physics.'  I took it as a compliment, although I think it had a splash of bitterness in it. 

Side note: SO EXCITED! The Elegant Universe is on its way. Squeal!

I win the award for Strangest Day. Mercury's got to be in retrograde or something....

I was babysitting and the little girl I watch started humping a pillow. And liking it. 
She's at that age where she's....discovering? And doesn't think of it as good or bad. I've been a babysitter since I was 9 and a nanny since I was 18, and I had NO idea what the proper thing to do was. I just waited til her mom got home and asked her how she was addressing it, and I would react the same, to maintain consistency. Her mom said, 'Yeah, she saw a dog humping a guy's leg a few weeks ago and tried to imitate it, then discovered it felt good, and now we can't get her to stop. I usually just distract her then hide the pillow.' 

Thing the second: I came home from a very, very long day of jobs and found my parents GETTING HIGH IN OUR BASEMENT. I was proud, and also slightly disturbed. 

Well, I spent my day off sleeping, so I'd better get into productive mode and play some video games.

I can't help but feel.
It's a clear, cool day in Indiana. The colors outside are filling my eyes, reds and yellows against dark green, the pink blossoms on the trees against blue. Looking out my window is like looking at the cover of a puzzle box, except the graphics are much better. 

I can only look out the window. I feel very painfully that I am not taking part, I'm not one with the natural life outside. I don't know why, but to go out and lay on the grass and watch the ants, to walk against the wind and feel the resistance like someone saying, 'No',  to touch the world today  would break my heart. 

Beauty enters me and opens me, but strength is what I need right now. Strength requires that I stay inside for just a little longer, until it's over, and then I can open up again. Until then, blossoms and sunlight and I are separate, and they are my comfort, reminding me that no matter how much chaos my mind creates, it can't touch or change the perfection of what is. I need reminded that the world isn't in my head.

Work, or, Why All My Friends Never Hear From Me And Think I've Died

When I sleep I dream
only of the next day.
When I wake I think
only of time.

For 60 hours a week, I feel I don't belong to me. What time is left is spent before it's earned. I miss my books and my projects. My head hurts from not writing and my heart hurts from not singing. In the few minutes I find my glorious room, my beloved chair, my back is filled with iron rods, and the muscles in my feet make me think of toes being bound. I need distraction, something to flip my switch to 'off' before I have to turn back on the next day, or the next hour. My body demands stillness, but the world demands more; movement. 

Not to say I give myself away only to prove something to you. No. I don't mean to complain.

Whether joyous or draining, a day of my work does not feel like struggle. I feel the strength in my body through the heaviness in my bones. When they sigh they tell me I am in the world.

Even with the sacrifices, I have replaced my old loves for a love of  today's work, for how it will bring me closer to the crest of this hill, seeing over into tomorrow, with its comfort coming, its fields of freedom getting closer. I love racing towards it like a dragonfly. I move fast all day, to feel the exhaustion like a bell ringing in the church inside my chest, its song a prayer: "Soon, soon."


What I wanted to say to you last night but couldn't figure out how.

You want to be right, that love is dead.
If this is so, then I am going.
I am not a plain white box,
a take out coffin for your fears,
for you to keep until some night
when you need to look inside.
To feel passion and be safe may
never quite work out, but that is life.

Life is letting yourself live.

My life needs fields and reverie
in which to dream, open air and choirs singing
filling up my head with muse.

But keep me here by wrist or neck,
tell me just to wait awhile.
With some shame I'll be outside,
wishing this was what I'd hoped,
searching for a foothold
against your last wall at the dead end.
Your monument to abandonment,
do you keep it standing
out of history or habit?

If you're waiting for a promise,
I cannot stay. I cannot offend
love that way, I don't see how you can't see,
It's always bigger than we can hold or know.
Control and love are the two
cousins raised in different worlds;
They cannot understand each other.

If you think my effort is my love,
my proof, scrambling inside this box,
against these walls, if you need
to always see me needing,
I cannot stay.

Just got off work. A girl left early and my manager asked me if I thought I could handle the whole section myself even though it's only my third day of being a server. So of course I said NO PROBLEM. I ended up rocking it though, made 30 bucks in 3 hours, and at the end of the night Lynn (the manager) told me that even though I've only worked there a week she already thinks I'm her best employee. Blush.

Found out last night that Carl's Bar in New Haven is hiring me also. I start Friday and Saturday working the floor, training eventually to become a bartender. $8 an hour plus tips, much better than my server wages at Munchies, and all of my friends hang out there constantly, so I'll get to socialize and work simultaneously.  AND I start next week watching the most amazing, adorable little girl for eight hours a week, which will add about $150 every month. Not only is the little girl awesome as hell, her mom is awesome as hell, too. I can very much see us becoming good friends. And in a weird twist of synchronicity, Angelique's (the mom) extended family is the owner of Carl's. Creeeeeeppy. 

All of this is good. It means I'll soon be getting out of the debt Ken left me with and saving money for school next year. The only negative part is how insanely tired and busy I'm going to be. No days that I'll ever be off of all jobs at the same time (which is ok for me), and Fridays and Saturdays my day will start at 9am and end at 4 or 5am. Yeesh.

We get the results of my Dad's PET scan on Thursday. It'll tell us how long they think he has. Good thing I have the day off from waitressing in case it's bad news. I don't know if I could muster fake friendliness if it is.

Tired. But I must knit. I haven't knitted in ages.


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