I remember feeling like 2011 would never end. It was a hard year for me. There were many times I felt I could lose nothing more and still retain my sanity. Needless to say, I'm hoping for a better 2012.
In 2011, I had six jobs. Six. I'm sure some people don't have that many jobs in their entire lifetime. The year started out looking good. I left my job in retail for a 2-in-1 position that I thought would really boost my career and give me coveted PR experience. First, one side of the equation tanked, right before our vacation to Florida, then the other, just before my trip to NYC. I was back in retail before I knew what hit me. I went to New York City to visit The Writer during his internship not knowing how I would survive financially when I got back. I'd been applying for jobs almost all year. Applying, applying, applying and never the right offer. I'd been out of school for nearly a year and a half and all I had to show for it was the same shopping mall job that had barely paid my credit card bills in college. I. Was. Stressed.
Finally, at the end of September, I started my first "real" job. "Real" as in: 401k real, health insurance real, 40 hours/week real, pay off my debt real. I have hopes for this job. Granted, it isn't my passion, but I can pay my bills and then some, which I'm very thankful for. The financial strides I'm taking, along with the industry I've broken into give me hope that 2012 will be a great year and that my hope will become a reality. I'm hoping that this will be my last Midwest winter and that next Christmas I'll be taking NJ Transit down from New York City to spend Christmas with my family in New Jersey and meeting The Writer for snowy walks through Central Park.
In the meantime, I'm going to start making some of my own clothes. I'll be posting about them with my new camera The Writer gave me for Christmas this year. Have I mentioned he's pretty awesome? I don't know how I would've made it through 2011 without him. He's incredibly supportive and tons of other positive adjectives.
Oh, yes, and we're joining a gym together. How's that for a new year?
Showing posts with label Nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nostalgia. Show all posts
Monday, January 2, 2012
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Day 10: Someone You Need to Let Go, or Wish You Didn't Know
Friendship is a two-way street. I admit to often being guilty of expecting to be sought out by friends. It's something that I've been working to change. I know that I don't like being alone too much and that I can't expect the friends to come to me. I have to put effort into my relationships.
As much as I know I have to contribute to friendships, I think that there is a point where enough is enough. I will try to keep a friendship alive only so long. If the other person is continually avoiding me or apathetic, it may be time to pull the plug.
I have a certain friend that came to mind and it disappoints me. We were close, roommates, assumed to be sisters by most. I won't say the friendship turned one-sided entirely, but after having her boyfriend live with us for three months rent-free and other escapades, I was exhausted. She seemed to live in a dream world. There were moments of clarity during which I and her other close friends saw "the real" her. She'd always slip back into dream world though. It was a world without consequences and she was the sun, the center.
She left a month and a half ago to study abroad, postponing her graduation and acquiring several loans on what seemed like a whim. I've spoken to her perhaps three times, the conversations always initiated by me. Sometimes I'd reach out to her with no response, sometimes with half-interested bullsh*t. She hasn't the slightest idea of anything that's happened in my life since she left, that I know of. She hasn't asked. There were lines in our sparse correspondence about my current situations, but she never acknowledged them or asked for details. It hurt knowing that I could tell someone I'd considered my best friend that I'd been laid off and that I needed a huge repair on my car and get no response from them.
In a month, she'll be back. The Roommate and I will be living in our new apartment already and all of her things will have been moved back to her parents' house. I don't know when I'll see her. I may seek her out, because I'm a bit reluctant to admit that we may not even be friends anymore. I don't know if she'll call me or even think to.
As much as I know I have to contribute to friendships, I think that there is a point where enough is enough. I will try to keep a friendship alive only so long. If the other person is continually avoiding me or apathetic, it may be time to pull the plug.
I have a certain friend that came to mind and it disappoints me. We were close, roommates, assumed to be sisters by most. I won't say the friendship turned one-sided entirely, but after having her boyfriend live with us for three months rent-free and other escapades, I was exhausted. She seemed to live in a dream world. There were moments of clarity during which I and her other close friends saw "the real" her. She'd always slip back into dream world though. It was a world without consequences and she was the sun, the center.
She left a month and a half ago to study abroad, postponing her graduation and acquiring several loans on what seemed like a whim. I've spoken to her perhaps three times, the conversations always initiated by me. Sometimes I'd reach out to her with no response, sometimes with half-interested bullsh*t. She hasn't the slightest idea of anything that's happened in my life since she left, that I know of. She hasn't asked. There were lines in our sparse correspondence about my current situations, but she never acknowledged them or asked for details. It hurt knowing that I could tell someone I'd considered my best friend that I'd been laid off and that I needed a huge repair on my car and get no response from them.
In a month, she'll be back. The Roommate and I will be living in our new apartment already and all of her things will have been moved back to her parents' house. I don't know when I'll see her. I may seek her out, because I'm a bit reluctant to admit that we may not even be friends anymore. I don't know if she'll call me or even think to.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Candy Legacy
When I was a little girl, my parents were sure to take me to church every Sunday, morning and evening. Yes, both, because once a week wasn't enough. One of the only things that made that many hours of sitting in stiff pews bearable was the Candy Man. He had to be in his seventies when I was in lower grade school, to give you an idea of how old he must've been. The Candy Man had a wife, Jane, but we never saw her because she was, as the adults would say, a "shut-in", or someone whose health wasn't good enough for them to come to church.
The Candy Man was a favorite with the kids and even some of the adults because, before and after every church service, he would be waiting in to drop one roll of Smarties and one Tootsie Roll Midgee into each set of waiting hands. The Candy Man walked with a cane for as long as I can remember. His back was arched and his suit coat used to fit him better, you could tell. Maybe the reason it always fell from his torso so poorly was because the pockets were always full of candy for the bright-eyed youngsters who probably didn't need more sugar.
He was dependable in his selection of sweets: Smarties and Tootsie Rolls. If you got lucky, you might get a starlight mint, too. If you were really lucky, you'd get one of those oval caramel things with the powdery-sugar center in the super-crinkly wrappers. You know, those things. All you had to do was hold out your hands. You didn't have to ask, and often we didn't. After the treasure dropped into our hands, we'd dart away in excitement, not remembering our manners to thank him for his continual generosity.
One day, after I was too old for his candy, they said the Candy Man's wife died. Never having seen her, it was hard to miss her, but it seemed the Candy Man moved a little slower after that. His pockets were still full of candy and he still remembered all of our names, even though we'd graduated from our candy-getting routine. He stooped lower and his gaze was farther away than usual. The Candy Man had lost his Sweetness.
I don't remember how old I was when the Candy Man himself passed away, but I'll never forget the man who so selflessly offered treats to my friends and I. Just today, in the breakroom of my big-girl job, I discovered one of those oval caramel things with the powdery-sugar centers in the super-crinkly wrappers. Instantly, I was little again, my hands held high, hoping for some extra sweetness, offering the Candy Man my smile in return before rushing off to devour the spoils.
Sometimes I think I learned more from one old man's generosity that I did from all those hours spent in the pews of church, and I've been wishing, ever since that candy break at work, that I'd said, "Thank you," more often and maybe even thought to give the Candy Man a hug. I realize I feel that way every time I eat Smarties, a Tootsie Roll, or a starlight mint, too. I hope he knew how appreciative we were, even in our childish ignorance, and maybe that's why he kept handing out treats after his wife was gone.
Thanks, Mr. M.
The Candy Man was a favorite with the kids and even some of the adults because, before and after every church service, he would be waiting in to drop one roll of Smarties and one Tootsie Roll Midgee into each set of waiting hands. The Candy Man walked with a cane for as long as I can remember. His back was arched and his suit coat used to fit him better, you could tell. Maybe the reason it always fell from his torso so poorly was because the pockets were always full of candy for the bright-eyed youngsters who probably didn't need more sugar.
He was dependable in his selection of sweets: Smarties and Tootsie Rolls. If you got lucky, you might get a starlight mint, too. If you were really lucky, you'd get one of those oval caramel things with the powdery-sugar center in the super-crinkly wrappers. You know, those things. All you had to do was hold out your hands. You didn't have to ask, and often we didn't. After the treasure dropped into our hands, we'd dart away in excitement, not remembering our manners to thank him for his continual generosity.
One day, after I was too old for his candy, they said the Candy Man's wife died. Never having seen her, it was hard to miss her, but it seemed the Candy Man moved a little slower after that. His pockets were still full of candy and he still remembered all of our names, even though we'd graduated from our candy-getting routine. He stooped lower and his gaze was farther away than usual. The Candy Man had lost his Sweetness.
I don't remember how old I was when the Candy Man himself passed away, but I'll never forget the man who so selflessly offered treats to my friends and I. Just today, in the breakroom of my big-girl job, I discovered one of those oval caramel things with the powdery-sugar centers in the super-crinkly wrappers. Instantly, I was little again, my hands held high, hoping for some extra sweetness, offering the Candy Man my smile in return before rushing off to devour the spoils.
Sometimes I think I learned more from one old man's generosity that I did from all those hours spent in the pews of church, and I've been wishing, ever since that candy break at work, that I'd said, "Thank you," more often and maybe even thought to give the Candy Man a hug. I realize I feel that way every time I eat Smarties, a Tootsie Roll, or a starlight mint, too. I hope he knew how appreciative we were, even in our childish ignorance, and maybe that's why he kept handing out treats after his wife was gone.
Thanks, Mr. M.
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