I was going to call this "Revelations" but I thought that might seem offensive but now I can't think of anything else

This week has been a week of discoveries.  I have discovered what I think is a good strategy for advancing my writing career.  I even discovered a way to avoid a significantly awkward aspect of my job at TJ Maxx!

The worst part about working at my TJ Maxx is the men’s fitting room.  Dun dun dunnnnn.  But seriously.  By “men’s fitting room” the TJX Corporation means three ghetto closets closed by black doors with shuttered fronts.  God knows what they were thinking there.  They also have stiff locks and an annoying door bell noise that confuses our pigeon-like customers.

Two of out the three stalls in the men’s fitting room are pretty much the most thoughtlessly-designed spaces taking up less than sixteen square feet I’ve ever come across.  I don’t know exactly what that tells you.  I’m saying this because these two previously-mentioned heavy doors open inwards.  Instead of opening towards the outside so I can happily present the customer to his luxurious changing station. 

For the last five years, I’ve had to hold the burdensome door open at an awkward angle to be as far away from the customer as possible when he squeezed by me.  Often narrowly avoiding a breast swipe. Not for lack of trying on their part.  In case you wouldn’t have guessed, I don’t want to be within five feet- let alone one foot- of most of these men.  A lot of them smell funny.  More than that don’t understand that I’m contractually obligated to say hi and be friendly; and I am not, in fact, flirting with them.

My solution is to utilize another flaw of these fitting rooms to let them in.  Despite their ridiculous weight, the doors don’t close on their own.  Unless you slam them shut, they stay ajar.  So I realized I can just unlock the door and let the men push it open for themselves.  Hurray!  My bubble can remain intact.

This probably seems like a lame ending after all that verbose build-up, but it’s the little victories.

Now, on to important things.  My career.

I’ve decided I’m going to think of myself as a writer.  As in a professional.  To think of it as my job.  That’s it.  I feel mentality is important.

This may seem silly and obvious.  Not a solution, really. 

But I’ve never actually had that mindset before. 

In college, school work and my extracurriculars formed my job.  I sat in the library or a café or my house/dorm and did my work.  Of course it didn’t always feel like work.  It felt like fun.  Maybe this mentality is just an expression of my love for my college life.

But I got a similar feeling Tuesday when I was sitting in Barnes and Noble working on a music review.  It felt almost like I was working on an essay or a story back in the good old days. (What has my life come to when I miss homework?)  Then, it all hit me.  Not thinking of myself as a career writer is holding me back.  Just because I love it doesn’t mean it can’t be work.  I just have to sit down and do it.

So I’m going to.  Writing is now my third job.  Maintaining this blog is part of that position.  Maintaining my new portfolio page too.  And it feels good.  I feel more motivated to work on my short stories every week.  To seek out freelance assignments.  I’m very optimistic.  And I’ll post links to my new sites later.

Are You Afraid of the Dark? ...Apparently

So while I love nighttime and the dark, lately I’ve been stricken by this crippling fear.  Every night, as I’m getting ready for bed, I get this anxiety that there’s a murderer lurking in the darkness.  My tactic for dealing with this has been to jump into my bed and pull the covers over my head like a 5 year old.  Obviously, this will allow me to evade even the most insidious serial killer.  Maybe I need a therapist to help me get to the root of these issues.

(Insert picture of Brian Peppers here.  I was going to literally put one here but I google image searched him and I just can't.)

Last night, my plans were thwarted because after barricading myself in my room, (read here: closing my bedroom door) I realized that I forgot to look at my work schedule.  I could have possibly had work the next day, so I couldn’t rest until I double-checked.  This meant that I had to brave the horrifying downstairs of my house.  I turned on every possible light that I could as I went.  I looked around every corner for intruders.  Finally, I made it safely up to my room again.  Relieved, I could go to sleep in peace knowing I didn’t have to get up in the morning for work.

Then, I looked at my bed and realized I had forgotten my sheets in the dryer.  Meaning yet another perilous journey into the darkness lay ahead of me.  I would also have to venture into the basement.  Where obviously that baby monster from American Horror Story was living.

You think I would have learned by now that cleaning is not worth the aggravation.  The dusting and vacuuming I did a week ago have also disturbed the apparent throng of spiders who have chosen to take up residence in my bedroom.  Seriously, the other night, I was sitting in bed with my laptop, waiting for my genius to spark some inspiration for my new story, when Aragog fell from the ceiling onto my keyboard.  He then proceeded to crawl away somewhere into the depths of my comforter.  I had to sleep on the couch that night.  So now before I shut out my light for bed, I not only have to check my room for murderers but for spiders.

One thing I’ve been trying to do to allay my terror is make a joke out of it inside my own head.  There was this one episode of Full House when the girls watched a scary movie or something and couldn’t sleep.  To make them feel better, Uncle Joey acted out a skit where he was the monster’s mother.  This made the girls laugh.  Their fears seemed ridiculous.

This is a fairly successful strategy.  I made up phony headlines for the Townsend Times as I quickly grabbed my covers from the dryer.  “Local Youth Murdered in Basement.  If Only She Had Remembered The Sheets Earlier.”  It helped a little.  And since I’ve lived to tell the tale, I’m clearly fine. 

As I said, normally I love nighttime.  It’s odd- I’m more scared walking around my house in Townsend than I am jaunting around Boston at 1 am.

I forgot to mention in my last post, Jon and I even took a candlelit ghost tour of Salem last Friday.  I wasn’t scared at all.  This probably had something to do with the fact that we were both still drunk.  Also, the tour guide girl kept apologizing for how lame it was.  We loved her.

Plus, I was too distracted with drunk texting my ex.  *Face Palm* That was great.  To steal a line from my friend Brian, no one ever looks at a drunk text after sobering up and says, “Wow, I sounded awesome.  I should do that more often.”

So yes, nighttime is host to the weird and wonderful.  Hopefully, I can get over my irrational fears and enjoy it in its entirety once more.

The Return

Supreme and glorious failure on my part to get this blog started.  After my first post, I got a job and a boyfriend.  That explains that.  Whelp my boyfriend broke up with me, and now, while I love my job, I’m trying to get my writing out there.  This is my naïve way of doing that.  It’s a start.  Anyway, I like the name of this blog, so I’m sticking with it.

At my new job, I work at a private school for special needs children.  I’m sort of a homeroom teacher/ paraprofessional…it’s hard to explain since this school’s program and schedule aren’t typical.  These aren’t your typical special needs kids either.  Most of them are cognitively higher than you’d expect.  They’re mainly emotionally disturbed with behavioral problems.  They are great kids, for the most part.  They make for some funny stories.  And some occasions where I want to slam my head against the wall.  Or run for the door.  More to come on this later.  I love my job.  It surprises me how fulfilling and fun I find it.

The more acute reader may say to him/herself, It’s summer.  What’s she been doing these past couple months?  Or maybe you weren’t thinking that at all.  Well to answer your question, I’ve been working at TJ Maxx to make ends meet.  Living the dream, being appreciated for the intellectual that I am.  Although I did just get a promotion, so that’s nice.

I've been spending my free time frolicking around any intriguing location I can reach with $50 or less.  And occasionally getting inappropriately drunk in public. (Don’t worry- I do NOT drink and drive.)  This Friday, for example, my friend Jon and I went to Salem, MA.  We met a witch named Onyx.  She’s a high priestess of the Wiccan faith.

Not what she looked like.  Although she was wearing a stereotypical black dress. 

We had an incredibly illuminating and not entirely sober discussion about life, religion, and Wicca.  After having a few delicious beers at this cool café, Gulu Gulu, (my favorite tasted like liquid pumpkin bread!) we headed across the street to a witchcraft store.  The store featured items like wolf’s hair and love-inspiring incense.  Upon entering the store, we immediately connected with her.  Our lowered inhibitory functions had absolutely nothing to do with it.    

Onyx explained that Wiccans believe in Mother Earth and that all women are goddesses.  (I am probably getting this horribly and offensively wrong.)  I went on a short drunken rant on how the fear and disapproval of Wicca prevail because of a hatred of women.  What else would happen? 

We also discovered that Wicca is very gay friendly.  Which is cool because I’m bi and Jon is gay.  Not that we’re planning on converting.  This discovery came about when Onyx shared with us that she has two gay sons.  Literally two minutes later, one of them showed up out of the blue wearing a red shirt, red jeans, and an excessive amount of gold jewelry.

They were an amazing mother and son pair.  They invited across the street to chat while they smoked cigarettes.  After, Jon and I stumbled down the cobblestone streets with Onyx’s son whose name I can’t remember.  The highlight was our drunk/drunk/sober/sober conversation with a Green Peace representative.  I don’t even think she noticed that we didn’t sign up or donate or anything.  The inebriation might have had something to do with this. 

Generally, Jon and I wreaked havoc through Salem.  Then, I picked up a guy while waiting for the commuter rail.  Well done, me.

Well I can’t think of a satisfying summary for that anecdote.  I guess remember to tune in next week for more adventures in my awkwardly fabulous life in East Jesus Nowhere, America.  My plan is to do a new post weekly from now on.  We’ll see how that goes.