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Friday, April 21, 2006


I've been thinking a lot lately about happiness. As in, what makes me happy and what doesn't? And how often do those things change? And if I'm unhappy, why? And what can I do about it aside from being very destructive (what's wrong with a little destruction?) in some way in order to make myself feel something other than this pervasive angst that has been slithering around in my brain for some time now, coloring everything that used to make me happy this weird darkish conglomeration of colors rather than the usual happy, positive (and brightly colored) me-ness that used to exist (and still does, she's re-emerging slowly)?

See, now that I'm on the other side of the Funk of '06, I am looking back and analyzing the hell out of it in order to find some purpose and learn from everything that was involved.

In my contemplation I'm realizing that my recent walk down the path of frustration/apathy/irritation/anger (and many other screwy emotions contributing to my general funkiness) has one real root cause.

This town sucks. It sucks so hard that I can feel it on my skin when I wake up in the mornings. And after work when I run. And especially in the summer when the humidity is so horrible you sweat as soon as you step out of your cold shower, and again when you open the door if you dare to leave the house.

This is the kind of place that verbally calls you out if you're different, instead of embracing the "live and let live" ideology. And ya'll, I might be southern in that I love sweet tea and a good BBQ joint, and I use my accent to get what I want in places where southerners are rare, but philosophically I have very little in common with your typical southerner. The people here will stop you in the grocery store parking lot after seeing the Kerry sticker on your hybrid and ask why you voted for "that baby killer". I shit you not. Twice this has happened to me. TWICE. I've also almost been the victim of vehicular homicide by some jackass in a huge truck he doesn't need (clearly making up for something, no?) with his W stickers on the front AND back shouting obscenities at me (through his good teeth) and giving me the finger. So. Much. Class.

Clearly, I do not fit in, nor am I really welcome (totally fine, I could so care less). So all efforts outside of work are to get 1.) a job elsewhere 2.) a place to live, again elsewhere and 3.) to get myself back to school and become someone who makes a difference in this fucked up world. Being an office manager does not cut it for me. It pays the bills nicely, but otherwise, I don't think about it much. Other than some days it challenges my will to live, but I think that's probably true for everyone.

So what can I do in the meantime to please the part of my soul that is screaming for some sense of a peaceful revolution?

1.) Paint my toenails. Mmm hot pink.

2.) Go black. You know what they say...

So black it's almost blue, though you can't tell so much here.

3.) Eyebrow maintenance.

This is all superficial, however, and only barely scratches the surface of what I need, but it's a start.

Lots of reading, writing, resume revising, running and knitting are on the way to fill my brain and make me feel useful and like I'm progressing toward something relevant and meaningful. My school options are still pretty open. I'll either check out some creative writing classes (put my Journalism degree to use maybe?), get certified to teach, or go to some technical school and get a nursing or radiology degree. I always loved the medical fields but was too afraid I'd kill someone. Same with teaching or having kids...surely I will screw their lives beyond repair. But after living here, I see that they could do MUCH worse than me, so I'm reconsidering.

I'm also letting The Cure, the White Stripes, and Tori Amos have their way with me today, and that sort of orgy always leads to good things.