Sorry. -Rachel

don’t let it bring you down it’s only castles burning just find someone who’s turning and you will come around

sorryrachel — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 00:34:38 +0000

I work now and that’s nice. I go to school as well, that’s nice too.

I am still unhappy.

I have no idea what’s going on.

sorryrachel — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 00:23:05 +0000

and I have writers block.

After rereading my last post, I guess there have been some changes in my life. Changes either for better or worse were truly are unpredictable, and very unlike me, so I don’t know how long these things will last.

I like listening to blues. I like to wake up early. I like to make my bed and tidy up my room. I have not talked to one of my close friends since the last weekend in January, she upset me, nothing was ever resolved, this has never happened between us. Dieting and working out has not been hard for me. I am learning Medical Terminology. I have a roommate. When I think about Billy, which is not very often, there is no flip in my stomach. The only thing that’s constant is my fantasy to be skinny, I think it’s going okay.

I guess I have writers block because my own life currently feels very unfamiliar.

“I want to be adored, I gotta be adored.”

sorryrachel — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 02:41:09 +0000

I miss Billy. I miss him. I miss his eyes, his stupid facial hair he grew out for me, his bad attitude, the way he smokes, the way he talks, the tattoo on his back I used to trace with my index while he was still sleeping in the morning. I miss his over-the-top arrogance. I sat in Tiffany’s staring at the door hoping he would walk through it, sit down on the squeaky red diner stool, light one up and ask me what the hell I was doing. Whatever higher mystical power I was pleading to, didn’t come through for me though, and he never came through the door. Tough.

I hate to miss him because I know the feeling is not mutual. When I asked him if he wanted to spend time with me, (as friends, of course) he looked at me like he would rather burst into flames on the spot then to be alone with me for another minute.

This doesn’t really hurt my feelings too badly. I don’t know what I did for him to feel this way. I’m pretty sure I did nothing to deserve it, maybe spending time with me is simply too stressful. I will never know though, because you can be sure I am never calling that man again.

It’s not so bad being alone though, I can be as weird as I want without any questions. I can go to the art museum and meander, read for uninterrupted extensive periods of time, dress like a lunatic because since I’m not connected to anyone’s hand I can not be embarrassing them, drink coffee until my palms are cold, clammy, and shaking because there’s no one to touch, and dream about running away since there is no one here that will be upset with me for leaving.

My mom recently informed me I couldn’t call it running away anymore, she wants me to call it “getting a life”. WHATEVER, Cheryl.

I can do unladylike things like not sit with my knees together and pick my nose. Single life is awesome and familiar. I’m much better at it then being a girlfriend anyway.

Since I have all the time in the world at my disposal until I start massage therapy school in February, I thought I would try my hand at painting something for my main bitch, Maggie. I’ve asked my I Ching book, and Bible-dipped, and paged through my art history books for inspiration, all from which I find I need to make something that will inspire her to pursue her passion for saving the environment. It is difficult because art doesn’t usually strike her fancy or really move her. She doesn’t particularly like being in the environment either, so just doing a landscape piece wouldn’t do the trick. Oh, I also don’t know how to paint, so this is a challenge. But that’s okay.

Last thing I want to say is that I HAVE TO BE SKINNY. So I’ve been on a health kick, kind of, I’ve been touring all the gyms in STL that offer a free trail. It’s been fun, I think I’m going to start going twice a day. Starting tomorrow. I’ve stopped drinking beer so hopefully that will work in my favor.

Yep, being single has been good (besides when I’m lonely and bored). I’ve crossed more things off my January To-Do list then I did in the entire year of 2009! Line em up, Knock em down!

The story of a girl dumped.

sorryrachel — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 20:56:41 +0000

Her head rested on his chest, “I miss this so much.” A tear pulls from her eye, rolls down her face, and escapes to his bare skin where she will wipe it away with her thumb. She imagines she feels his adams apple bob above her head, as if maybe he felt the same way.

It will take her a week to let it go.

Three conversations with him within the week, and she can let it go.

First, grief with the death of something that seemed good and felt right.

Then the attempt to reason with herself not to be hurt because the break up was, reasonable. She is sore from the sudden heartbreak, which, caught her off guard, because she had no idea she cared this much. She thought she kept herself from having deep feelings for him.

She has the first of three key conversations with him in his beat up black truck with cherry red interior. She wrote everything down she wanted to say and titled it “A List of Questions and Statements for …”, then a dozen reasons they shouldn’t be together, and a dozen reasons they were together. She leaves hopeful for a meaningful friendship and a future reunion.

The next day, the insecurity which inevitably comes with being sacked hits her, right in the mouth. Then paranoia, and self doubt. Anger boils in her blood, confusion makes her feel violent, and hostile. She yells at him for the wrong reasons during the second conversation. She will try and fail to break his over confidence, they will tell each other what the other wants to hear. He will tell her that he cares about her, and he doesn’t want to hurt her. He spends the night, and he will hold her like he’s held countless other girls, and she will hold him like she’s never held anyone before.

The third conversation will happen over the phone, it will be less epic then the other two, but more honest and realistic. Rachel will realize how unimportant their relationship was, and what they had will never be again. She will feel calm, not frantic to understand what’s happening between them. Rachel will let it go, she’ll open her arms and what she was clinging on to so tightly will drift way lightly with the snow off the roof tops, and whatever it was they had would be gone.

Rachel finds something in her that seems good and feels right.

The post in which I continue to whine.

sorryrachel — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 01:40:41 +0000

Things I’m thinking about this Christmas, I didn’t think about last Christmas… and never thought I would have to think about:

Wealth – I’m not talking about being bitter the poor economy left 2 presents under the tree for me. We’ve never really had money. I’m talking about my overall life capital continuing to plummet. Concerning Family capital: My mom, brothers, and my own relationship with my dad, has been stale since he asked permission from my mom to have an affair. He’s my dad, I love him, but he’s always been a bad person. My Grandma Rita not being around stings more this year then it did last. Emotional Capital: My mood has been anything but jolly. The winter blues have always got me but it feels much worse when I think about California and the whole entire opportunity I let slip through my fingers. It sucks to go outside, which leaves me s.o.l. when it sucks to be inside. All things adhere to my low spirits. Intellectual capital: My library is charging me large fees for a book I turned in extraordinarily late, I have no money to purchase books. I spent a week or so watching every single episode of the O.C.. I have no money to for school which leads me to my next thought…

Weather I’m going to go to school or not – A thought I never thought I would have thunk. Obviously, judging by my inability to write a grammatically correct sentence I should be enrolled in some sort of academic establishment next semester, but alas, I am not, for I have no money. The black hole of hopelessness widens!

Wondering if Aunt Flow will make an appearance for the holidays – oh she will, but it’s only of a matter of when because I fear I will hurt many more feelings if the PMS Monster stays any longer. I also would like to have further confirmation I’m not pregnant as well. A fear I never had until this year which leads me to my next thought…

My boyfriend – I have no complaints about my boyfriend except at some point things are going to crash and burn, I feel it in my bones. I know it sounds wrong, but my feelings for him are growing and I don’t think I like it.

Taylor Swift – …. What? Don’t judge me!

Things I’m thinking about, I thought about last Christmas, and I probably will always think about:

Loosing weight

Harry Potter

I’m alive and healthy, so are my friends and family. I should be ashamed for wanting more.

Life as a Deadbeat

sorryrachel — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 16:21:58 +0000

Last time I posted something it was the beginning of June, which in fact, was the last time I did anything worthwhile. With all of my ambitions currently shattered I have nothing better to do but spend all of my time with my boyfriend-thing. Which makes me feel, well, pathetic, and guilty since I’m typing this as he lays here next to me sleeping. Gotta love morning breath. We are very, very, hungover.

At least the sun is shinning. It’s been the wettest October since 1837 in St. Louis (no kiddin HA)

When I don’t write something for a while it’s like calling an old friend for the “How’s life?” conversation. I think I go about things the same way, reminiscing about the last time we talked, “oh how things have changed! oh how time flies!”, what’s happening so far today annnd the finally the weather. Then you realize you can’t bull shit your good ol friend any longer and you just have to tell them what’s really going on even though you are ashamed you didn’t have anything better to say about your life because when the how’s life question is asked the second time the answer changes from “fine” to a mental breakdown, hands touch your face, rubbing your forehead, fisting your eyes like a baby, “Life sucks.”

I didn’t go to California. I hate to say this but I blame mom. In the couple of weeks when I was trying to lock in my plans she stopped eating, sleeping, and was really starting to act cuckoo. I thought she would die if I left. I wussed out and couldn’t leave her, I’m sure if I had gone I would have called her everyday, sent her pictures, and assured her I was fine until she eventually came to terms with me being away. I’m sure she would have gotten over it rather quickly. I don’t spend much time thinking about it but once every other day the sentence “You Should Have Went.” drifts down like the leaves from autumn trees. It sits on a brown leaf, and stares at me on the way down until it settles in the mud of my mind. Haha It’s like that fucking money on the Geico commercials, with the fuckin googely eyes.

I also quit both of my jobs, due to the fact they both sucked and I guess I’m too good for both of them. I’m broke.

I enrolled for 3 classes this semester. Fitness center, figure drawing, and photography. Failed, failing, failing. Like I said things are not so good.

One upside though: my previously mentioned boyfriend-thing. I say boyfriend-thing opposed to just boyfriend alone, no ‘thing’ suffix because well, I think with the amount of time we spend together we might as well be uh, in that type of relationship, but there’s a ‘thing’.

Like his wife he is fighting with on the phone right now.

Will edit later, but for sake of having something posted, I’m publishing this now.

“..now I remembered that the real world was wide, and that a varied field of hopes and fears, of sensations and excitements, awaited those who had courage to go forth into its expanse, to seek real knowledge of life amidst its perils… “

sorryrachel — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 18:21:17 +0000

Events – Starting my job at Piccadilly, Cabin Fever, Telling my Dad about City Year

Mood – weary

Thoughts – With working at the office and Pic’s my work days are 13 hours long. Though Pic’s his challenging, the kitchen is hot, the knives extra sharp, the business is booming and when I come home at 11 I’m soaked in dirty dish water and grease from head to toe, it’s rather enjoyable. My coworkers are strange and a bit unconventional, and the owners feel like family. I love seeing all the regulars again, the pace, and constant problem solving. It seems the restaurant is getting well deserved media attention, Pic’s was in St. Louis Magazine, and I’ve seen them on the news on KPLR and KSDK (I think..) multiple times due to their reasonable prices during the recession and for original home cooked meals in unpretentious atmosphere. I’m happy to be back in the midst of their success.

I only felt a little guilty taking off the first weekend to flee to southern Missouri, my friend’s family has a cabin deep in the woods 30 minutes from ANY signs of civilization, pretty far for us city kids. It was built by his great grandparents, and every generation since has added to it, rustic charm oozing out of every wood paneled crack. Us city kids pretended we were country kids, fourwhelling and drinkin by a shallow river. It was the time of my life until a four-wheeler crashed, thank god no one got hurt but the buzz was killed for the rest of the weekend. Boo hoo.

Boo Hoo. My dad came home drunk the Sunday I got back and asked me when I was going to tell him about Americore. I had asked my mom to please not tell him, obviously, she did anyway. The reason I told her not to tell him is because I knew his reaction was going to be callus, and he was going to put me down until I told him I wasn’t going, which wasn’t going to happen, so I knew it would be painful. I was trying to postpone the torture by waiting until I had more of the minute details worked out but mom can’t keep a secret. It was just as bad as I thought it would be.

He told me it was the dumbest decision I’ve ever made, he told me I was a big disappointment, that I was stupid, I was going to be killed, that I was fruitless, fickle and flaky (not in that order), I was too selfish to want to help anyone and the only reason I was going was to see California, and that I was going to hang out with the gangs of east LA.

After my dad stepped down from his soapbox and dismissed me I used the excuse to return movies to leave the house because I didn’t want to my dad to think I was upset, and I didn’t want him to see me blubber which is what I wanted to do. Kyle is my favorite person, his character is allot like my dad’s but he’s a better more intelligent person and he gives me attention unlike my dad, he works at family video and happened to be working when I came in. I told him the story and he simply said “I think he’s wrong.” and the clouds part, the sun comes out and the situation is no longer so tragic.

I have nowhere to live in California, no means of getting there, and no idea what to expect if and when I get there. My car with expired plates keeps getting tickets and sucks away my paychecks. Everything is so out of place I can’t blame my parents for being freaked out. All I know is it all feels right.

Desk Job vs. Manuel Labor

sorryrachel — Fri, 22 May 2009 18:24:52 +0000

In the last two weeks I have the pleasure of experiencing a little bit of both. Last week it was renovating my room, which although I was not getting paid, I was waking up and painting/cleaning/dry walling/taking too many trips to Lowes. My hands and legs bore scratches and bruises, cuts and bumps, and there was Kilz in my hair. I didn’t shower every morning, I was constantly sore, and the room was smoldering hot. It was exhausting but at the end of the day a cold beer never tasted so good.

I had to stop renovating for my real job, the one I get paid for, my internship in an office for a website. I sit at a computer all day, 9 to 5 that is, and there is little stress. My coworkers are smart, kind, and funny, but naturally, they are enthralled in their own work, and since I am the intern, I don’t get much attention beyond ‘Hi. How are you’. It’s ok though, because I absolutely hate small talk. I try and fail every time to be a normal person with an interesting life. To be appropriately dressed I need to shower everyday and put on a little bit of makeup to hide my enormous pores and the lovely inherited bags under my eyes. Oh, I also have to put on business clothes, which – because I’ve gained so much weight and because I am completely broke – is close to torture. I’m sorry to admit that I’ve already pulled the wear and return trick at Target.

Even though the internship contributes to potential success in career endeavors it is a great deal less rewarding then the manual labor. Oddly there is less interaction with other people, even though I’m in close quarters with more people at my desk job. When I was working on the room I was constantly talking to different people for advice, or help, and often receiving praise for my hard work. In the office, I am much more isolated, until lunch hour and writing this blog is the most mentally stimulating thing I’ve done since I’ve been back this week.

I am a firm believer in balance but if I had to choose, with all money considerations aside, I’d say manual labor, such as renovating, would be the winning choice occupation.

Accepted

sorryrachel — Sun, 17 May 2009 23:52:54 +0000

I got accepted into the City Year Program for the Americorps. The first time my mom has heard anything about it was yesterday. Her first reaction was, “It seems you’ve thought this through. It’s scary you going so far away but it’s a big world and it’s just California.” This was not what I was expecting from her but it was nice to see that she understood. When I came home later she started on with the reaction I thought she would initially have.”You need to grow up more, learn to support yourself. Blah Blah Blah You need to wait a year”

sorryrachel — Sun, 10 May 2009 08:02:59 +0000

Third day working on the room. Things that should be saved are things that shouldn’t or if any doubt shouldn’t is scrapped. After many filled trashbags all that’s left is a mattress, bookshelf and the dust left behind.

Tired and satisfied.

The room seems to be moving along, whether my mom wants accept it or not. I think she’s upset I’m doing something about my not wanting to live in a shit hole any longer.