“Tomorrow Is Stronger Than Yesterday…”

imagesHola amigos. It has been quite a long time since I have clicked away at my keyboard, much to the annoyance of the dog, and discussed my personal affairs with you. But, here I am, back again, for another go around. There is something indescribably therapeutic about not having a face to express all of my emotions, problems, and innermost thoughts to. Don’t get me wrong, Allister is the best therapist on the planet (and will remain so until I finish school to claim my rightful place atop the pyramid! :P), but the anonymity of posting here, explaining things that I’m not quite brave enough to say aloud is perfect. It’s exactly what I need as I am draped across my armchair, typing this by the light of the antique lamp that has returned home to my grandmother’s house. My mom is here; the powerwashing company and the landscapers are coming tomorrow and I have class so she agreed to babysit them. It’s a bit of a funny thought: my mom, this tiny woman, ordering husky, buff men around as they rip up the plants and trees we simply refused to. Most of the work that needs to be done around here…wait, did I even explain this to you all? I moved into my grandmother’s house in March, as the tenant found a new place of residence (oddly enough, just up the road). The Trust (with a capital T as it contains 3 people of extreme importance) thought having someone remain in the house until it was sold was the best idea, so things don’t go to rot and ruin. So here I sit, eerily reminiscent of when I was a small child, curled up underneath my grandmother’s needlepoint. She would send the needle down, and I would send it back through. That is one of my most favorite memories. I enjoy living here. The independence and solitude is exactly what I wanted. I have the dog, a faithful companion through all of the scary trips to the basement, and Brendan visits only when I ask him. The situation is nice…but. Always hanging over my head is the thought that I am not doing enough. I don’t have a job, and am forced to return home almost every weekend for money. I feel shamed and worthless when I do so, like I was somehow irresponsible in my spending. I usually buy groceries and gas, sometimes paying for the finer things in life, like Starbucks, but only on occasion. It’s just that when I have to bring up money, I feel like Marley from A Christmas Carol, saddled with the chains of my spending habits past. I don’t steal money, I don’t lie about what I buy, but the guilt is still there. Some of it lies in the fact that I am not pulling in my own income. I don’t have a job and have been completely and utterly unsuccessful at being hired either here, or in my hometown. I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong, but it has been consistent throughout my applications. And I am active, in applying. It’s not like I only do it once a year, and then complain the rest of the time that I’m not being hired. I apply to many places and many positions, with no luck. And it ends up reflecting back on me. People think I’m lazy, spoiled and usually, rather pretentious. I try not to care what people think, but in the end, I always do. I see how my classmates look at me with confusion and mild disgust. I know what I look like when I walk in with food, or coffee, and appear to be stuffing my face. I can feel all of that and it hurts. It cuts really deep. There’s a girl in my class, for example, and because we sit in opposite corners of the room, our eyes lock pretty often. And the rays of contempt coming off of her are almost palpable. I haven’t ever spoken to her, or attended previous classes with her, but her disdain for me grows with each eye-lock. For some reason, I want nothing more than to be her friend. I want her to like me, to want to be around me, and it has masterfully backfired. That’s always what it comes down to with people. I want to be liked. I want to be that person in someone’s life that truly, and utterly makes a difference. I want to have profound and provocative thoughts that shake people to their core, but instead, I say “like” and “whatever” a lot like I’m some idiot from the Valley. I complain, criticize and am overall judgmental, rather than kind and compassionate. I am a bully. And it hurts me, but I can’t, or rather don’t know how, to change it. I have hurt many people that I love, but am praised for my harsh critiques at the same time. This conversation took a turn that I didn’t think would happen. I was thinking about it almost all day, but didn’t know it shook me this deeply until now. I guess Allister and I need to have a talk. And I won’t be claiming that title from him as soon as I had hoped…