Some days. . . .

It pains me to complain (no it doesn't) but some days I really wonder what the hell I'm doing.
Working at a place for $8.74 an hour that will not guarantee me any sort of regular schedule or even **begin** to give
me any sort of priority when it comes to holidays and family sickness. . . . JUST so we can have health coverage.

The tradeoff is of course, being insured, having disability insurance, having a 401k and stock options (that are unfortunately both in the CRAPPER) free coffee, and little to no stress from the job itself.

I miss out on a lot. It's annoying.

And what's more annoying is that a national healthcare program would alleviate my need to go outside the home to find employment and leave me with tons more time to do the things I would love to do for a living (sell stuff on etsy, teach piano or violin, teach childbirth education classes, be a doula, and of course write). I'm not complaining about having to work, I really need to be able to, for myself and the family, but sometimes I feel as though I'm trapped in this ridiculous (often dramatic) retail workplace dead-end.

Many days I feel like giving UPS a call (weekends and holidays off).

If I don't get Thanksgiving off I am going to literally set fire to something. Like a starbucks cup.

Political Bluntness.

You know what really gets me? This whole "JOE SIXPACK" and "JOE THE PLUMBER" bullshizz that's being touted by McCain and Palin and how they're trying to make us all believe that they've got JOE'S interests at heart.

If this were true, I think there would be a lot fewer tax breaks for the BILLIONAIRES of this country. They are about as far away from JOE as you can get. At least qualify it truthfully: HERE IS OUR PLAN FOR THE PEOPLE THAT MATTER (billionaires) and then, JOE, you get a few perks thrown in too, in the end. We'll throw a small bone to you to make your forget about the trillions you and your children will be paying for this ridiculous POINTLESS war that no one wanted.

Also, never forget that the terrorists are lurking behind every corner. They want to take over this country. They want to kill Christianity and they HATE FREEDOM so you and your family will NEVER be safe unless a republican personally is in charge. This is where JOE comes in. JOE will be recruited to go and bomb the terrorist harboring countries and then get denied medical coverage when he comes back home with a busted skull. The other Joe, the BILLIONAIRE Joe will be okay paying for his once-every-five years colonoscopy and a few hits of viagra but the REAL Joe is up Tut-creek.

WAKE UP, JOE.

In other news. . .

I have decided to go ahead and go public supporting Barack Obama for President. Not that this has been a secret until now, but being ever so diplomatic. . . .I kind of stayed mum on it for a long time. The debate last night, or the little I saw of it made me excited enough to shout it to the world from the top of someplace very high. . . .this man is the answer.

Gloomy

Ugh. Things around here and in general (outside of here) have been really foul. I hope the universe rights itself soon. Without going into too much detail I'll just say that there has been pressure for Matt at work (out of no where) and a lot of weird stress. The kids have been off and it's something I don't have a lot of patience for. My hair is at least fixed, so that isn't a contributing factor anymore (and if it were I probably would have been certifiably insane by now) but I'm having annoying skin breakouts.

blah, blah, blah. These things are minor, but they add up. I HATE being in a worrysome state of mind. I hate not just having my normal flow around here, at work, and in general. I am trying to just maintain this sense of normalcy in the face of unpleasantries, but it's hard sometimes. The kids actually are helpful to me in this situation because they seem so carefree (for the most part) and accepting.

I always remind myself that if worse comes to worse, I would be absolutely fine with packing up, moving back to Olivia and working for the newspaper or something, and having a house payment for about half the amount that we're dealing with now. Safe schools, safe neighborhoods, and so much less busy stuff. I've wondered many times if it would be better to live in Olivia with a Minneapolis sort of perspective or to live in Minneapolis with an Olivia perspective. I don't think I have to verbalize which of these are the easier option, but some days I really think the alternate is the better one (for us).

I am enjoying the few little creative outlets I've been allowing myself lately, reading, writing, reading about writing, doing my pitfall cross stitch, blogging, keeping track of my blogs (!) and conceptualizing a new little pitfall project (felt landscape). If I didn't have to worry about family health insurance I would totally get a job and JoAnn and do little art projects, scrapbook, and do a total craft-y blog in addition to my others. In the future, and as they get finished, I plan on posting my completed projects on here and also putting downloads of the cross stitch patterns on too, in case anyone else out there thinks they might want to cross stitch themselves a nice little piece of atari art history.

The writing thing is really haphazard and not at all organized. I started the short story "Friends in her Pockets" last week and had a total overhaul in terms of the way the story goes and is told. All I've had time to do is an outline and a page and a half of crap. Getting time to mess with this is difficult but it at least gives me the feeling like I've taken so long thinking about it, sorting through it, and rewriting it over and over in my head that I don't think that any of these ideas I have are random whims anymore. Inside Republica Airlines is the (I guess) beginning of a novel I started as a screenplay when I was in school in 2003. This spring I revisited it and decided I wanted to flesh it out into a bigger, grander story and started writing it that way. I hit a wall this summer and had to reorganized some things, eliminate others, but I am starting to get excited about it again. Of course this is a very self-centered mapping of events much like the ones I experienced at Northwest Airlines, but a story worth telling, I think.

This is all the time I'll get. . . naps and chaos!

Lustful.

Foul.

The last few days have been wretched. My own disgust over what has turned out to be the worst decision I ever made (haircut from a random) is obviously influencing the way I see the world. What has me the most stressed is through this, I have to admit to myself that the way I look, physically, affects the way I feel about myself. Or in other words, appearances DO matter. I feel like every time I see the way I look in a window or mirror I seriously want to scream and/or pull a Britney Spears. . . .(un)fortunately there are no electric clippers around. Although a shaved head WOULD be an improvement.

I am very annoyed that I was not smart enough to see or know that a bad outcome would put me into a funk like this, or that I was giving this dude that much power over my self image. Perhaps this is why I need to just grow my hair long so as always to be able to have a ponytail option or bun or at least something non-threatening. Now my only option is to totally get rid of it, the gross bluntness on the sides where the thickness is so ridiculous and bad that it makes me mushroom head. . . . ugh.,

To "deal" with this, and to attempt to solve my own problem (that this is even a problem also annoys me. . . .there are after all starving children on the planet, wars going on, pain and actual suffering, etc.) I have another appointment with Slavka at Macy's tomorrow night. The woman who has been credited with every **decent** haircut I've had since 1998. Please, please, PLEASE let her have some way to fix this.

Also: we witnessed a bus accident on the way home from super targs today. Some dude in a motorized wheelchair **almost** got creamed, but actually got tapped as the bus failed to stop or even slow down until after he started rapidly backing up away from it as he crossed in a crosswalk when he had a green light and the bus should have yielded. He was unhurt, as far as I could tell. . . hopefully he is all right.

The image, by the way, is an accurate representation of the way my hair looks on top of my stem-y neck.

More Bluntness. . .

1. The person who I have referred to in the past as "Casey Fuller" needs to NOT BE IN OUR LIVES ANYMORE. I have about 1020 things I would like to say to this individual but as none of them are pertaining to anything that can be seen as "my business," I just have to sit on it and keep my big yap shut. This is very, VERY difficult.

2. I wrote an email to the insurance ids today, asking about the dratted wood floors. Matt thought this was the wrong move as it would probably encourage LeMaster to just INVENT a bill for the amount since of course there is no way they (insurance ids) are going to just admit, OH YEAH, WE KINDS OF JUST BLEW THAT ONE OFF AND HOPED YOU'D FORGET ABOUT IT. And LeMaster totally already socked you that amount in a bill they said was for other stuff, so I guess we'll just pay LeMaster a second time, me and Bob Smith will split the cash. . . .

Whatevs, we're supposed to sign this stupid form for Duke of Stupes saying we're done faulting him for stuff damaged inside the house. Well, no one ever got back to me about this, and I suppose we need to know if it was handled before we do sign it, so ONCE AGAIN, I am the only one who is on the up-and-up here. I am also the one that tends to this house, raises the 3 (sometimes plus 2 larger adult-size) dependents, and pays the damned bills, WITH THE LEAST AMOUNT OF TIME AND PATIENCE FOR THIS KIND OF CRAP. . . yet I am the one who gets it.

3. Security systems. Ugh. I just can't even believe I have to consider random thugs coming up to a door and banging on it at 2 am, but this is exactly what happened to a Starbucks customer the other night and she ended up calling the cops. I would be super freaked out if this happened, but part of me would seriously want to yell down to the guy, "HEY MAN, THIS IS LIKE, A PRIVATE RESIDENCE!!!" ala The Dude.

4. My hair would be super cute if it looked the way it does when it's wet ALL THE TIME. Each morning I look in the mirror ("Jan, put on your glasses") and think it's going to be okay and HEY I might actually like this. . .but then the wetness becomes dry, the thickness becomes fluffy and big and the mushroom returns. I hate the mushroom. I want to kill the mushroom. The mushroom needs to piss off and get out of my life.