Continue reading “The Power of One: Pedro Zamora and the Real World and Me”
Category: Personal Musings
A Sorta Fairytale
Once upon a time, not very long ago . . . in fact happening right now, there lived a girl (okay, a woman of a certain age range that we will not address here) named Erin the Slothful. Continue reading “A Sorta Fairytale”
From Debt to Shining Debt: Adventures in American Healthcare
I had to make an evening visit to the hospital a few nights ago due to persistent symptoms of gaucheness. Or to put it another way, I was clumsy and hurt myself. I was making myself a salad and cutting up some green leaf lettuce with a fairly new knife. I hadn’t had a new knife set in over a decade so sharp knives are still a bit new to me. I was being a bit quick and careless and I hit my thumb. I laughed at myself after it happened and just tried to get the bleeding to stop. It hurt a little but it wasn’t the first time I’d done that (persistent symptoms of gaucheness) so I wasn’t too alarmed until my thumb didn’t stop bleeding about 20 minutes later. I called my parents to see what the time limit is on when you should call it and just go get stitches – as it turns out the time limit is 20 minutes.
Continue reading “From Debt to Shining Debt: Adventures in American Healthcare”
I Am Mine (Some of the Time)
I was in 7th grade and wearing a new Pearl Jam t-shirt (even though all I knew of Pearl Jam at the time was what I’d heard on MTV). It had a little girl with paper and crayons on the front and on the back it said “9 out of 10 kids prefer crayons to guns.” Super edgy and smart, right? I was so excited to show off my alternativeness (hipsters didn’t have anything on 90’s grunge attitude). No one anything to me about the shirt until I left math class later that morning. We had just been dismissed and were flowing out of the room into a crowded hallway when I heard two guys laughing behind me.
Continue reading “I Am Mine (Some of the Time)”
No Matter What Others Say, Love is Still Love
Continue reading “No Matter What Others Say, Love is Still Love”
Oops, They Did It Again
Two years ago, around the same time this year, I was laid off from my job. I had worked at the same company (albeit in several different roles) for 15 years when it happened. I started when I was 19 and at the time I told myself it was only temporary. Years down the line I was making decent money and had a good house and a nice car. I lived very comfortably even if I wasn’t doing what I thought I wanted to do. I liked the team I was with at the time; we gelled so well and enjoyed working with each other. I wasn’t even thinking of next steps for a career, really. Continue reading “Oops, They Did It Again”
I Wish You Love
So the holidays (or holiDAZE, amirite? Hahahahaha, I’m sorry) are rapidly approaching and in the past I’ve been blessed (#blessed) to have this be a happy, cherished time of the year. I’ll admit right out that I’ve never really celebrated the religious aspects. It’s never been the big draw for me. Continue reading “I Wish You Love”
Justa Hunka, Hunka Burning Rage
I’ve spent most of my life swallowing anger until it fermented into a unique blend of sad, bitter, and isolated – suggested pairings are spoonfuls of Nutella straight from the jar and wearing pajamas for over 24 hours. Continue reading “Justa Hunka, Hunka Burning Rage”
What Is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)
It should come as no surprise to anyone who has read anything I’ve written that I have a regular appointment with a therapist. Well, in one of these recent regularly scheduled appointments I had a bit of a revelation. I am not good at love. I don’t love people the way you should and I don’t let them love me back (don’t make that dirty). I don’t suppose I ever really learned how or tried to learn. Honest, open love requires vulnerability and that is terrifying. So much can go wrong when you open yourself completely to someone. There are so many ways to hurt someone or to get hurt by someone in this world. Continue reading “What Is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)”
Out, Damned Spot!
There’s a spot on my hand. It’s not a mole, I have plenty of those and I know how they look. I had one on the same hand as the spot. It isn’t a freckle either, it’s too weird looking to be a freckle. It isn’t a pockmark or a scar or a scab. I know exactly what it is. There isn’t enough denial in me to pretend. I could scrub but it would still be there and even if I scrubbed it off my skin I would still know that spot existed on me. And this damned spot is a problem that won’t let me be. Continue reading “Out, Damned Spot!”