Comparison is the thief of sanity

I swear I’m the only one.

Everyone else seems to be able to get ready in the morning, or at least not wear the same sweats for the fifth day in a row. Everyone else seems to be able to brush their teeth in the morning.

Everyone else seems to be able to keep their house clean, or at least get themselves to do chores, or get other shit done that needs to be done.

Everyone else seems to be able to get themselves to work out. Go for a six mile run while pushing the stroller. Go for a bike ride. Leave the house at all.

Everyone else seems to get time to themselves. Has scheduled time to themselves. Does productive shit when they have time to themselves.

Everyone else seems to sleep through the night. They’ve been sleeping like there’s not a baby in their house since said baby was a month old. They don’t need to nap during the day because they get plenty of sleep while baby sleeps a 12 hour stretch.

Everyone else seems to be able to just set their baby down in their crib, wide awake, walk away, say goodnight, shut the door behind them, and then enjoy hours of alone time or partner time before their own bedtime. It doesn’t take them an hour to rock and nurse their baby to sleep, and then have at least one failed attempt at putting baby down in the crib, starting the process all over. Then in the morning, THEY wake up their baby.

Everyone else seems to have healthy and meal-planned meals three times a day with two perfect snacks for their baby/toddler. The baby/toddler eats it all and hasn’t been on the boob all day and doesn’t throw anything on the floor.

Everyone else seems to have taught their one-year-old not just words, but ASL. They only allow them 30 seconds of screen time a week.

Everyone else seems to have help. Or a village. Parents in town. In-laws in town. In the state.

Everyone else seems to not give a shit about the pandemic or social distancing or masks.

Everyone else. Everyone else.


I’m silently crying, rocking my baby to sleep for the second time tonight because he woke up 30 minutes after I put him down after he only took one one-hour nap today, after he barely seemed to eat any of his meals yet nursed every other ten minutes for the 477th day in a row, after he woke up at 530am again even though he went to bed at 830 or 9pm last night, after he slept in bed with us for the fourth month in a row.

Not that I’m complaining.

I’m just thinking that I can’t be as alone as I feel.

Someone Wants Me

After upwards of 400 job applications submitted from the East Coast to the West Coast and the No Coast in between, finally someone wants me.

It took until the interview process to realize how much I actually want/need a job. I mean, I knew I needed one, but it wasn’t until something actually seemed promising that I felt that drive again.

I’ve loved the jobs I’ve had. And I haven’t had many. I started at Goodwill when I was 16 and worked there for almost four years, then at a car dealership for almost four years, then at NP Dodge for a year. Then London for three months while I finished my masters, followed by a couple years of unemployment and self-employment.

When the Target opportunity came up, it reminded me of the NP Dodge opportunity. When I was desperately trying to get away from the car dealership, I saw an opening for an escrow officer at NP Dodge and had no idea what that word even meant. I knew I fit most of the requirements and I knew that I was a quick learner, so I went ahead and applied on a whim. Much to my surprise, I was called in for an interview. I remember exactly what I wore. I had a great time in the interview and was told that they had a few others to do, so I should hear at some point. I went home and took a nap and was woken from that nap with a phone call: a job offer.

I ended up absolutely loving escrow and real estate. And I really excelled at it. After a few months, I was promoted to a salaried position and had a junior officer working under me. Soon after that, I was handling all of the REOs and FSBOs. It really killed me to leave. I know I wrote about it in here somewhere. It really did. I should have gone back, actually, after finishing my masters. I was just so sure that I’d land the perfect job in social media somewhere in New York.

Until I didn’t. I had quick-links at the top of my browser for HBO jobs, BBC jobs, BBC America jobs, AMC jobs, NBC jobs, ABC jobs, Discovery jobs, Time Warner jobs; pretty much every major network. I was on LinkedIn for hours every day scrolling through page after page of social media manager jobs and the like. I realized quickly that with the SM manager positions, they required anywhere from 1-5 years of experience. I applied anyway, but it was just one meme after another.

I had limited myself to the coasts, so I started pulling in from each direction. Okay, no one in New York or California wants me, maybe something in Connecticut or Washington? Okay, no one there, so maybe Colorado or Chicago? On top of that, I had started applying for whatever job was available at the places I actually wanted to work (the networks). Got a receptionist job open? Okay, hire me. Someone needed in the mail room? I’ll do it. Finally, I was applying for the same thing in Omaha, wondering if I’d ever be able to do anything remotely like I had dreamed.

When I moved to Minnesota with Andrew, I started looking around at anything surrounding me to see what kind of jobs were available. Lo and behold, the same IT/nursing jobs that were in Omaha were up here, too. i.e. nothing for which I was qualified. I found some social media or otherwise media-related positions open, but either I didn’t have the experience (cue the memes) or I just didn’t get the job in the end.

I’m sure I’ve said it before, but just in case I haven’t: I know how extremely blessed and fortunate I am to having been able to support myself off of my savings/trust for so long whilst looking for a job. I wouldn’t have been able to do it, much like much else, without my grandparents having the foresight and ability to create such a thing. I think it also enabled me to not search as frantically, and it definitely allowed me to hold out for the right job. Even when I panicked and got anxiety about my dwindling savings, I knew I had at least another year, if I so needed. But then it’d be gone, and what would my grandparents say, if they could?

So in the midst of another mild panic attack regarding just that topic, I decided to see if there were any openings at this Target Express down the street. Yes, Target Express. Google it. It’s amazing. I’m obsessed with it. I’m possessive over it. I need one like, in my apartment. Anyway, there was a Team Lead position open. My first thought was, oh I don’t have any leadership experience – thinking, I’ve never had the title of ‘manager.’ But like the escrow officer situation, I did meet the other requirements, so I submitted an application.

Two days later, I got a call about coming in for an interview. That interview was life-changing, no joke. The woman I met with just totally turned my view around: I had loads of leadership experience, I had led many people and many situations. She told me to be confident in that. She even said that I was phenomenal. I can say with 100% certainty that I’ve never gotten that compliment in my life. I walked out of that interview with my head held so high. And I actually had hope again. I didn’t even realize just how hopeless I’d become until she gave some hope back to me. I doubt very much I’ll ever have an interview quite like that again.

After that, I interviewed with that woman’s mentor, who has been with Target for as long as I’ve been on Earth. Then I got to move on to the next one, and the next one, and suddenly, I’m at the First Ever Target to make sure I will be a good fit. When the store leader of THE Target said she’d love to have me as part of her team, I legit got choked up right there in her office. Someone actually wants me. Someone actually sees value in me. Someone thinks I’d be a good addition to their team, their company. It had been so long.

I walked straight out onto the sales floor and bought a few pairs of khakis and a few red shirts.

My goal is to not only sail through training and rise in the ranks, but to hopefully express just how thankful and honored I truly am for this opportunity. I know I expressed in each interview just how much of a Target fangirl I am, but I mean, I’m actually sitting here in tears just writing this up.

Who knows what this opportunity has in store for me. And Andrew. And for us. I mean, this is going to help us with our goal to find a house in another year or so. This is going to save us so much money on groceries and everything else we need. Personally, this is going to give me something to do. Something to get me out of the house. Something to feel like I’m part of the human race again. I have worth again. I can get rid of the guilt I’ve felt for depleting my trust. Hell, I can better serve the purposes of Far From Everything Films. Just.. so many good things.

Oh, one of my favorite parts: I had forgotten to take my lip ring out when I was meeting with HR, so I apologized for it. She said, “so what? You can wear that here.”

I have half of my head shaved, gauged ears, and a lip piercing, and all of that is okay. (Here come the tears again). Seriously, it’s never been okay. I had to ask/beg permission to put blue in my hair while I was at Goodwill. I got written up at Woodhouse for forgetting to take out my lip piercing. The head on the stud was stuck and I couldn’t get it off without greasy pliers from the service department, cutting up my lip in the process. I couldn’t wear it at NP Dodge either. Nor do I remember having any sort of wild hair along the way.

Now it’s okay. Now I’m okay just as I am. Not like these things make me who I am, but they are part of me. And they’re okay. What a relief.

This whole situation is such a relief. Finally, someone wants me. Target wants me. And Target wants me for me.



Speaking of someone wanting me, I’m also blessed to have a partner who wants me, and wants me for me. In spite of the fact that I worry too much and I’m a shit and I’m petty and I hardly ever put any effort into my appearance (subject to change with impending job) and I never help with the dishes and leave hair in the shower and otherwise leave the house a mess and whine when he stays at work late and whine just a lot of the time, probably, and make the occasional comment about wanting a ring and a baby and a house and an additional dog (or four) and all these other things, he seems to love me and even like me.

I’d quote a bunch of Sara Bareilles lyrics now, but I’ve already wept enough during this post.

It’s February First

In case you hadn’t checked the date yet today.

To me, it feels more like New Years Day than New Years Day did.

The beginning of the year was packed with traveling and Christmas and more traveling and more Christmas… and more traveling and more Christmas… and then one more traveling to get home. We ate and ate and ate and ate some more, and slept like shit on an air mattress and a full-sized bed.

On top of all that, I had finally received the demand letter which was to go to the drunk driver’s insurance company so we can finally settle this damn thing. I learned that he had gotten picked up while driving under revocation and I think I laughed for about an hour. I could have bet anyone any amount of money that he would have done that and I would have won whatever amount of money I had bet. Some people just don’t learn. I had typed up an entry ten days after his sentencing a year ago about how I desperately hoped that he had gotten the wake-up call he needed and that every day since the accident had been filled with reevaluation and change.

Guess not. Idiot.

The days after traveling were filled with sleep, laziness, Fallout 4, and more laziness. It was amazing. Andrew was off of work, waiting to start his new job, so we got to actually spend time together. Even though, toward the end, he started getting cabin fever, I was so damn happy to have him home. We hadn’t gotten that kind of time together since… I don’t know when. It was a nice prize after suffering through his shitty Pac Sun hours.

Then, as he was about to start his new job at Target, I decided to check out the Target site for any openings. There’s a Target Express just right down the street that I’m obsessed with, and they happened to have a Team Lead position available. I applied, even though I had never been in a management position. A day or two later, I got a call to set up an interview.

Since then, I’ve had two additional interviews, and I’m just waiting on pins and needles for The Call. Whatever the decision may be. I’m always a hopeful, err-on-the-side-of-positive person, and I feel like I’ve got the job already. It’s one of those things where I went into it thinking, ‘this would be great, I love Target, I could probably do this job’ and since that first interview, I know this is the job I should have, it’s the job I deserve, and it’s the job at which I’m going to excel.

Then again, I may not get it. Maybe it’s not the right time, maybe it’s not the right any-number-of-things.

We’ll see.

Still doing film production, as if I could give that up. Brentwood Strangler, the short we produced, has won a few film festival awards, and we’re to be filming our first feature film this spring/summer in Australia. I’m so excited to head back to Oz and see my twins! 2016 is really shaping up to be a good year so far.

Also, in the mean time, since all the travel and eating, I’ve changed my diet; I lost the six or so pounds I gained over the holidays, putting me back to where I started. Today, I’m starting the AdvoCare 24 Day Challenge and a five-day workout split. I’ve got a renewed sense of, I don’t know, purpose? I guess? I’ve been visualizing myself doing these lifts and taking progress pictures and, much like with the Target job, I just feel like I’ve already accomplished what I set out to do.

I’m going to be twenty-eight this year. [Jesus]. It’s time I embrace being an adult and take care of what needs care. My body, my mind, my bank account. I got a nice little preparatory month and now the real shit is going to go down. It’s February First and the New Year is officially underway.

Enough Doors: A Short Story by Nina Friis

Graham knew when he found the house. He knew. He just knew.

Actually, he’d found some sort of house. Some sort of dwelling.

It was a tiny, brick building built into the hillside. He’d practically run into it after struggling out of the ravine.

It was empty. Of inhabitants, anyway. There was a table and stool, some ratty shirts hanging in the open closet, odds and ends and cobwebs everywhere else. He couldn’t see much through the rain-stained, dusty window.

He tried the door. It wasn’t much of a door. It was thick plywood with a lock. No lintel. And no budging it.

There was a garage door. Strange, he thought. That wouldn’t budge either.

He could break it down; he could break it all down. It was a pile of rubbish.

He looked through the window again. This time, he saw one of the shirts rustling in the closet. There must be a breeze coming through the other side.

Graham squinted as he remembered there was no other side. He worried his bottom lip and pushed back from the window. Narrowly missing the railroad tie behind him, he walked up the grass by the side of the house.

He couldn’t quite tell, but nestled among the trees, there appeared to be a large, dark metal shed.

Another locked door and another locked garage door. No windows to peer through this time.

Beside the shed was a gravel road lined with trees. Perhaps he’d found the driveway.

The gravel road led directly to another shed. White. Wooden. The door wedged closed with a log.

The log was easy enough to twist and roll off of the door. It slipped against the worn timber and clunked to the ground.

Graham instinctually looked around, but knew he wouldn’t have roused anyone in the vicinity. There was no one in the vicinity.

He fed his fingers through the opening of the door and pulled it open. After only a few inches, it got caught up on some rocks, the rocks acting like a foyer runner, hindering the door’s ability.

Kicking the rocks away, he was able to incrementally shove the door further and further open.

He coughed on the God-knows-how-many-year’s-worth-of dust and waved his hand in front of his face.

Until now, he’d made his way by what little sight he had and by feel. Now, inside this shed, he fished his mobile out of his pocket.

Graham flicked on the phone’s flashlight with his thumb. He swept the light back and forth slowly, waiting for a reflection of something, anything.

He raised the phone over his head to see into the rafters. Only planks of wood. A few belts, maybe for an old tractor.

He heard the door scrape across the rocks behind him. Fight or flight kicked in immediately, but as soon as he made to face either certain death or certain arrest, the door had stopped moving and remained propped mostly open.

With his heart rate sped up, he decided the shed wasn’t haunted, nor was it worth a heart attack. He gingerly pressed his fingertips to the door, expecting some sort of resistance. It required little at all, in fact, as he exited the old shed.

He looked down at the rocks and noticed that they seemed less rucked up like a rug and more smoothed away. Well, he did that, right? When he had to get the door open in the first place. Yeah. That’s right.

Graham took a deep breath and looked up at the giant Christmas trees that met him. His mobile flashlight was still in use, so he shined it at the tall pines.

It looked like a balcony had been built out of the top of one of them. Clearly not right.

That’s when there was a glint off of some glass.

Lots of glass.

Holy shit, there’s an actual house on this property.

He walked around to the wooden deck behind the trees. It was attached to a two-story house.

He couldn’t see a door, so he walked to his right, following the edge of the concrete foundation.

In the darkness, he could make out the length of an exterior wall that met another wall perpendicularly.

A few steps further revealed another jut of a wing and another deck. The house seemed to wrap around him as he got closer.

Graham turned off his flashlight and followed the line of the house, nearly running straight into an air conditioning unit and then even more nearly off of a retaining wall.

Below the retaining wall was a landing and a door. It was a double-wide door with no window.

This couldn’t be a house. Maybe a business. But the sheds… no, this had to be a house.

Past the door, he came up against the other wing of the house and felt his way along until he reached a corner.

He was under the other deck now, and on yet another landing, there was yet another door. This door was mostly glass, but had the blinds drawn tight.

He dumbly tried the handle. Locked, of course.

To his right, he followed the concrete landing with his eyes and made out the ridge of a step. He peered around the corner to find a winding trail of concrete stairs and an overgrown sidewalk.

He got out his flashlight again and trained it on his path.

It was a low-grade staircase, but fighting the long-dead hostas was treacherous, even with light.

About halfway up, the concrete disappeared altogether. It was completely littered with fallen branches and twigs.

Graham crouched to hold his phone closer to the ground. He walked with flat feet over the limbs, correcting here and there to maintain balance.

Finally out of the thicket, he began to straighten back up. He stretched his back and rolled his shoulders. How long had he been hunched over?

He twisted round and shone the flashlight down the path, seeing only a few steps and then the corner of the house.

It couldn’t be. It looked only about ten meters away.

“Bullshit,” he said aloud to no one, and looked down at the ground in preparation to head back. He had to check again, this time without being so careful.

He was about to take his first step toward verification when he felt a whoosh in front of his face.

He jumped back just as the branch hit the ground loudly.

He looked up, like there was someone up there to yell at about it.

Not wanting to test his luck, he turned around and continued up the path.

Rounding the corner, he ducked beneath the low branches of rotten fruit tree.

River rocks skittered across the sidewalk as he stepped free. He moved his phone to light his surroundings. He seemed to be standing in a yard now. A front yard. Yes, there was an actual driveway past a tree.

This was definitely a house.

Graham followed the rest of the sidewalk that ran in front of it.

It passed a bank of two windows jutting from the siding. Must be a windowseat.

The sidewalk curved around some overgrown landscaping and ended with two names written by finger in the wet cement, long-since dried.

Just past the names was a step to a porch.

Shining his light up at the front door, he noticed an official-looking piece of paper affixed behind the glass.

He stepped up onto the porch and reached for the door handle. Locked, naturally.

He held the light up above the paper and read: VACANT. PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING. LAST INSPECTION: 05/2012.

There was a list of previous inspection dates, like the ones you find in restaurant bathrooms.

It either hadn’t been inspected in over two years, or the inspectors have neglected to mark the sheet.

He expected the former.

Graham looked behind him at the driveway. It was a long driveway. Leading up to a bend in the road: a road that looked as abandoned as the house.

He walked the length of the porch and came to another bank of windows. Another windowseat.

He cupped his hands around his eyes and leant up to the glass.

There was hardly any visibility, of course. And nothing to see, anyway. Some bits of packing materials strewn about on the dark carpet, light tile in the entryway, French doors leading to another room.

He straightened up. There was a step down to the garage door.

He saw a keypad on the door frame. He punched a few buttons and hit the pound key. It beeped at him, but nothing else happened. He knew nothing would.

He turned around and looked at the flat expanse of the driveway before him. An almost-burnt-out streetlight hummed near the end. A lot of help that was providing.

He looked to his left and saw what looked like yet another sidewalk leading around the house.

Graham kept his flashlight in front of him as he went around the corner. He swept the light around and found, “Jesus Christ,” another shed.

He kept walking, ignoring the millionth shed, until he had to round another corner to, “fucking hell,” another deck.

Shaking his head, he took the first step up. The unused wood groaned under his foot.

He paused, one foot on the step and the other just with the toe of his shoe grazing the ground. Slowly, he straightened his leg and brought his other foot to the next step.

Testing it with two heavy presses, he determined that it was sound and hopped quickly up the next two to the top.

He let out a sigh of relief and found a sliding glass door ahead of him. He checked it.


He tried to get a good look through it, but there were thick blinds blocking his view.

He stepped back and walked to the end of the deck. There was a built-in bench that went all the way around. He knelt on it and looked out into the darkness.

He could see the large, metal shed he passed earlier. He thought about it; it seemed like ages ago.

He stood up and sighed. Maybe there’s something interesting in the new shed.

As he turned around, he moved his light to relocate the stairs. As the light passed the glass door, he spotted movement: the blinds were swaying gently.

Graham stared at the blinds moving on their own. Or what must be on their own, because, well, the house is vacant. Or should be.

He stayed frozen there on the deck, light fixed on the blinds, wondering again if he was facing certain death or certain arrest. Or certain insanity.

Finally, he decided that he should probably run. Just in case.

He kept his eyes on the blinds until he shifted the flashlight back toward the stairs for a quick getaway.

This is when he found yet. another. door.

He gaped at it. Just how many goddamn doors and decks and sheds does this property have.

He told himself that everything is locked. It doesn’t matter. He just needs to go. He’s been lucky so far and his luck won’t last forever. He should go.

After he tries this last door.

Graham decided not to take a last glance over at the blinds and just head straight for the door.

Which opened for him.

He stumbled into a pressing darkness. He saw the tiniest sliver of light ahead of him. He was in the garage.

He searched with his phone and found nothing but empty shelves.

And, expectedly, another door.

This one had to be open. Suddenly, his faith was in success and not failure.

He reached out and grasped the handle. He shone his light at the door and a compact, white box caught his eye.

It was a burglar alarm.


There was a little, green light that said, READY.

He lit the box directly and saw that there was a light over the word ARMED that was not glowing.

He worried his top lip, for variety’s sake. If the alarm is hooked up, he can just run right back out the door and back into the woods.

If it’s not, well.

Graham took a deep breath and twisted the doorknob.

It went willingly with his hand.

He hesitated before pushing it open.

Moment of truth.

He let out the held breath and took in another.

He gathered potential energy in his arm and mentally counted to three.

On three, he shoved the door open and jumped back off the step.

There was a momentary panic as he heard a loud, rapid beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.

And then it was silent.

Five beeps. That couldn’t have been the alarm.

He waited a full minute, straining his ears to hear God-knows-what.

And heard nothing.

He realized he’d been breathing incredibly shallowly and took a few relieving gulps of air.

He rolled his eyes at himself and stepped back to the door to the house.

He crossed the threshold and then froze.

It was pitch black.

No Time Passes In Seven Years

Jesus, it’s been seven years since freshman year of college? That’s disgusting.
I went to the University of Evansville my freshman year – I couldn’t even tell you why. Honestly, though, it might be because campus looked old and had character. Little did I know.
Move-in day was 10000000° and my dorm had no air con. I lived on the third floor with no elevators. Feel sorry for me yet?
I had no roommate because my roommate decided to bail – I think she knew something I didn’t. I was looking forward to living alone, though; I didn’t know anyone anyway.
In the little first-day-frenzy, this gal came to my door and said something in a southern accent. I was drenched in sweat and close to tears – super frustrated with the lack of air con, having to carry a ton of shit up the stairs, and probably a bit of fright over being far from home. Instantly, I’m like, fuck, she’s hyper and sociable and is going to wear me out even further.
We ended up sticking close to each other as she didn’t know anyone either. Our dads got to chatting, as they do, and we ended up signing up for all the same classes since we didn’t know what the hell we were doing.
Her roommate was a bimbo and ended up dropping out at semester. I think by then, Steph had essentially started moving into my room. We both hated UE and the people there (especially the snobby, obnoxious theatre kids who ran the dorm). By the end of the year, we were packing up for good and we’d applied for transfers to our respective home universities.
In 2010, Steph came up to Nebraska to visit and just last weekend, after far too long, I drove down to Nashville for the Color Run.
Oh, the drive. Would have made it in eleven hours, but got held up in stop and go traffic for long periods of time. Thank God for Bolero. Seriously, next time you’re stuck in traffic, put that shit on. Makes it a bit more bearable. I got there late Friday night and the run was the next morning.
After about five hours of sleep, I was up and putting on my tutu for the run. It was cold and rainy, but was supposed to let up. It didn’t. As soon as we got there, we bought hoodies. Even with the inclement weather, there were about 20,000 people there. We all got soaked before the run – well, except those who wore ponchos, which I truly didn’t understand.
It was my first color run and it did not disappoint. I loved the color powder, even though it tasted like chalk, and it was nice to walk/jog through downtown Nashville. And over the Cumberland River.
Afterward, we went to Panera in all our colored glory. As soon as I walked in, this little girl gave me a double-take and then tried to surreptitiously get her mom’s attention, all the while maintaining eye contact with me. I smiled at her and I don’t think she knew what to do. I mean, was there something wrong with my face? >

The rest of the days are kind of a blur – we didn’t have much of an agenda, so we just hung out and took it easy. She’s been busy getting her second degree and I’ve been busy doing nothing, so it was nice to do more nothing. We saw her folks – biological and adopted – and I saw where she works now. It was good.
On Monday, we drove to Evansville. I never thought I’d see that campus again. Why would I? But, since It was only a three hour drive…
It was weird. It looked mostly the same (new student union), but it felt completely different. The students seemed nicer, the atmosphere was bright and light; I mean, if we’d have gone to school there now, I think we would have been fine. That being said, I’m glad I’m past all of that.
The most amazing thing about seeing Steph again was just how it seemed like not a day had gone by. I might as well have always been there. We’re not the best at texting or writing, but it was crazy how natural it all was. I guess I shouldn’t be too shocked, it’s the same way with my best friends from elementary school. One lives here, one lives there, we can go weeks without texting, and then when we get together, it’s like we’d just seen each other the day before. I think it’s a testament to true friendship, being able to do that. There’s something to be said about the longevity and depth of it all.
Of course, there have been friends that have fallen away as I have fallen away to others, but I think that’s also becoming an adult. These busy lives we all lead – things take priority and precedence and it ends up taking effort to retain and maintain friendships. So.. to be able to have those friends you know you’ll be able to rely on and turn to, no matter how long it’s been, it’s a real blessing.

This post started out with a point, so I hope I’ve made it. I’ve been trying to get myself to sit down and write for a week and the urge took me while I’m sitting in my car, waiting for my friend.
Speaking of – my friend, Shaun, who is in the navy, got orders to England and he leaves today! I’m simultaneously insanely excited and insanely jealous that he’ll be over with the love of my life. In this case, one must learn to share.
And his ears must have been burning, because he just texted me.
Until later.
(Maybe, if I can get myself to do anything).
(Jesus, I haven’t even talked about Oz much. That shit is coming up on the 9th!)

Shouldn’t Have Done That

Found a way to import my old xanga posts. Currently going through and reading them quickly, shaking my head at myself, and then just as quickly deleting them. Here, however, are some gems:

5 April 2004:

[my first post]

Pet peeve: when people say drawling for drawing, acrosst for across, warsh for wash

10 April 2004:

Pet peeve: An answer of “I don’t know” to an obviously answered question.

11  April 2004:

Today was actually alright… I got a few levels farther on Need for Speed, I’m drivin the Peugeot or whatever, the shitty little car. It’s got awesome handling though.

Top Gear lover in the making.

14 April 2004:

Pet peeve: When I ponder worthless ideas(dreams/fantasies).

3 May 2004:

It’s a beautiful Monday, little chilly, little windy. It smells like apples and paint in my house, and boy am I high!

7 May 2004:

Pet peeves: people that don’t wave when you wave to them, analog roam and digital roam, area codes, and highway exits.

10 May 2004:

And now mom’s pissed at me because she’s pissed at Conor.

Pet peeve: my brother

15 May 2004:

Pet peeve: when people don’t tell other people stuff and they find out the hard way. Bitches.

18 May 2004:

“Hey, it’s Kevin ‘Got Caught Making Out In The Music Hall’ Kilpatrick.” Kevin replies: Hey that’s not funny, shut up.

“Hey, it’s Chad ‘My Cousin ‘Got Caught Making Out In The Music Hall’ Kilpatrick.” Chad replies: With who, Stephanie? It could have been you Nina.

Pet peeve: alarm clocks, the bastards.

6 June 2004:

Well, my brother is bugging the hell out of me, and standing very close to my radio.

9 June 2004:

Well, I haven’t posted in a while, I don’t think, and I probably won’t until I feel like it again. Did I even say anything about the 3rd HP yet? Probably not. But damn that was a good movie. ok Hermione is so lucky to hang out with Harry and Ron all the time. Harry is getting cuter. Ron needs to just freakin’ kiss Her..(let’s just keep that at as Hermione’s abbr.) New Dumbledore is dumb. haha nice. Um… I like Snape still – I’ve always liked him though, even though he’s such a shit. lol Well.. I don’t know.. Alan Rickman.. very.. sexy.. in a older British sort of way. I like Sirius Black too.. yes.. like that.. oo Gary Oldman… ooo yes sexy.

It’s always been those older British/English gentleman.

Hmm this post is dumb.

20 June 2004:

Well, seeing as no one’s really posted since a couple weeks ago.. meaning we all have better things to do than sit in front of a computer all day, CONGRATULATIONS. Myself included, I’ve found more important things to do. Like Drivers Ed, vball, writing, reading, swimming, etc. Shit like that.

Wait until tumblr, kid.

14 July 2004:

I feel like I have no privacy at the moment and certain inevitable things are making me depressy.

14 August 2004:

[We were getting DSL, so I had to come up with an email handle. My ideas included:]




waiting4myQ (mom’s idea)

Goddamnit, mom’s idea was clever.

7 October 2004:

In math I was spacing out as usual when all of a sudden I hear the intercom tone and “Ms Friis?” I say, yes? without even missing a beat. I was the first one to respond to it. Some people start laughing and I’m like, huh? and Mr Meyer’s like, no, she’s over in room 202. Then he’s like, you can’t answer to that, they meant Mrs Friesz, and I’m like, I know, excuse me for having a similar last name.


30 October 2004:

[Just got my driver’s license]

Driving myself around: what can I say, it’s an amazing experience that I hope to continue for the rest of my life.

xcountry driving is definitely my sport. or xstate, where-ever I’m headed.

1 November 2004:

So today I came home from school, all of a sudden the lights shut off. Power outtage. I laid there listening to music and I almost fell asleep. I thought maybe it would prolong my life for just a little bit longer, it was so.. peaceful.. so nice..

24 November 2004:

[Nothing worth posting besides the fact that I actually used ‘fathom’ as a unit of measurement. Proud of myself.]

28 November 2004:

suitedreams16: hi
him: hey
me: you comin to watch a movie later?
him: no
me: oh, is there a problem?
him: yeah, I guess the problem is is that we are not very much a like
me: like?
him: like the fact that you seem to be more care free about shit
me: oookay, well, I do care about a lot of things like school, my family, my friends, etc…
him: well then how come you are always disrespecting your dad and thinking its cool to drink alchohol and shit like that
me: I’m not always disrespecting him and I am not always drinking, so..
him: well either way i just dont think we are very compatible and would be better off as friends
me: okay
him: i dont have a problem with you as a person, I just feel that we have different aspects on life
me: fair enough. hope I haven’t done anything wrong, I guess
him: you havent done anything wrong its just that i have different views than you so that is just how life works sometimes
him: i dont know i maybe if my personality was more like andrew’s it would have worked out, but everyone knows that i am like the most conservative person anywhere so it would probably be a tough match

Well, that was awkward for all parties involved.

29 November 2004:

For the love of God. It’s snowing. Snowing. If you can consider it so. It’s just enough to piss me off. It’s gotta be like, altometer width and height. I tell you, that is not much. Like I said, just enough to piss me off. Anywhere from an altometer to 4 inches will piss me off. It’s got to be enough, it’s got to stick, it’s got to be ice. Like I said, I want a freak snow storm/ice storm. Damn the “meteorologists” at channels 3, 6, and 7. They should resign. It’s not rocket science, look out the window, what’s it look like it’s gonna do?

Altometer: I don’t think it means what you think it means. Also, calm the fuck down.

5 December 2004:

We parked in the field and slowly slipped into tipsy world lol Duster just sait ther and laught mostly because we were sayin a while bucnh of stupid shit. see I can’t even tiype righa and I’m not gonna correct myself just to see how much fmore fucked up thins are. shit!ooo sjust shook my head, wasn’t good. so then after they’re gona I’m like, dude Marne have you gont anything else? and she’s like well we got beer… and I’m like ew but ok. so we go back over to her house and I go in the back door and then go downstiars, use the userestruom and then grab a beer from the fridge. so yeah I slip down the godamn him b Imeant hill bcak there, and i get back in the car and so we fderive back over to where we were and we open the beer.

was the tathat the best secntece i’ve typed so far? holy shit. phone rigns. ok it awas mike. i relazing that i can talk better than i can type so far.. shit firstclass is makin nowse.. noise at me. hold

ok cool. so anyway, this typing thing aint for me tonight obviously. wow I got though a ho.. nevermind. lol damn. and I’m listengin to dashboard confusessional. grr and talking to drw. i did the grr for spelling err and drew was the drw back there.. laternic I meant to put latterness or laterness sorry for you guys readin this shit olol

I remember my first tequila.

15 December 2004:

Well, tomorrow we leave for Phoenix. Thank God. I’m ready to get the hell out of here. I can get away from everyone and everyone’s issues. I think psychologically it would be getting away from me and all of my issues. Yes, I’m analyzing myself in a psychological manner.. It makes me sad though sometimes because then I realize my own faults are those that I’ve noticed in others maybe.
Anyway, I will miss everyone and their issues; including me and mine.

19 January 2005:

Here’s my question of the late afternoon:

Why is “Good evening” a greeting, but “Good night” is a closing?

24 January 2005:

I really like this saying because I really believe in it.


I think we need to be held as we’re born because it’s immediate comfort like everything will be ok as long as we live. No matter what happens to us, we will be okay.

Then I think we need to be held as we’re leaving as reassurance that we are okay and that we will continue to be okay for the rest of, whatever, eternity.

It can’t just be any held, though, it has to be love. Right when we’re born, and cleaned up, the nurse hands us to our mothers. Our mothers or fathers. But mostly our mothers. Our moms hold us and look at us and cry, and say, “I’m your momma, I love you” and even if we can’t understand her or even comprehend, somehow, we know, and we always will.

Maybe it has to be something like our mother’s love that holds us as we leave. But it’s not meant to be our mother’s love in person, maybe it’ll be our child’s love for us when we leave. and we’re supposed to hold our mothers when they leave as reassurance that they did okay and we love them, too.

When people die in the arms of a loved one, they’re okay, they’re almost happy, at least that they’re there with them for their last moments, and they know they’re okay and they’ll be okay.

I want that. That love, and that hold.

Unexpected deepness in early 2005.

5 March 2005:

So it’s 10. I think I’ll watch Much Ado, well, maybe not. I don’t feel like it all of a sudden. It’s been Too Much Ado lately. I think I’ll watch something else on the telly. I love British people.

On the right track.

13 March 2005:

God, grant me some mercy, for I need something to hold on to, something concrete.

I can’t imagine that’d be comfortable at all.

27 March 2005:

[I was constantly getting kicked off of school email]

Well. I am kicked off firstclass for some fucking reason. Probably for cussing which I rarely do anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I mean on email. I rarely say fuck though, and I probably did recently and that’s probably what nabbed me. I need to go down to the computer center tomorrow sometime and try to redeem myself. Fucking goddamn sons of bitches.


12 April 2005:

I swear to God it’s so cold in my room it’s like, even sex can’t warm you up now.

Like I’d fucking know in 2005.

When I have something good going on or something good potentially happening, I think on it and I mean I think on it a lot. I’ll ponder the idea, I’ll switch angles, I’ll analyze the shit out of it because I am just so overjoyed that it is, or could be, happening. right? I’m sure other people do it, too. But it just seems like it’s me when I do that and then the thing doesn’t… doesn’t happen. It’s happened too many times to me before. I am crushed each and every single time. You’d think I’d get used to it. Well I don’t. I still get crushed every time. Lord knows.

Even though the psychological emotional Nina Nina is going to say, ah.. why doesn’t he talk to me about it? I’ll help. What am I, attracted to wounded animals or something?


One break.


Just one.

It’s really not that hard.

“Just use the Easy button!”

I love how I just hit a speedbump too fast in the middle of this revelation I’m having.

I want to cry, but there’s nothing to cry over.

I’m listening to my Windows Media Player in order of alphabetic songs if anyone cares. So yeah. I’m on ‘I’ because I didn’t start like, at the beginning. It was just If I Could by Regina Belle, and now it’s If You Can’t Leave It Be, Might As Well Make It Bleed by Dashboard Confessional.

Too much capitalization in that paragraph. Makes me itchy.

19 April 2005:

B2: missed english since we were at that stupid poetry thing. I made a poem on a cookie sheet with magnetic words, wanna hear? Sure ya do.

“Remember with raw, naughty joy        & drench thy maiden in milky romantic, happy desire        beneath some healing sun-ache        produce by night-moment my color wax-secret         I shall find my moon only at love.”

Jesus, that made me blush worse than reading fanfiction.

25 April 2005:

“OMAHA, Neb. – Beatles fans set a new local record Monday morning in Omaha. Tickets for Paul McCartney’s Qwest Center show sold out in 14 minutes — a new venue record. The old record was held by Kenny Chesney. The country star’s tickets sold out in 16 minutes, and prompted organizers to schedule a second Omaha show.”

The tickets started selling at 10am, mom got tickets at 1008am, they sold out at 1014am.



Mom called and left me a message at 1009 saying: HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY! We got them.. we got.. tickets to Paul McCartney! Oh Nina we got tickets!

My dad’s waited 40 years – When he was like 20 something, The Beatles were in St. Louis or something, and he figured they’d get closer. They didn’t, then they split up. Now Paul McCartney is in OMAHA. He’ll be flying into Eppley, just a few short miles from our house. He’ll be in a car on J.J. Pershing Drive, which runs by our house. He’ll be in our city.

1 May 2005:

Chewy – “(Chewbacca noise)”

Han Solo – “You said it, Chewy.”

6 May 2005:

Dude, I’m so grossly talented it sickens me, literally. Check this shit out.

This morning I was putting my contacts in, left to right like I read, and I had just picked up my right one to put in. At that moment, my nose wanted to apparently die and a blood drop fell right into my left contact thing. I’m like, WTF! But at least my contacts weren’t in there.

It was skill.

Not to brag or anything.

7 May 2005:

[My humble beginnings in customer service]

Well it was my first day of work today, but it was freakin’ awesome. But, I don’t like being asked questions, like “how much is this mattress?” when the prices are CLEARLY posted right next to them. Use your eyes. Please do not come ask me questions like that.

Another good one: “Yes, how much is this comforter? There’s a price tag on it, but I am not sure of the price.” Well, let’s see, if there’s a price tag on it, and there’s a price on the tag, and you have eyes and a brain that comprehends, then you SHOULD BE ABLE TO FIGURE IT OUT YOURSELF.

Hopefully I can get some more experience with the register. I’ll just still tell people it’s my first day or it’s my second day and that I hadn’t got to use the register yet. Either way I better not get no grief or I’ll add 10000000 dollars to their purchase. “I thought silverware is only 19 cents?” “No, sorry ma’am, you’re an angry, hurried bitch and today happens to be Angry, Hurried Bitch Disppreciation Day so you get $10000000 added to your purchase, CONGRATULATIONS!”

I’ll be teaching a class next week.

31 May 2005:

What a literally pointless circle I may have gotten myself into.

6 June 2005:

Well I’d sure as hell post something if there was sure as hell something going on. But nothing’s going on.

11 June 2005:

I think I am a pirate, like not just any pirate, like captain pirate. Like the one that decides parle’ or whatever.

Yeah, I just download way too much music. Actually not way too much, just loads.

12 June 2005:

I should write a book called Single Since November. It even SOUNDS like a best seller. Ugh.

Life is bullshit sometimes.


28 June 2005:

Well I haven’t written in 4 days. No apparent reason, just.. lack of motivation?

Or lack of occurrences.

My horoscope has been off it’s rocker trying to tell me to forget the past and jump on to what I want right now, the past actions didn’t provide fruit, so I should focus on what I should do right now.

Well that’s pushing me farther and farther in the direction I’m going, but the reactions I’m getting or not getting are the low branches I keep running into, seeing them only as I turn around and go, “well, EXCUSE ME, bitch.”

My analogies and metaphors are so pathetic sometimes.

I try to make them poetic enough for you and me.

So I was sitting yesterday, spending more countless minutes on my window seat thinking about nothing in particular, just sitting for no reason. I haven’t the foggiest what urges me to sit there, like I’m going to get some unknown inspiration or something, but nothing yet.


13 July 2005:

I feel like writing Jill a letter. I asked Maren if she had been writing letters and she said no, but she should. And I said, yeah, I write one every once in a while, which is Scottish for I write one almost every 3 days or so. Again, I apologize for spelling abilities.

Scottish? ‘thefuck?

17 August 2005:

Ok so I was going to lay out with Maren today before work but it’s overcast. There are too many actors, badoom chhh..

Took me forever; goddamn, I’m clever.

20 October 2005:

This day, what a goddamn roller coaster. Actually it’s like the Mamba. If anyone’s ridden that beast, then you will know.

It was like, it started out kinda stupid, boring – going up that long ass hill looking out over everything you’re about to plummit towards.

Physics was kind of a rush of fun for a while there, during the lab. You get to the top, you’re like, shit, remember to scream! Then you’re on your way.

After we had pretty much finished the labs and whatever I decided to check my email, something I usually never do, and I see an email from Dr Holley answering mine to him about my grade on the last test. Up and down the second hill, you’re flying around the curves, coming onto the optical illusion.

I open the email and oh joy, it tells me that I had ‘the lowest [grade] by far’ and that I should probably come in to go over it with him. We’re to the optical illusion curve, I know it won’t hit my hands, but I gradually pull them in anyway.

After that the day’s pretty much a shithole until I get to band and start to have a little fun with Maren and Mr Baldwin. You’re around again and over the stupid ass bunny hops (smile for the camera) when you’re rounding your last curve.

I come home, renewed from a day of realization, ready to do math. When I open the book, I find it feels as though I haven’t been in class taking notes for the past month or so. It SLAMS on the brakes and you’re THROWN into the little bar in front of you. Forgot to warn the person sitting next to you who did not brace themselves. Oh well. You get back to the station, come to a complete stop and seem to have a sense of “what the hell just happened” with a little grin.

That was either the stupidest metaphoric montage or the most brilliant creative writing you’ve ever seen in your beloved life. Treat me kindly.

26 October 2005:

My dad is such a dork. The song I found on my floor in the morning totally made me smile.

“Well she is just 17, and you know what I mean, and the way she looks is way beyond compare! I couldn’t ask for a better, oooh I’m so glad she’s living here.

Well she looks at me, and I, I can see that she sees a dork that she don’t understand. I’m just a dad who is grateful, oooh cause I’ve got her living here.”

Then he signed it, “Semi-original work, Love dad”

11 November 2005:

My Career Assessment Summary Profile says:

Stated Job Choices – Social studies and music

My Subject Choices – Social studies and music

Future Plans – 4 year college or university

Job Values – creativity, good salary, independence, work with people

Abilities – language, musical, persuasive, social

Interest Scale Scores:

Crafts – 11

Scientific – 2 (go figure)

*The Arts – 23*

*Social – 20*

Business – 14

Office Operations – 13

Career Clusters Suggested by my scores – Social services, Music, Education, Entertainment (if you know what I mean)

Haha the interest scale descriptions are funny.

High scorers on The Arts scale usually:

-prize independence. incredibly accurate

-enjoy creative activities such as music, writing, entertainment, and art. incredibly accurate

-*prefer an unconventional lifestyle.* incredib- wait a second.

-actively seek opportunities for self-expression. well, yes

Typical jobs: musician, writer, artist, fashion designer, actor/actress.

High scorers on the Social scale usually:

-care about the well-being of others. as it happens

-get along well with people. sometimes it happens

-have strong verbal skills. happens

-*like to provide services for others.* I. what.

Typical jobs: counselor, social worker, nurse, recreation leader, teacher.

27 December 2005:

I love fog.

Driving in fog is like someone is holding a white sheet of paper

out a ways in front of you and they keep pulling it back as you get closer.

Or it’s like someone with an eraser went through and just wiped away

certain parts of the world.

And it reminds me of Paint on Windows where you use that little paint can

and you can just fill in large areas with white and grey.

It’s a masterpiece.

Wow, that’s deep.

31 December 2005:

Maybe I’ll watch When Harry Met Sally… because they do New Years stuff in that movie, at least they’ll be doing something.

Super exciting New Years, as per.

3 January 2006:

What’s everyone’s new years resolutions/revolutions?
I didn’t really make any. ‘Cept to care in school more. So that’s about it. And I don’t call them resolutions really, ’cause Lord knows people don’t follow through with that shit, and if they do… well.. good for your initiative.

6 February 2006:

I wish I had something juicy to talk about, so I’ll just keep rambling.
It’s like the 10 minute free-write in English.
When you have nothing to talk about you just keep writing until you have something to talk about.
Sorry for those of you that actually read this, this is one of the more pointless posts I’ve made.

That’s absolutely accurate.

8 February 2006:

[After an exceptionally long play-by-play of an awful day]

I realize to many or a few of you that this seems like a waste of time to put all of this stupid shit on here.
Guys, I’m a happy person, even on my bad days or my low days. But when a happy person hits bottom, they hit harder than chronically sad people. When something negative happens to a sad or depressed person – it’s just one more thing. They’ll probably get more pissed off or sink a little deeper, but where else do they have to go? You can only get so low. A happier person however, is up there – they have room to fall.
I think that sounds really pompous but I don’t give a shit.
Hey I can’t control the way you think.

Interesting theory, and yeah, it does sound a bit pompous.

2 March 2006:

[I wrote a haiku]

Yeah, today is over with.
Now it’s time to dream.
And in my heart it’s summer.

6 March 2006:

“You act the way you want to be so that the way you want to be is how you act.”

19 March 2006:

Hmm.. It’s moments like these that keep me thinking there might be stars to fall out of this sky.

Did I come up with that?

20 March 2006:

It’s a blizzardous night in Omaha and the people are scared..
“The roads are so dangerous! We aren’t prepared!”
Jim Flowers and Bill Randby can’t help, but have no fear,
Because if anyone can turn people to Jesus, it’s this guy right here:

Dr. John J. Mackiel – Superintendent

“Thank you, Dr Mackiel!” the people shout,
“Now I have to go dig my freakin car out!”

Not sure who wrote this, but it’s hilarious.

22 March 2006:

If I downloaded a song for every math or school lecture I heard this year, I would have been the lady from Omaha getting sued by Limewire.

Or whoever.

It’s funny though, cause every time I get lectured, the consequences and/or situations get worse. Like it started with, I’ll take away your computer/internet, now it’s taking away showchoir for next year or my car or something. Then before it was that I’ll have a D at the end of the year in math, now I’m apparently gonna flunk out of school and life. Wtf.

Man, I miss those days.

25 March 2006:

So my parents were gone, Conor was gone.. I was alll alone.. so.. uh.. you know what happened haha

Yeah, I went downstairs.. I looked around.. but I just couldn’t find anything to.. satisfy my desires.. until..

I found a box of old 45s. And you know I listened to a bunch of them.

Oh, and I apologize to those of you who found this as pointless as I did. My sincere sympathy.

5 April 2006:

I worked Saturday after I took the SAT, which took forever and a day. Got to work later than 1, but didn’t care at all. It was a beautiful day so I didn’t really mind working. So I was attending to these two British ladies and I really recognized one of their accents. I asked what part of England they were from and the one is like, “oh my God, it was 100 years ago, you can still hear my accent?” and I was like, well the only reason I noticed was because you sound exactly like Paul McCartney and she goes, “Oh well we’re from the same little town. I had a studio and I worked with the Beatles.” My mouth pretty much dropped open and I was like, OH MY GOD! and she goes, “yeah I worked on Help! and a few other albums. Oh and I met Yoko Ono, she was about this tall.. (4ft) and she and John always dressed as twins” I couldn’t believe it. Oh the people I meet out there.

How I miss the Goodwill.

12 April 2006:

I confuse the hell out of myself lately. If only I had someone to keep me in tune with myself .. or something.

No seriously, like Sunday night of spring break, I spent about 5 hours doing 7 math assignments and a history paper that was all due the next day. When I was finished, I had the utmost feeling of contentment, I couldn’t even put it into words. I procrastinated the ever-loving daylight out of spring break – I could have done it the weekend before I went to U of E, now why would I do that? I brought it with me to U of E and I could have done it the 20 total hours I was in the car there and back, but no of course not, I had to sleep, look out the window and take pictures. I could have done it Wednesday – any of the rest of the time, but of course not. I wait until the last freakin’ possible minute to start and get it done.. and I feel amazing: as good or better than I probably would have felt if I had just done it the night spring break started so I wouldn’t have to worry about it. Psychology.

So that’s where it all started.

13 April 2006:

Yeah so since I am obviously a ‘disgrace’ because I don’t ask for help and fail with math, I decided to do a physics lab in my very own home. (no the subject matter doesn’t necessarily match, but you should really rethink arguing my logic right now)

Momentum, PE, and KE lab

Purpose: To find out the momentum, potential energy and kinetic energy of a punch with a momentum stop.

Materials: Wall in closet, a person (me), anger under pressure

1) First find a sure-fire way to get emotions worked up – try an hour long lecture about school, grades, how there’s not much time left until the grades that ‘mean something’ go in, how I must not be panicking about it because I’m not doing much to help it, how I am going to be pulled out of all these things I’m doing because she doesn’t give a shit about band or anything else – the other grades are more important, etc
2) Don’t say too much in defense of anything, especially to assure the extreme build up of contents under pressure
3) Wait until there is a distraction (ie phone ringing) for the inspiration to leave
4) Start getting more worked up, just about to breaking point
5) Go into closet
6) Make a fist and punch the wall with a generous amount of force
7) Repeat step 6 at least 4 times
8) Record data

Trial                     Initial Response                       Final Outcome

1 and 2                Couldn’t feel it                          Wanted more

3 and 4                Hurt a bit                               3 knuckles sore
I decided to hit my wall because I was very frustrated and I have done that before to where it seems to take care of something I’m feeling at the time.
The benefits are slim, besides taking care of that apparent need I have at the time of the feeling.
Afterwards my right bicep, elbow, and knuckles hurt and I can see a bruise or 2 forming – feelings about that are indifferent.

Conclusion: Since I hate physics I did not really answer my purpose, but do you really think I give a flying rat’s ass?

Oh, how sarcastically the mighty fall.

19 May 2006:

I Don’t Know Much

All I ask is that I know what I want.
At least if I knew what I wanted for sure, I could persue it.
But I really don’t.. for the most part.
I mean, in general, no, not even in general do I know.
I want and don’t want the same exact thing.
What does that leave me to do?
Like usual?

God damnit.

I keep telling myself that everything will be easier come summer.
Will it?
I’ll have more time to think, yeah, that’ll be alright.
More time to relax, definitely alright.
No homework or gossip shit, completely alright.

…at least I won’t see most of the people I’ll be thinking about, that should help.

Then hopefully I won’t think about those people… ???

ugh. I’m gonna stop.

Who knew I was such a poet.

30 May 2006:

Speaking of holler, I downloaded some rap today. What the fuck is wrong with me?

14 June 2006:

Sometimes sitting on the front porch at night and not getting cold is what I need to realize the relaxation at hand.

17 June 2006:

now it’s like after midnight, I came home and go tin the pool fr a while. oh but before that Valerie came homme so we went ove to Ponca ans sait on the mokey bars. then we went over and wes tarted talking about whatever. then I came home and got in the poor. m eyes are tired. and I have hiccups. I’m nout rto bursh my teach and to bed with emn. holy shit, I can’t type for shit. I’m relaly not even caring about what I thype uness it’s compltely eunruley and youcan’t read it. or i i can’t readi t.

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. work tomororw. I hope I work with good poeple and now any stupid people. maye I work with Shellys. I love sheylly. she’s so cool. like I said m eyes are really tired .Im goling to bed so mayabe I can get up and take  a shoer.

I called like 100 peple tonight and no on andswerd ther [phone. what the thell. it was only like 11 somethign, or even 10 somethig1!. Andrew actualy called mye back but then I canlled him and he didn’t snwer. what the hell. oh wlel rgiht?

shit dude like I sid. bec time.

I remember my first beer.

19 October 2006:

It’s been quite some time, almost a month again. I’m so bad at this anymore, but I’m trying to write more in my written journal. I’m going to see how many I can fill up before I’m out of school haha (including college). Chances are with my issues, I’ll have close to 20. Don’t worry, it’s only at 15.

I am almost 18. Does not feel like it. I don’t have anything planned. I really don’t know if I want anything, cept recognition.

31 January 2007:

Why am I even updating?
RIP Xanga
I uploaded my heart to you
Now you’re kinda dead
Really quite a shame


I’m home. But sleeping like shit.

Still weird to be back. 

I am waiting on word that I passed my capstone project for my masters. Nineteen pages that I haven’t read, but I’m proud of nonetheless. 

I bought myself a ‘vintage’ typewriter as a ‘graduation gift.’ 

I’m working on getting my apartment de-cluttered and.. more adult?

I’m going to be 25 in a month. 

I’m having a quarter-life crisis, I think?

Kind of want to be a writer?

Don’t worry, this post isn’t indicative of.. well, anything but mindless rambling. 

I can’t decide if I’m sad because I’m not in London, or if I’m sad because I like being home. A bit.

I feel like I’m in the waiting room again, you know, in limbo.

Just on another layover.

A longer one, this time, I guess.

Must find a job. A job that allows for transfers to London. 

I Think I Know What I’ll Call My Novel

I had to reflect on my master’s program: 

“Well, it’s fitting that as the end is nigh, I would become ill. Nothing serious, but I think my immune system fought long and hard this summer and it finally failed me this past week. 

As I try to be, and as I’ve tried to be more as of late, I’m going to be frank in my reflections. But you can still call me Nina.

I’ll also make really shitty jokes.

I think it’s immeasurable – how much I’ve learned. Media psychology… I think it’s incredibly timely and will be; I think it’s so important because it’s in our faces every minute of every day; it has opened up new passions for me (thinking about getting a MAPP once I’ve recovered from this program); I’m just glad I found it. I still look back on that fateful night at work, talking to a coworker about going back to school but not knowing what the hell to study; begrudgingly deciding on general psychology, since I couldn’t think of a particular direction. I can’t even remember what I searched for exactly that landed me on Dr Rutledge’s article. It may have been the awful flourescents, but there was definitely a light shining down from the heavens as I dove into some frantic, excited Google searches. By the end of the night, I had an email chain with Dr Rutledge herself and an MSPP application half-filled out. I had a direction. So obvious, it was. A marriage of my passion/unquenchable thirst for film/television/media and my passion/interest in psychology. This was going to be perfect.
Turned out to be HARD AS HELL. In truth, for about the first half of the program, I was very cocky – getting by on raw talent like I always had before; struggling with writing academically, I’ll plainly admit, but still not asking for help. Clearly, I must have thought that I’d get by without it. Writing academically isn’t my style. It’s stiff and unfeeling and it’s not me and it’s not the way I talk. It’s literally pulling teeth to write that way and I’d rather have teeth pulled than write that way. But I have to. It sucks. I hate it. I can’t fully embrace it. I don’t know if I’m just incapable or strictly resistant. I never want to do it again. I hate having to cite every single thing I say. I feel like I need to put (, 2013) after saying “the sun is out today.” Once this twenty-odd-page paper is finished, I’ll throw up and go have a drink and then probably too many and then throw up all over again. 
I’m afraid of it because I’m not good at it. I’m afraid of it because it’s different than what I’m used to. 

Besides the many weaknesses I’ve discovered of myself along the way, I’ve discovered my resilience, also. Either that or I’ve just strengthened my stubbornness, but whatever. For example, I got a C in one of my classes and didn’t know that was a failing grade. Obviously, I glossed over that part of any syllabus. After the procedural drama, I had the option of taking the class as an independent study either at the end of the program or on top of the program. It was never an option to me to take it at the end of the program. Even if it would be a pain in the ass to do two things at once. It was my fault I was in that position, so I couldn’t complain about the consequences too much. I surprised myself by coming back and getting an A on just about everything since then. (Maybe not every single thing, but just about). I’ve never been one of those students who has to get an A. I am just fine with mediocre grades. Unfortunately, I learned the difficult way that  mediocre is failing in a master’s program. But hey, I made it here. Just have to rewrite my comp final and then do the capstone project. Oh, and the online portfolio. Yeah. See, I’m no stranger to failing, nor am I ashamed of it. That’s what the underdog does. In the hero narrative. (Can I get a “well played”?) 

I wanted to do the online master’s program because A: I didn’t want to move, B: I’m so lazy about physically going to class, and C: I absolutely abhor group discussions and group activities in class. When I read that very first syllabus, I just had to laugh. So. I’m stuck in a perpetual group activity with five strangers and they’re all way more accomplished than I am and I’m going to have to ‘discuss’ shit with them EVERY SINGLE WEEK. I mean, with my language? Sonovabitch.
What’s funny is that I honestly can’t remember anything up until we met at Dirk’s before graduation. I remember reading some things and thinking, wow, they’re really fucking smart. I couldn’t even match the level of replies I was getting. I felt like all I could say was, ‘I love that! Awesome idea!’ In other words, no real, constructive feedback at all. Then again, I hate peer reviews also, because I figure that I’m not going to change my writing based on a peer’s opinion of it, so why would anyone else? Now I’m getting into something else entirely, but I don’t know, I’m just rambling and I’m a horrible student, let’s be honest. Anyway, the days leading up to Boston. I’m chatting to Brett on FB, going, are you bringing your parents? Because I’m probably bringing mine.. I mean, I’d hate to get into Boston, check them into the hotel and then bugger off to this party and just leave them. We agreed we would bring our parents. Dirk said bring whoever. So we’d be the interns bringing our folks to the company Christmas party. At least we’d go down together. (In re-reading that, it sounds too harsh, but I’ll leave it, because I don’t mean it harshly. I wasn’t ashamed to bring my family, and I really wanted them to meet my classmates. I just felt like it kept me on that level of being the runt playing with the big kids. And as it turns out, I was just being a judgemental ass). 
I get to Dirk’s place with my family and we ended up walking in right behind Debbie. Right away she recognized me and gave me a hug and welcomed me into Dirk’s house. I immediately relaxed. Then we walked out back to where everyone else was. As soon as I rounded the corner, Kim jumped up and gave me a hug. Oh thank God, I thought; this is like seeing people I’ve known for years. Then I got to meet Dirk and Brett and everyone’s family. We had such an awesome night. Then Matthias showed up and everything was really complete. It’s absolutely incredible how quickly we fell into a rhythm – yeah, we’d been talking online for months with school-related stuff, but now we were friends over being classmates. 
Gents first:
Dirk is entirely too intelligent and on top of things for my liking. Makes me look even worse. He’s sarcastic and hilarious and I’ll always be so thankful for him hosting that pre-graduation party, because that changed everything for me.
Brett is also too intelligent and on top of things. He’s been there to answer my panicky questions and for some reason, I believe him when he says that I’ll get it done. I have really enjoyed his focus on video games throughout this whole process. 
Matthias has like five hundred scholastic degrees and the cutest German family in the world. Might just be the nicest, most unassuming person I’ve ever met and I think my mom has a slight crush on him (she seriously just mentioned him the other day). 

Debbie has been like my cheerleader and mood-booster. She’s always supportive and plays to my ego, telling me I’m kicking ass and that I’m an inspiration and I totally have a chance with Benedict Cumberbatch. Okay, I’m lying about that last bit, but I’m sure she’d say it if she knew it’s what I needed to hear. She’s got that story-telling/rambling gene that I’ve got, also 😉
Kim has put up with the most shit from me throughout this program. Neurotic texts about assignments or grades, endless clarification questions, taking the piss about her Bahstahn cah pahked down by Hahvahd Yahd. She always takes time out of her hectic life to tell me to calm down and breathe. 

All of my colleagues are so above my level, out of my league, insanely intimidating, professional, academic, driven, knows what they’re doing, etc – essentially everything I’m not. I’m not being self-depricating to be depressed, it’s just the way it is. I can’t believe I’ve gotten to this point, but I know why I have – it’s them. If it weren’t for Dirk’s party – really being able to build that camaraderie – who knows, really.”


So I post my reflection and then read everyone else’s – seems like no one else could be arsed to write a goddamn memoir like I did. Story of my life. I mean, really, when I get the green light to be gushy and honest, I will put the pedal through the floor.

When I write my novel, it’ll be called “You Shouldn’t Have Given Me Free Reign With This Whole Thing.”

My Next Job

Whatever that may be, will involve no phone calls nor voicemails. Well, consequently there would be no voicemails as there would be no phone calls. In my last job as part of the customer relations department and as a receptionist, I had to spend half of my day making 30 calls per hour and spend the rest of my day answering calls.

I hate phone calls.

I am going to change my voicemail greeting to instructions to hang up and text me. A: I’ll be more likely to respond; B: you won’t hear the irritation in my voice.

It’s awful, isn’t it? My attitude toward vocal communication.

Therefore, whatever I end up doing after what I’m currently doing, the only way to get ahold of me will be via text message or email. Everyone can keep a record of the conversation and things are literally spelled out. It’s the best.

Anyway, speaking of my next job, I discovered an author, thanks to the Omaha World Herald. His name is Henry Miller. According to Lawrence Shifreen: “He was known for breaking with existing literary forms and developing a new sort of ‘novel’ that is a mixture of novel, autobiography, social criticism, philosophical reflection, surrealist free association, and mysticism, one that is distinctly always about and expressive of the real-life Henry Miller and yet is also fictional” (1979). To me, that sounds exactly like what I do on purpose/what I do accidentally/what I aspire to do when I write.

I need to find a publisher. No, I need to find at least one person who would want to read my ramblings. Well, they’re worth at least a few followers here. Then, I need to find a publisher to read my ramblings. Is that how it works? I could be a paperback writer. No, I like hardback books. Look better on the bookshelf.

But yes, I want to write a book. I’m not saying it would be good or worthy of award, but I want to write one. I think I’ll do that while I’m in London on rainy days or lazy days; Lord knows I’ll have both.


Shifreen, Lawrence J. (1979). Henry Miller: a Bibliography of Secondary Sources. Rowman & Littlefield. pp. 75–77.

After dark

I’ve never been one to get to bed early. “Early,” for me, would be 1130pm or so. I don’t have one of those “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” mentalities, I can just always find something better to do. I can be absolutely exhausted all day at work, planning on going to sleep early, and I’ll end up dragging my ass to bed around 130am. There’s always a book to read, or a show/movie to watch.

It’s just a complete lack of regard for morning.

I think it’s my way of resisting against the whole “get up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to bed” cycle. I’d rather be tired after an evening of doing shit that makes me happy than be fully-rested at work the next day. All the good stuff happens after dark.

Come on, we’ve all had sick days – glued to the couch for an entire day of God-awful daytime television, at which point we’re almost thinking that sticking it out at work would have been a less-boring option. Thank God for Netflix.

The evening is my time. When I go home, I can do as little or as much as I want. This is coupled with my love for living alone, but pitted directly against my desire for a family.

Point? This post doesn’t really have one. I’ve had a bit of a headcold for a few days now – stuffy nose that won’t unstuff, not much of an appetite except for sleep, etc. Today, my eyes are dilated and taking in too much information, so it causes me them to water and me to blink. I could honestly sit and stare off into space all day today. Hence, this post. 

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