Written Whispers

I’m not sure what I am at the moment. I’d like to say I’m feeling depressed still over the whole work thing but I’m just not certain. I am still upset but the name for some of these particular emotions eludes me. I’ve noticed a change in myself at work and I’m not sure I like it. Given all change is scary, even good changes and I am one of those people more frightened by changes than most but it’s more or less the type of change I’m seeing that I don’t like.

When I first started working there it was a move out of desperation. In the foster home day in and day out- I needed a way to get out of the house and be around other people especially adults. Being suddenly thrust into a house with six other teenage girls hadn’t proven healthy for me, I’ve just never been able to get along with those in my own age group very long in the first place. Being forced to room with them, being forced to hide my spiritual beliefs and practices, being told that those I love didn’t love me, and being subjected to a lifestyle I had thought too unique to happen to me more than once a lifetime… Like I said I needed to get out of the house really, really badly.

So, when I started to work there I was really happy. I didn’t care about my paychecks. I never got to keep much of the money anyway and often mailed it out to safe places right after cashing them. My only incentive was that I was getting out of the house. Then when I got out of foster care and started to live with my Hunny I didn’t really have that need anymore. In fact the first few months we were living together I called in sick more times than you can imagine just to spend more time at home.

Eventually I got restless and was fully back at work but now it was just so I would have something to do during the day. My paychecks still weren’t and have never been incentive for me to work. I just liked working before but now…

Well, after what they’ve done and with the knowledge that they won’t ever let me work in any department other than dishwashing… to top it off I’m often training newbies who make more than I do (I said the money wasn’t incentive I never said it didn’t matter). I’ve noticed I haven’t been working as hard these past few days. I feel like I have an attitude problem though no one else has said anything yet. When I work I feel angry and resentful at some of the smallest things that I’ve always dealt with without complaint before. How no one has time to say thank you or how the cooks put their pans in the wrong spot leading others to get burned or dishes to break in an area of my responsibility. I get ruffled at the slightest comment about my ability to lift things and I’ve found that I’m starting to take short cuts in my work that I would never let my newbies take before (given I know they do when I’m not around and it doesn’t hurt much but it doesn’t ensure the quality of the job).

It just seems like I’m not caring as much as I should. All my life people have called me lazy or told me I’m not good enough so when it comes to a job I tend to push myself pretty far to get it done right. I like to go above and beyond. I don’t complain I just get it done. That’s how I am so you can see why these changes have me worried. I don’t like being like this. It’s not normal for me and they aren’t good changes.

I just don’t know what to do. I’m in online education so for the mean time I can’t really get another job, it’s not like I live in an area abundant with employment opportunities anyway and to be honest I don’t think I have any skills.

I’m feeling very useless right now. Maybe I am lazy, maybe I am weak, maybe I don’t have skills. I know I want to work hard, I want to be good at what I do or at least be good enough to be needed. I want to know how I feel about this whole situation. I want to have my ambition to get my school stuff done, I want to have ambition to get my job done even if I don’t like it. I want to like working again.

So, for now all I can do is write. I’m feeling lost and what’s worse is I kind of want to feel angry about all this. My mind says anger achieves nothing and the way I feel like acting out at work is immature but I just can’t help it. The rest of me wants to sulk, pout, scream, and shout. Oh, spirits I pray for guidance.

I’m still kind of depressed but I think I’m getting better. It must be part of that seasonal stuff on top of the topics I’ve been writing about lately as well as stress. I have quite a bit of that on a daily basis but this week seems a bit worse.

Never fear though, I’m still alive and forever writing. I’m sitting her at work, an hour or so earlier because my Hunny had to work at a different time than myself, and figured why not make a blog post. This month is one with the least amount of posts which is strange because it seems like I’m writing every single day. Sometimes I wonder what I’m working on or achieving when I write or needlessly revise but it’s a nice escape never the less. I have music from some anime blaring in my headphones so I can drown out the fact that I’m about to clock into a job I hate and have to work in because of my limited abilities (see post Utterly Heartbroken). I like music in other languages. It’s nice to just sit there and have to feel what’s going on without any help from the lyrics. To translate the rhythm, beat, and tone into some barley tangible emotion that maybe only you can find in that song. It’s almost pretty. There’s a piano in the background and it sounds like a choir or large group singing it.

I like language. I mean, being a writer of course I like words, but I love language in general almost as much as I love the craft that takes my words and turns them into worlds and magick, people and paradise. When I was younger I thought myself bits and pieces of Gaelic and other old Celtic words from various books and committed them to memory. This was mostly from encyclopedia like books, I was sufficed to say strange for my age.

Whenever I would read about Celtic history and such I would come across symbols, Runic and otherwise and when I saw these I would immediately try to find out what each of them met. When I found out that Runes could correspond to the alphabet I started using them to write in my journal to keep it a little more secret. With my spiritual beliefs I also tried to write these entries without the alphabet, using only their symbolic meanings but it made it difficult to translate later on because what one meaning could mean to you one day could mean something entirely different another especially as you grow and change yourself.

Another Runic set of letters I came across was Ogam also spelled Ogham. It was used in various languages and sometimes called the alphabet of bonding or death. I liked this one a lot because it was easier to understand and no one I knew had ever heard of it. From there I began to teach myself the Theban symbols (not as well as the others, alas) as well as others.

Symbols and letters and words have always been a part of my daily life. I don’t know how else I would express myself without them though I often wonder about things…

When I was younger I didn’t speak a whole lot and often went weeks or even months without uttering a single sound. It was fairly normal for me. Sometimes I think back to times in my life when I should have remained silent and I wonder what it would be like to be mute? I still don’t speak a whole lot in present day but I do talk a lot more than I used to. In a way I’m lucky I guesse because I only take the time to talk when I think I have something worth saying. Most of my words are thought out in advance, though this doesn’t always help I think I’m a foot further up the hill than many my age who often say things without meaning or pretense.

What would it be like to be mute as a writer? To only be able to express oneself through the written word? What would it be like to be deaf? To know no words or the sound of the rain? Could one write without knowledge of words? What would it be like to be blind, deaf, and mute? To have nothing but your thoughts to keep you company?

I think I would enjoy being mute as a writer but I don’t think I could stand to lose those other senses. That’s almost like wondering what I would do if I suddenly lost both hands. The tools to my trade… nope. I couldn’t live that way, but still…

To be soundless except from the sound of pen on paper and fingers on keys…. :) now that is an interesting thought indeed.

*sigh* Today was actually a very good day. I went back to work after a nice week and a half off. I was happy, see, I may not like my job too much but I really do love to work. I like to do things and be useful and I like being the one people turn to when they need something. I’m a dishwasher of sorts at a resort. I’ve been there for three years and though the position is miniscule I am a big help. Even chef comes to me when they’re looking for something or need someone to run errands. I can fix any of the machines and often train the newbies or work with them their first days.

I’ve been there for three years now. I started when I was 16, it was a great way to get out of the foster home and make some money at the same time. It’s not a job I should be doing to say the least. I’m a very tiny person with several bone problems primarily in my right hip and along my spine. I get very self conscious when people see me stand or walk and just happen to notice. Because of these problems I can’t life a whole lot and I really shouldn’t be lifting entirely as much as I am able. It often makes me feel bad that the other workers have to pick up my slack and I try to push myself harder but it only seems to make things worse.

Last summer, well, maybe midsummer I started working in another position in the same department. The idea was less lifting and getting out of the dish room now and then. I was helping to manage the buffet. I cut (and served) prime rib and refilled pans. I took it very seriously and prided myself and being polite to people, even the drunks who came up and hit on me *shudders at a not so fond memory involving the words ‘brisket’, ‘dream’, and myself*. I loved it. For the past year I was starting to feel less needed in my old position, useless, especially since there was much I couldn’t do.

Well, being a seasonal resort, when summer ended and just before snowfall we stopped having the buffet. Just for a little while. I was ensured that it would be back shortly after snowfall and that I would be working again. In the mean time I did dishwashing like I was in between buffets. It was normal. About 6 weeks ago though my name was no longer on the other schedule. My Hunny (who works at the same place but a way different department) mentioned it first, he often double checks for me when I have to work. I went through and I saw it but I just passed it off as us not having buffet for awhile, the other workers of the same position also did mornings and mornings still had buffet so I assumed that’s why they still appeared. You know, saving printer ink.

I went in tonight and I had to pass through the main restaurant for my uniform and then go to other one to work. There was a buffet. No one told me and I still wasn’t on the schedule, trust me, I actually wore my glasses to check. Still, I didn’t think anything of it. I was needed at the other restaurant, surely, I would be back as of next weeks schedule.

The night went on and I actually had fun working with someone I wasn’t entirely fond of. It was a good night full of hard work and I even helped to make egg rolls. :P We got everything done and didn’t even have to soak anything over night, I was quite pleased with myself and double proud of my newbie who’d shaped up this last month of so and worked hard despite having a bit of a fever. I made sure to tell her as much.

At the end of the night I sat in the waiting area and read out by the fire like usual until my Hunny was done with his shift and we started to head home. This is when my heart broke and don’t worry it’s not how it sounds at first.

My Hunny pulled off to the side, we weren’t yet out of the resort, in fact I don’t think we’d left my restaurant yet. He pulled over and told me he had a talk with my boss… My Hunny had been worried from the start and finally after seeing for himself that we had a buffet he asked my boss what was up and if I was going to be on next weeks staff.

Apparently the decision had been made a long time ago and sadly no one had the heart to tell me but they decided not to let me do it again this season. "It was a lifting issue". Apparently I just can’t carry enough even though there’s less lifting in this new job. I actually cried. I’m sure this sounds stupid but I’ve been crying for a couple of hours now. I loved working out there and I took pride in it. They should have told me. I should have been angry that they didn’t but I wasn’t. I was, and still might be a little, angry at myself.

My Hunny tried to comfort me. He told me it wasn’t my fault but honestly I think I would feel better if it was my fault. Then I would have a better reason to feel bad, then I could have some control over it, then it really would be just what I want it to be. I want it to be my fault so I can blame someone. How horrid is that?!

A lot of people knew about the decision, a lot of them had the chance. Good goddess knows I’d been hinting and kind of asking. I’m not the brave type, heh.

This really probly will seem stupid. I shouldn’t get so upset but I am. I love working and I loved that job because it was something I could do and now they’re telling me I can’t because I’m unable to. To be honest I felt perfectly capable at the time.

I feel horrible. On top of it all I have other workers in the same department, whom I’ve never actually worked with before, say right behind me in hearing range that I’m a bad worker and I don’t work hard. I’m happier to just be called lazy. I know I’m that but I do work hard for others. I don’t complain about my job at work, a little at home and a lot about the newbies but still! Maybe it’s for the best. I’m so depressed right now. I’ve been depressed for the passed few days anyway’s, it’s seasonal and part of ‘my issues’ but adding this to it… I’m not sure what to say except that I feel utterly heartbroken and sad. I’ve never been at such a loss for fancy words and heart felt metaphors.

My Hunny was actually contemplating not telling me till after Christmas, bless his heart for telling me then instead of later. On the way home he stopped at a as station and bought me six things of ice cream, each in my favorite Ben & Jerries flavors and two stuffed animals. He’s such a dear for cheering me up. I smile for him but I still feel horrible. If only it had been for another reason. If only it had been something I’d done wrong but not. It had to be because I can’t lift as much as anyone else. I myself only weigh like 98 pounds if I’m lucky and remember to eat five times a day, sex if I’m sick.

I feel like cursing and kicking myself and then falling to the floor and bawling again. I really wish it was my fault.

From the title of this post I bet the first thing that comes to mind is one of those times we all experience as writers. We love our craft but now and then we find ourselves having to write something we don’t want to. A voiceless article with a deadline, a manual, a school essay on a topic we don’t really enjoy. The craft then becomes a process and instead of natural it becomes forced, rigid, and almost painful to make ourselves stick to it.

But what if I told you by "Torturous" I meant something I wanted to write…?

Last night I started working on something. A typed journal entry of a sort. At first it was a blog entry, a little something about some memories of mine that I felt an uncanny urge to share though now I’m not so certain I can post it. Not because I don’t want to but because… well, it’s hard to explain. I’m not typically afraid of what people have to say on what I write from my real life but I am afraid of pity. After my experience last night I fear it would break something that is brittle at the moment.

Memories left to collects dust and thin from age and moth holes were aired out last night. I opened them up and exposed them to the elements within, rubbing them raw with my thoughts and feelings and the intertwining of more powerful memories that I hadn’t meant to release. These are the brittle things I speak of.

"I’m in such a wonderful mood but tonight I feel like writing about the bad things. It’s alright though- better to examine the dark places within when you have a little light to take along the ride this way you’re left no more grey than before." That was the first line of my writing before I started to go down that path. It was strange. I could hardly believe that I felt like writing about this stuff- not as a means of coming to terms or releasing it- I pretty much did all that on one long painful process before I changed my spiritual name, no, I just felt like sharing.

I started to write a little bit about why I was writing this stuff, just like above, I constantly feel the need to explain myself. Then I wrote a little background about myself and the people around me during the time of these memories and then lastly I started to write it. The explanations are a bit of a warm up for me, a way to toss myself ever so carefully back into a time and place that I rarely visit.

The writing was normal at first. I crafted out particular things like I would when introducing a scene in one of my stories but then something happening. The steady trickle that is usually my writer’s voice began to drip and stutter with something new. The water of my words had started to drip from another pipe and little by little the steam opened up. I couldn’t write from a distance anymore, suddenly I was there- my thoughts of the time becoming my thoughts of the present. I was no longer the name I go by now but once again the person I was back then. The water of my words began to gush from the faucet faster now as if they couldn’t come out fast enough. I was skipping around, going back and forth, my writing sporadic.

I was still a writer. My words, my bleeding heart, it is the only way I know to safely express myself.

I wrote for maybe three hours non stop, without looking back, without editing. I was typing faster than I knew I could but still not as fast as the water and the memories. I went like this until I was halfway through what I had originally set out to write when I surpassed a rather painful point- well not painful, but rather something that is connected to another something that still holds a might bit of power over me today. I was so tired and drained.

There were points while writing that I could feel a lump in my throat and my eyes felt hot and watery. I was alone in the room though so I forced myself not to cry. Those around me knew not what I was writing and it would be a little odd to start crying for no reason. I would speak of it just before I finished but I didn’t want their encouraging words, pity, or heartfelt wisdom to taint me beforehand. I couldn’t think about this as an adult while writing it for I wasn’t an adult wen it happened. At other points during this I felt stupid, utterly stupid and naive though I know I was neither. I was merely sheltered and cultivated to believe in untruths- not quite lies but something different and more sinister all together.

I’m not sure where I was going with this post. I suppose I just wanted to write about this experience since I’m still uncertain of posting the actual writing -after- I’ve turned it into something legible. If anyone is interested I’m looking for someone to read this writing of mine off this blog and to ask them if it is perhaps too ‘dark’ to post. That’s one of the other reasons I’m unsure of posting this writing. Often when I tell people things from my past they can’t believe it happened or they get upset that it has happened or worse they are shocked and appalled that anything like it can happen at all. Because a lot of what I write- be it spiritual, personal, or philosophical is normal to me I see it just as that whether it was bad or good or in some nice safe niche between the two. I don’t actually know if this is too dark a thing to put here.

If anything: I do want to add it to a collection of mine. Someday I want to write a book about things, mostly memories. I don’t think a lot of people wouldn’t read it and I hope a lot of people don’t need to but I would like that the writing and experiences could help someone else. Who knows. Anyway- this was a nearly pointless post. My pardon.

First things first: Many thankies to Quill for the award ‘A roar for powerful words’! I will be posting about that tonight I promise so long as I can keep my head out of my…

And secondly: Sorry I haven’t written any posts, replied to comments, or visited anyone’s blogs lately. A  lot has happened in the past few days (all good stuff) and I’ve been a tad bit distracted.

The sixth was my birthday. I am officially 19 and I’m starting to feel the awe of being a legal adult that I didn’t feel when I turned 18. It’s strange but nothing’s different. Well, no. I suppose I can’t say that ‘nothing’ is different. I’m different. I know myself better this year than I did the year before. I trust myself and others more. I’ve let go of so many fears and learned to appreciate both silence and noise. In this one year alone I have learned so much it’s almost impossible for me to imagine how all this new input fits into my head without something exploding or at least a leak erupting somewhere along the line.

Last year, my first whole year out of foster care and my first birthday with the wonderful man who is soon to be my husband, I spent with his family. It was strange at first- how they all just love to get together even if there isn’t a reason and how they don’t argue with all of the in the same room like that but instead laugh and joke and enjoy the company of one another. Compared to my few experiences with my own biological family this was very strange, stranger still that they happily accepted me and threw me a party. :) This year I requested no party. Don’t get me wrong I loved it and it was wonderful but I’m very people phobic. This year I told my Hunny that I just wanted to spend a day with him, go out to eat at a fancy restaurant, and enjoy his company. That’s just what we did too and it was absolutely fantastic!

While killing some time at the mall before we went to eat he pulled out a flyer or pamphlet of some sort about rings. Mind you while I’ve been secretly thinking about my ring here and there with the same joy of a child awaiting Christmas neither him nor I have spoken about it much. Well, I have a little, telling him I didn’t want a diamond mostly because I think they’re too expensive but anyway’s… So he pulled out this flyer without saying a word and flipped through it silently like he does. He pointed out a ring and asked if I like it- I loved it being the shiny seeking person I am and noticing however slightly he covered the price with his thumb. I said as much and he smiled and put it away as we continued to walk. Another person might wonder some at this but my Hunny is truly a creature of few words. He speaks with the silence making points that many a writer couldn’t make with their pens, myself included.

All in all I was content as a kitty.

On the way back home I thought about things. The ring thing bringing more closer to mind the fact that I am soon to be married. Married. That one word sits in my mind like chocolate on my tongue- well, if I liked chocolate that is. I’m amazed but I like the idea of being married a lot. I glance over at my Hunny as he drives, listening to NPR and agreeing now and then with something they say. Husband. I smiled, that’s another word I like. I repeat it in my mind again and think about all the conversations I’ve had with people when I mention him, secretly wanting to call him ‘My Hunny’ or ‘My Husband’ but I don’t just yet. Most of the people I speak to on a daily basis don’t know yet and we’re trying to keep it that way. For now.

Wife. That one pulls me back to my original train of thought. I can remember a time, not long back if I’m honest, when I would tell my mother that I was never getting married. I didn’t need a man in my life and if I ever wanted kids, well, there were plenty of other women that had kids without fathers. That’s how I thought when I was 14 or 15 mind you and the life fell apart only to be put back together again in an odd sort of way. Still, I didn’t think I would ever get married. Going through school I hardly ever dated. Then again this may be do in part to the fact that when I did I tended to date the same person for a year or two. Now here I am, 19 years old and about to be married. I squeal with delight.

I’m learning other words too like mother in law and brother and sister in law. My favorite word so far is nephew. It stuck me in the head one night when I was invited to go see his fifth grade play Suissical (a Dr. Suisse kind of thing). It’s still a little odd having family but I’m proud to say I think a girl could get used to this kind of thing.

I love him. I love them. I love myself. And I love the world around me. For my birthday I have received something I’d never dared hope for before- a sense of peace.

I’m going to speak to one of my long lost brothers for the first time today, on the phone. I’m so nervous. We’ve been chatting on Yahoo for a couple of months now and I can’t wait to talk to him but I have no clue what I’m going to say.

Some words from my Hunny last night helped though. He said "just let it be, words will find their own way and you need not force conversation." It reminded me of some of the stuff I’m learning in Taoism. Don’t do, just be. Don’t force things, they’ll happen on their own if you let them do so.

I have my phone on, fully charged, and I’ve cleaned the house as I have this odd habit of having to dance around the house randomly and trip over things. I really don’t talk on the phone much because the whole experience is a little scary to me in general but to talk to someone I haven’t seen in years… mild panic attacks are ensuing.

I don’t want to put this off though. I haven’t had enough time with biological family to take any of it for granted and I want to tell him all about my life and hear all about his. I want to ask his advice in planning the wedding and talk about memories of old. I don’t want to waste this moment in fear or silence so I will make myself get over it.

I was amazed when we first started chatting on IM, we have so much in common, from what I can remember we always have. We’ve always looked almost identical, aside from the facial hair, as well. Our spiritual (non religious) beliefs are much the same as are our tastes in various things. Heh, my fiance is a lot like him as well it seems. Those two will get along nicely.

I still just don’t know what to say and I’m a little scared that I will sound stupid or not meet up to his expectations. Then again, as I look back on this post I know I have a lot more to say than I think I do and I already know I won’t sound stupid. He expects me to be me, so there’s only one way to fail that. ;)

Alright, I’m ready. I’m going to dial the phone now. Just needed a written panic attack to get it all out of my system I guess. Thank you all for listening to my rant. It’s not like my usual posts, I don’t think, but hey, I hope it was insightful. *wink*

I am so utterly content it scares me. Literally.

This morning I was the first to wake. Even the cats (all seven of them) were still asleep and the whole house was silent. When first I opened my eyes I didn’t move. In fact I think I went back to sleep for awhile, but when I did finally wake up I just laid there for a bit.

I didn’t have anything that needed to be done immediately. No appointments, calls to make, or things to do. Sure, there were things I could have done, but I didn’t. I just laid there and let the peace and stillness of the house wash over me. I looked around at all my furry children and my fiance, all breathing deeply in the ancient rhythm of sleep. I couldn’t help but to smile. I love them all so very much but as I watch them I can’t help but worry.

Right now my life is going better than it ever has. I love being alive, despite the day to day problems everything around me is good. I am a happy person even when I complain because I just can’t help it.

I like cleaning my house because it is my home. I like to sit in the stillness because it is mine to enjoy. I like to watch my loved ones breathing, ensuring me that they are still alive, because they are my family.

But I must keep firmly in mind that not all good things last. If ever I were to let my guard down or think for a moment that nothing bad can happen- it will. It has before in fact, the last time I felt such happiness.

I constantly worry that the moment I let the good into my core it’ll all be swept away again and I’m not so certain I won’t break this time. Last time was almost too much. True, I survived but just by the skin of my teeth and nothing more. I know I suffer from random bouts of paranoia but I just can’t help it sometimes. I know I can’t wish for them to live forever, or for accidents to never happen, but I can wish for happiness and enjoy the time I have. It’s letting go of fear that’s the hard part.

In the mean time though I am still content. Even with fear, paranoia, and being constantly on edge praying I can ward off the worst- I enjoy life. I love and I am loved. For that simple thing I desire nothing more. Life, love, and happiness.

I close my eyes and go back to sleep.