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August 31, 2005
A Good Day
September 20th is shaping up to be a pretty good day:
Coldplay will be in Minneapolis.
U2 will be in Chicago.
The new Maroon 5 Live CD will be released.
Posted by Megan at 09:55 PM | Comments (2)
August 30, 2005
Happy Blog
My Mom is in the process of going through some boxes of old papers. She wrote down a lot of the cute things Pat and I said while growing up. No, I'm not going to embarass Pat by posting some of the things he said... though it's tempting. But Mom just handed me her transcription of what she deemed to be my first poem:
First I smile.
Then my mouth opens a little and my teeth come over my lip.
Then my cheeks get puffy and they raise up to my eyes.
Then I laugh.
"A Laugh" by Megan 2/89 (I was six.)
Posted by Megan at 08:53 PM | Comments (1)
August 27, 2005
Darth & Me
Posted by Megan at 11:20 PM | Comments (1)
What Dreams May Come
A recent entry from a friend's blog got me thinking (always a scary thing).
"My worst nightmare last summer was of events that had really happened.
My best dreams this summer have similarly been snippets of reality."
I'm so happy for her that I could almost burst. No kidding, no stretching the truth, no covering up bad feelings. I'm overjoyed.
But it struck me that my statement could be the exact opposite. Last summer was a dream come true. This summer has been a nightmare.
I hate depressing blogs. I wish I could stop writing them. I'm sorry.
It's just that some things make you wonder if life is worth it. If the joy will come close to outweighing the hurt in the end. If it's just masochistic to hope that tomorrow will be better.
I thought I was over it, but coming home again made me realize how much I still miss my dog. There's a hole in my heart, and it doesn't feel good.
Loosing friends and family is the worst feeling there is. But it happens routinely. Everyone we know will someday die.
I've applied for at least one job every day since coming back home. I haven't heard anything back yet. I think I want a job, but at times I dread actually getting one again.
So what is there to hope for? What is there to look forward to? Getting up, going to work, coming home without any energy left to do anything except eat, stare blankly at a no-brain primetime sit-com, and go to sleep with the alarm set for the next morning? Growing old, wrinkled, and achy?
The neighbor lady has three Bichon Frises. She said that the only way to deal with the death of a dog is to get another one. "I know I'd have to." I enjoy petting her dogs, but it's nothing compared how much I loved my dog. I don't think it would be fair to the new dog if I got one, because I would always love it second best.
I dropped a glass lid in the Goodwill last night, and it shattered loudly on the cement floor. Everyone in the store stopped. A girl, probably about ten, ran over and just stared at me for a solid minute while my Mom went to alert an employee. I finally asked her "Do you need something?" She shook her head "no," but just kept staring at me, mouth open, horrified.
Eventually she ran off to tell her Mom that someone in the cookware isle just caused the end of the world. Mom rushed off to tell an employee. Fortunately I had the pleasure of hearing the employee let SuperMom know that the situation was already under control.
Why did WonderGirl and SuperMom annoy me so much? Because as soon as I felt the glass lid slip from my fingers, I panicked. I felt like I was in a nightmare and wondered if there was anything else bad that could possibly happen to me. I knew deep down that it wasn't that big of a deal. "Don't cry over spilt milk," I tried to tell myself as my tears welled up. But the "your such a freaking klutz" voice was speaking louder.
I got over the broken lid. It's just an example of how things are piling up. Right now I'm holding on, but I can't wait for the time when I can let go and enjoy the ride again... at least for a while.
------
Chris (Robin Williams): Where is God in all of this?
Albert (Cuba Gooding Jr.): Oh, He's up there. Somewhere... shouting down that He loves us. Wondering why we can't hear Him. You think?
-What Dreams May Come
Posted by Megan at 09:36 PM | Comments (3)
August 26, 2005
Wishes
I was in the process of creating my own Amazon.com wishlist when I realized that all I was adding were CDs. So I decided to just make a list of CDs I want.
1. X&Y, Coldplay (I realize it's not their greatest album, but it's still quite good.)
2. Anything by U2 (No, I don't have any of their CDs. I burned a disk of my favorites, but lost it last summer.)
3. Afterglow, Sarah McLachlan (Lost that one last summer, too.)
4. Way to Blue, Nick Drake (Had a bunch of his music on my computer but lost it when I had to reinstall my OS.)
5. Songs About Jane, Maroon 5 (Trendy, but I still dig it.)
That's all I can think of at the moment, but I know there's more.
Wishing I could be at the Rock tonight; praying for everyone who is.
Posted by Megan at 06:14 PM | Comments (2)
August 20, 2005
Snapshots of Mediocrity
Slouched on a couch at the pink house. The spotlights cause the fireplace bricks to cast a shadow of their jagged outline on the painted wall. The contrast between dark and light, textured and smooth is immense. I always wonder if these things I notice are actually profound or if I just want them to be.
Usually the sound of the trains rumbling past the apartment doesn't faze me. But one night this past week was particularly still until an unusually thunderous train came through. I must have been somewhere between the third and fourth REM cycle when I heard it and thought that the world was ending. My breathless prayer as I sat straight up, still in a state between sleep and wakefulness: "Don't forget me, God."
The first few days of unemployment felt like a sumo wrestler had been lifted off my shoulders with a crane. After the fourth day, however, boredom set in. I think I'm going to sink Family Video by taking advantage of their new member half price rental policy. When I'm not watching bad movies (somehow I always pick ones that suck), I've adopted the practice of scouring the clearance merchandise at Target.
I'm going back to Omaha on Monday. The nomadic lifestyle seems only appropriate while I am still jobless and homeless. Plus, moving a lot will ensure that no one gets as bored with me as I am.
Apologies for the really mediocre entry. I'm not trying to wallow in mediocrity. It just seems to be swallowing me.
Posted by Megan at 12:56 PM | Comments (2)
August 16, 2005
Walk into the Past
This would make a good poem, but I tried to write one and it was really bad, so here it is in narrative form.
The other day I drove past the tan water tower with "Ames" in red block letters, and it sparked a memory. That water tower used to be blue.
I know that factoid because the blue water tower used to be the sign that we were close to Grandma & Grandpa's house. A three hour car ride seemed like eternity as a kid.
I asked Pat if this was the same water tower, and he affirmed that it indeed was. He also reminded me of our grandparents' old address. It has a ring to it, but I think I will refrain from posting it on the internet.
So I took a walk to Arkansas the other day. Arkansas Avenue, that is. As I passed in and out of the shade from the trees along the way, I remembered how Grandpa would take us along on his evening walks. Once he tried to teach me the names of the leaves -- oak, maple, ash -- but I could never keep all of the shapes straight.
Just after I had decided that I was desperately lost and would never find my way out of the tangle of streets, I found the house. Seeing it again was like instantly returning to a time about a decade in the past. That was the driveway where Grandma would wave at us as we pulled in and as we left again. Those were the porch steps where we sat and posed for photos. We have a picture of me standing on the couch and looking out that front window when I was about a year old. Grandpa was right there in case I fell.
A silver PT cruiser sat in the driveway. What I could see of the backyard was all grass. At least half of it used to be a garden flourishing like only an agronomist could maintain. At first, I thought the tree in the middle of the front yard had shrunk. But then I noticed the stump at the foot of the sapling. We used to try to put out the fireflies with our water guns underneath the branches of the sturdy oak that used to be that stump. Someone else has invaded my memories.
When I finally looked away from the house, I noticed that the neighbor was getting into his car. He looked very familiar, but he didn't seem to recognize the girl who shot hoops with his son in their driveway about a decade ago.
On the way back, I passed the elementary school where Grandpa would take me. I would release all of my energy on the playground after having stored it up in a virtually toyless house. I made sure I played on every piece of equipment, not missing the slides, swings, jungle gym, or monkey bars.
Now, here's the part that is going to make you think that I am certifiably insane... but I guess it's possible that I am. I heard once that the sense most strongly tied with memory is smell. I swear that on my way back home I smelled my grandpa, who passed away almost five years ago. I exhaled and inhaled again, and the scent was overwhelming. It was so strong that I subconsciously thought that I should move over on the sidewalk to make room. But when that thought became conscious, I refused the urge. I try to not be voluntarily insane.
Posted by Megan at 10:39 PM | Comments (5)
August 13, 2005
Spinning Dizzy
Two weeks. I lasted two weeks at my first job.
I had been getting bad vibes from my supervisor from day one. I took some comfort when a co-worker told me a couple days later that she gets short with people when she's stressed. But it began to seem like she was that way more to me than anyone else.
This past Thursday I couldn't take it anymore. I had been bending over backwards trying to please her. I would sit with my stomach in a knot in anticipation of our daily meeting. I just couldn't screw up. I was downright scared of her.
So I asked the question.
"Can I ask you how I'm doing in general?"
"Why would you ask that?" She threw one back.
"Well, sometimes I get the feeling that I may not always be on the ball and that you are getting frustrated with me."
"We're going to have a meeting this morning. We'll talk about it then."
I sat at my desk for an hour, waiting to hear from her again. I noticed her going in to talk to the senior staff, but it didn't really look like a meeting. Then she called me back into her office.
"I don't think you're right for this position. But we need to start a voter database project, and we would like to offer you a position on that. But as of right now, you are no longer the scheduler."
"What are my weaknesses? Just so I know."
"You just don't have the right temperament. I wouldn't look at it as a weakness."
I was given until the end of the day to think about my new job offer -- basically a demotion. I took an early lunch just to get out of the office. When I returned, I was armed with a few more questions:
"Will I still need to keep evenings and weekends free?"
"Well, yes," she replied condescendingly. "This is a campaign."
"Okay. Is there a salary set for this position yet?"
"We will keep you where you are currently."
"Okay. I would very much like to stay on the campaign." ...until I find another job, I thought.
"Good. (Perhaps the first word of approval I heard from her.)
I returned to my desk. Five minutes later, she asked to see me in her office again.
"If you have any hesitations about the number of hours this job requires, you might want to look for something else."
"Yeah, I think you're right."
And that was it. I cleared off my desk, said goodbye to my co-workers, and walked out.
I used to think that I could never get enough politics. I now know that ten to twelve hour days and six to seven days a week is too much for me.
I know it's the right thing, but it's hard. It's hard because I feel like a failure. I just wasn't good enough. It's hard because I thought that God had blessed me with this job, but it wasn't what I had thought it would be. It's hard because I'm back looking for another job again, not knowing what I will find or where it will take me. I have come so close to getting used to calling Ames "home," and now I might have to say goodbye all over again. It's hard because I no longer presume to have any inkling of what God's will for my life is.
Sometimes I just feel like it's all a dream. I feel like I'm walking in a fog, just drifting through life and watching all of this happen to me. When reality sets in, though, it doesn't feel good. I have Kleenex overflowing from the cup holders in my car. And the other day I just suddenly felt like I was going to hurl.
They say that bad things happen in threes. I was trying to count the other day and make the total divisible by three, but I was never very good at math. And does getting the job in the first place count as a bad thing? When I hit the cat last night, I hoped that it would finally be the last disaster for the time being. But then I forgot to move my car to the other side of the street at midnight and was bestowed with a parking ticket. Yes, I have definitely lost count.
Posted by Megan at 03:47 PM | Comments (8)
August 06, 2005
Overwhelmed
I'm going to have to work on Saturday. And Sunday. And I found out in a meeting on Friday.
Office Space parallels aren't funny anymore. Mainly because working 19 hours over the weekend sandwiched by 40 hour weeks isn't funny. I'm tired. I'm tired of work.
I ate grilled frozen pizza at Pat's last night. Then we went shopping to buy him some rock-and-roll clothes for his gig this weekend. I had a blast, even though it was hard to resist the pull of the women's clothing and focus on the men's. I was exhausted by 10:00, though, and that's no fun, especially on a Friday night.
The rest of Ames was drunk and loud, which wasn't very conducive to falling asleep on the couch with the back door open. Closing the back door wasn't an option either, since the breeze was essential. I finally decided to move to the love seat in Jamie and Naomi's room.
I drifted off right away. Next thing I new, Naomi was standing beside me:
"Megan, you're sleeping in my bed tonight."
"Are you sure?" I asked groggily while she guided me a couple of steps across the room.
"Yes, it will be more comfortable for you." I still had my blanket in my hands, but she helped me in my struggle to sort out the covers, and in an instant I was sound asleep again.
I awoke this morning to realize that I hadn't even given Naomi her pillow. I had plopped mine down right on top of it, and my head on top of both of them.
I've been trying to be optimistic, but I'm going to admit it. This job is stressing me out and running me down. If things don't improve in the next month, I'm not going to continue. I can't put in 60+ hour weeks on a regular basis and stay physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually healthy.
In the meantime, I am incredibly blessed to have the roommates, friends, and family that I do. I'm not used to having a bad day and coming home to have a roommate encourage me and pray with me. I'm so blessed to have a roommate who will give me her bed and her pillow without a second thought. I'm blessed to have a brother who will spend his Friday night with me and parents who I can call every night when I feel like I can't go on.
My goal for today is to be a blessing to my co-workers. We're traveling up to Clear Lake for a couple of events, and I think that the car ride will be a great opportunity for us to get to know each other better. As Jamie reminded me yesterday, God is in control, and he will make things work together for good.
Posted by Megan at 12:56 PM | Comments (4)
August 02, 2005
Work and Play
The office above Iowans for Nussle houses a day care. As I sit at my laptop filling out forms, crafting tactful e-mails, and adopting my most mature telephone voice for important calls, I hear herds of children thump-thump-thumping up and down the hallway above the ceiling. There is evidently a playground above the Political Director's office, because stomping abounds.
Nothing makes a person analyze life more than irony. These poor kids have no idea that in twenty years they will be paper pushers too. Their parents do everything they can to make their little lives comfortable and easy, but a carefree life can only last so long. Would kids be better off if they were taught to work from day one? Maybe child labor isn't such a bad idea. Maybe kids should learn to earn things instead of having them given to them.
Or maybe none of us should work, no matter how old. Who really needs productivity, anyway? What if we all just sat around and shot the breeze all day? Who needs technology or science?
At a very stressful point during my sophomore year in college, probably during midterms or finals, my roommate and I daydreamed about our ideal professions. She wanted to be a nomadic clown. I wanted to be Amish. 'Tis a gift to be simple.
Meanwhile, I have been living a parallel life to Peter in Office Space. It was 4:59 PM and my laptop showed no signs of progress in shutting down. A full three minutes later, I slapped it shut, shoved it into my bag, and headed out the door... and right into rush hour traffic.
Posted by Megan at 07:26 PM | Comments (1)