JCP: Fair and Sqaure

My fiance has worked for JCP for a while now. Clothes shopping has never really been an enjoyable experience for me but since he started working there, I find myself going to the mall a lot more. For the last few weeks, I haven’t seen him much at all because JCP decided to go through some major changes and he had to work triple overtime to make sure the store was ready for the reveal.

I think the changes are a good thing. Instead of changing their sales what seems like every day and having tons of 15% off coupons mailed to your house, they’ve simplified everything. Once a month you’ll get a big sales book with all the new items that you’ll find in the store. You’ll have “every day prices” which are not “on sale” but still a better price than their competitors without coupons. My fiance explained it as stores will intentionally mark up the price of something and then put it on 20% off so people will be more tempted to buy it. JCP doesn’t want to deal with that nonsense so they’re just going to have it a fair price all the time. You’ll also have your “month-long values” which are the items that are on sale for the whole month so you don’t need to check the sales fliers every week to see if what you want is on sale yet. It’ll all be included in the sales book already! And then you’ll also see the “best prices” which is the same as clearance where everything gets marked way down on the 1st and 3rd Friday of each month in preparation to make room for new product. In addition to simplified prices, JCP is also updating their image. Each month will feature a different color (February is pink) and the store will be accented in the color of the month. If you go right now, you’ll notice Pink frames on the doors and pink wallpaper on the displays. It’s pretty sharp. You’ll go to JCP on 2/29 and then go back on 3/1 and it’ll be like you stepped into a whole new store. Fresh!

Anyway, all this has been happening because JCP has had some structural changes. They brought in the guy in charge of starting the actual Apple store (and we all know how successful that was!) and then he was in charge of Target for a while. And with all these changes, they needed a spokesperson to promote them! JCP decided to go with Ellen DeGeneres.

My fiance told me a few days ago, an old man actually came to him and complained about JCP using Ellen as a spokesperson. The old man said something like, “I know it’s not you and it’s your managers… but my wife and I will refuse to shop here as long as that lesbian is involved.” My fiance didn’t know what to say, but in his head he said something like, “We don’t want your business anyway!”. He said since then, two more people have called in and either complained or asked for the corporate number. I really couldn’t believe it (well I could..people suck.. but still) that people are still so closed minded. I watched Ellen’s response to One Million Moms and I’m even more of a fan. I’m glad my fiance works for a company that stuck to their guns and didn’t cave to outside pressure to stop working with Ellen. I’ll probably be more inclined to shop there and I hope you will be too!

Amazing Grace

My 17 year old brother enrolled in the St. Augustine School for the Deaf and Blind almost a month into his second semester of his Junior year. Why? Because he suddenly went blind last summer. The way I remember it is he was running at practice after school one day and didn’t realize he was running next to someone until they said something. He went home and said, “I think something’s wrong with my eye…everything is blurry.” Went to the emergency room. Went to follow up doctor appointments. Went to specialists. Sent blood work to a lab in another state. Got a diagnosis of Leber Hereditary Optic Neuropathy. It kind of just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?

Anyway, his current school was dragging their feet about getting technology for him so he could actually participate in his classes. He could read if it was size 72 font 2 inches from his face and he could distinguish shapes so he wasn’t completely in-darkness-blind but he was still legally blind. Luckily, he could retain information just by hearing it but his teachers were still at a loss on how to test him (since bubbling scantron sheets would be difficult when you can’t see the bubbles) and some were concerned that he would lose his eligibility for sports because of it.

Needless to say, my mom was not thrilled and recognized that the school system was not doing what they were legally obligated to do to accommodate his disability. She sought out resources elsewhere and found helpful information with the Division of Blind Services which told her about the school in St. Augustine.

They took a little trip to have a tour. My brother took some of his friends along for moral support. He wasn’t thrilled but I would imagine my mom thought it something like Disney World without all the lines. They had kayaking, swimming, gym, dorms, practically door-to-door transportation on Sundays and Fridays, ski trips, and competent teachers. And the price tag was $0.00 because it is a public school with very determined donors and board members.

Anyway, my brother begged and begged my mom not to send him there. It was his only request for a Christmas present. My mom was conflicted. She wanted to send him there because it would be the best place for him but she did not want him to hate her or have to leave all his friends.

Then, randomly, his vision improved slightly to where he could get by in his classes. He could even read his text messages again. It looked like he was in the clear to graduate with his friends.

Then the school called my mom and said, “Sup? Y U No come to school?” and said he was still eligible and would need to know within 3 days. So off he went the following Monday to start.

I drove down to St. Augustine from Savannah for the day since I randomly had the day off and helped him get settled. I sat in on his IEP meeting, talked with some of his teachers, met some of his peers, and listened to the head of the residence halls talk for what seemed like 5 hours because he talked like Ben Stein. I left my brother with some Lasagna I made the night before, said goodbye to my mom, and headed home.

The school seems really great. It brought back memories of college and I tried to tell my brother to take advantage of everything they had to offer because it was free and he probably wouldn’t get opportunities to do some of these things again. I also told him to be nice because he can get kind of mouthy sometimes. He said he would try, but I was skeptical.

He’s been there for about a week and a half now and his Facebook statuses are either angsty or talking about how blessed he is and to not take things for granted. I know it’s hard for him but I know there is an adjustment period too. I think if anything, he is gaining some perspective. I really respect and admire him. He’s handled this and everything else that has been going on with our family like a champ. He complains a lot but I don’t believe he means most of it. He is a teenager after all and was placed in an unfamiliar environment with people he doesn’t recognize. I’d be a little crabby too.

Why grocery shopping is my favorite

Growing up, I typically liked going to the grocery store with my mom. It drove me crazy how sporadic she was and that she would send me backwards 5 aisles to fetch something though. I think she started her shopping journey in the middle of the store one time so I knew it was going to be a long trip.

My first two years of college, I lived in the dorms. I had a meal plan so I didn’t really need to go grocery shopping. Our mini fridge usually always had milk and salsa in it so I only needed those items plus cereal and tortilla chips from the store. Grocery shopping wasn’t too exciting then.

When I moved in to my first apartment, we lived right around the corner from a Publix so it was super convenient to go shopping. I loved walking up and down the neatly displayed aisles to see what new items were available. Still though, I typically bought the same things again and again and grocery shopping was more routine than an adventure.

After I graduated undergrad, I moved back home for about a month or so before beginning graduate school. My grocery list stayed pretty consistent. Fresh salsa, baked tostitos scoops, spaghetti, sauce, ground beef, yellow rice, chicken, frozen broccoli, turkey, cheese, bread, cereal, and milk. Clearly, I was eating like a queen. Around this time, I discovered you could check Pubix’ sale ad online and they listed all the bogo items. I began buying bogo items just because they were bogo. I was buying one thing and getting a WHOLE thing for FREE! how cool is that?! My food selection began to grow.

This process continued into my second year of graduate school. I moved back home for my final internship and I didn’t really have to go grocery shopping anymore. I realized I missed it. I went sometimes to get food for lunch or something to cook my family dinner that night, but it wasn’t the same as when I was buying things for myself.

When I moved out and up to Savannah, I was appalled at the amount of food my fiance had. A bottle of  hot sauce, popcorn, hamburger helper (no hamburger), very old grapes, taco seasoning, and leftover suddenly pasta that was in the fridge without a cover on it so it got all dried out and crunchy. Not even embellishing.

I went grocery shopping and got my usual supplies. Around this time I started experimenting with different recipes (I was unemployed after all and didn’t have much else going on). My shopping was more planned, I had lists, I checked the sales prices, I used coupons when I had them. I even started remembering to bring my reusable bags so I was being green at the same time! I found I was going shopping a lot because I was typically only getting things one or two meals at a time. It was not very time or cost effective.

These days, I plan a little better. I have plain rice, but I’ll get different condensed soups to cook it with so it could be a french onion rice or a creamy chicken rice. I buy the meat that is on sale and structure sides around that. I make sure to always have things to make Mexican food because that’s my fiance’s favorite. I’ve gone often enough that I know what items go on sale or what items have coupons. If i need those items, I will wait until it’s on sale or I have a coupon. Just makes good sense.

I typically go grocery shopping alone, but I love when I can go with my fiance too. I start at the right side of the store and go up and down most of the aisles until I reach the left side, grab my milk and my bread and I head to the check out lines. Every time I enter the store, I am filled with this sense of independence. I am getting MY groceries. I am choosing what to buy or what not to buy. I will go home and put them away. I will pick what to make for dinner and I will make it. If there is nothing to eat, there is no one to blame but myself. I try not to talk on the phone when I’m shopping. It requires too much concentration plus it’s hard to push the cart with one hand.

On a side note, I shop at Publix 99.5% of the time. I have tried other groceries stores but I typically only try them once because it is so overwhelming. They’ve been messy, out of stock, mean, unorganized, and unfamiliar. I don’t know what I would do if we ever moved out of the southeast.

The Chase

The sun was beating down on my shoulders as I was fleeing through the field. My legs moving without much direction from my brain. They knew where we needed to go. 

I knew that if I looked back, I would surely trip and get caught. That’s at least what happens in the movies. So I pressed on toward the forest where I would be granted a little more protection. 

I ducked under branches and sneaked through tree trunks, working my way to an area that was well covered so I could rest and catch my breath. It felt like I had been running for days. I crouched down and realized how exhausted I actually was. My adrenaline was pumping and I could feel my eyes start to burn from the sweat dripping down my face. I blinked and wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. I had to make sure I could see if anything was approaching. 

I realized my breathing was echoing through the woods. I closed my mouth and tried my best to slow my heart rate so I could breathe through my nose. I had to be quiet or I would definitely be discovered. I listened for leaves crunching beneath heavy, oncoming feet.

My friends had to be wondering where I was by now. Hopefully. 

A twig snapped in the distance. I did a quick survey of the area and with my second wind, darted toward the field again in hopes of reaching safety again. I jumped over a fallen log, wiped spiderwebs off my face, and hurdled over a bush of poison ivy before realizing I was turned around. I had no idea where I was going. 

I glanced over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of a red shirt before plummeting to the ground after my foot got tangled in a vine. “FREEZE!” said Red Shirt, “I got you!”

And there I stayed, frozen, until one of my friends could reach me and tag me back to life.   

Falling Snow Part 2

I had a pretty good idea where we were headed. There were only two coffee places in the area where we were. One had coffee for five dollars a cup and they often added whipped cream and sprinkled cinnamon or nutmeg on top. The other coffee joint placed an almost cold cup of coffee in front of you on a ringed saucer and left you on your own to fight through the grounds. That coffee was only about .75 cents a cup. My money was on that one.

“Keep up kid.” Smokey called over his shoulder. The effects of no sleep were taking its toll.

“Where are you from, Smokey?” I called back.

“Around here, I’ve lived on the street for about three years now.” He was slowing down.

The coffee shop was coming into view. It was the .75 cents per cup one. Smokey led the way and kept the door open for me. A bell rang, and a lone customer looked up and then went back to his paper.

“Hey Betty.” Smokey said to the older lady behind the counter.

“Hey there, Jim, how’s life treatin’ ya?” I guessed Betty wasn’t one of the people that called him Smokey.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old, but I don’t complain.” He pulled out a stool and patted the one next to it, the universal sign to sit down and make yourself comfortable. “How’s about two cups of coffee for me and my new friend David?”

“Sure thing. Nice to meet you David.” Betty took the coffee pot off the warmer and poured two cups. “Cream or sugar?”

“None for me, thanks.” I replied.

“Me neither.” Smokey grabbed his cup and took a long whiff before tasting it.

“So why doesn’t Betty call you Smokey?”

“I used to come in here with the wife before the accident so Betty knows me as Jim.”

“What was the accident?”

“I used to live in a little house with my wife and our daughter, but one night I passed out smoking a cigarette and I set the house on fire.”

“Did everyone make it out okay?” I was concentrating on avoiding the coffee grounds in my cup.

“Yea, we all got out fine, but our house was pretty much destroyed.”

“Where’s your wife now?”

“Who knows?” Smokey picked up his mug and swirled his coffee before drinking it again. “We didn’t have insurance to pay for the damages, or much of anything, and she found someone that could give her what she wanted. She picked up her things one day and left with Jenny, our daughter.”

“That must have been rough.” I had finished what I wanted of my coffee and I looked across the counter at assorted signs and mirrors, seeing my own tired face and the top of Smokey’s head reflected back. “Do you think about her a lot?” I watched my lips move and found it strange that the voice I heard was coming from me.

“I used to. All the time. I tried to get in touch with her a lot but I never heard anything back. She’s probably better off now.”

The lone customer had ordered waffles with strawberry topping and I got a whiff of it as Betty walked by. I felt my heart drop down into my stomach.

“That’s a real shame.” I knew how Smokey felt.

“Yea, but you know, life deals you the cards and then you lose some hands and win some others.” He took one final gulp of his coffee and clinked it against the stained saucer. “What about you, David, got a girl?”

“Used to. She went to college and I stayed here. She met someone else and I was suddenly not her type.”

“Sounds like you still think about her a lot.” I could tell he was looking at me from our reflections in the mirror.

“I just can’t seem to get her out of my head I guess.”

“Well take it from me. I’ve been there and I’ve lost damn near everything, you have to move on. You’re still young, you should be living for the future, not living in the past.”

“I guess you’re right.” I couldn’t believe I was taking advice from a homeless guy.

“Of course I’m right. I don’t intend to live on the street forever, I’ve been working on picking myself back up.”

“Isn’t that hard to do?”

“Of course it is, but it’s harder losing sleep dwelling in things you can’t bring back.”

I nodded and let his words float around in my brain a bit. People started coming into the coffee shop.

“I think I better get movin’, Smokey, I’ve got to work today and I’d like to try and get some sleep.”

“All right, David, think about what I said.” He started putting quarters on the counter.

“I sure will.” I shook his hand firmly. “Do you need any money or anything?”

“Nah, I’m all right, your company was good enough. Try not to get attacked any more, though.”

I could see a few chipped teeth in his smile.

“I won’t. Thanks, Smokey, good luck to ya.”

We walked back out through the coffee shop doors and into the street. The sun was coming up and traffic was coming back.

“Well, David, maybe I’ll see you around.” I felt his hand on my back.

“Maybe. Thanks again.” We shook hands again and I watched as he walked away. He seemed very confident. I put my hands in my pockets and walked into the rising sun toward my apartment. “What a weird walk.” I thought to myself. I hoped I could get in a quick sleep before work.

I rounded the corner where my apartment building was located. I hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, but my pace was still quick. I scampered up the stairs and opened my door. My bed looked welcoming, but my closet held the secret to my slumber.

There it was, sitting in the corner of my shelf, the box of letters. I stretched out and took the box in my arms. The last remains of her; aside from my memory, but that would soon fade.

Clutching the box, I began the ascent to the roof. I could hear the pigeons cooing and the traffic rumbling below. I approached the edge and held the shoebox close to my face. Beneath the smell of time and closet, I could still smell strawberries and vanilla. I peered over at the traffic and took one final breath before releasing the box into the street. On the way down, the lid came off and the snowy white letters littered the streets below. Children on their way to school stopped to jump around in my memories and I walked back to my room, hands in my pockets. Finally ready for some sleep.

Falling Snow Part 1

Since I missed posting the other day, here’s part of a short story I found from when I took a creative writing class my first semester in college (about..oh…8 years ago?). The assignments were 8-10 pages so that’s why I’m breaking it up. I think we wrote 2 big stories and spent the rest of the time reading other works of fiction and discussing them in class. The day the papers were due, we would exchange them with someone and the next class we would get in mini groups to discuss/critique each other. I remember someone suggested I add in a gender-clarifying pronoun in the beginning because since people knew I wrote it, they assumed the main character was a girl. Someone else also remarked that he also did a story about a homeless person and it was nice that they were both shown in a positive light. Also, the teacher was this cute, young, barbie blonde lady that had “brown sugar” as a ring tone and my friend Billy was delightfully disgusted by it.

—

I was waiting as my eyes were making my ceiling move closer and further away. I had learned over the years that, when you’re tired, your brain often plays tricks on you. Sometimes, things appear closer or further away than they actually are. I also used my sleep-deprived senses to find figures in the etchings on my ceiling. Usually I was able to fall asleep an hour or so after I started playing these games. I made sheep run across my ceiling and disappear into the wall on the other side a hundred times before, but nothing seemed to be working this night. My back was stiff and my arms were crossed across my stomach above my comforter. My pillow was fluffed recently because I had just come back from getting a glass of milk. Apparently, drinking milk is supposed to help you get to sleep. I also listened to classical music all through high school thinking it would make me smarter. Nothing really ever worked for me.

I knew I had to get sleep soon. It was already3:00 A.M.and I had to be up in four hours to work another double shift. It was a decent job. I had been working there since I graduated high school and my pay had increased about 50 percent. I flipped burgers and made fries and collected money. Doing menial work gave my mind time to wander. You would think it would stop eventually, but here it was, still wandering, atthree o’clockin the morning.

The city was quiet early in the morning and it had just finished raining, giving the air a cooler feel from the normal summer heat. Maybe if I walked a while, my body would be glad to be back in bed and fall asleep. I grabbed my work clothes from the clean laundry pile and slipped my no-slip shoes onto my feet. I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed into the street.

There were still rain drops coming off the edges of the roofs and the leaves of the trees. The water on the roadway combined with the steam from the sewers magnified what lights were on, giving everything an eerie glow. I had three options: left, right, or straight. I could theoretically have gone backwards into my house again, but I had already come too far. I turned right knowing that eventually I would end up on the left side, and the straight way just seemed too short for this type of occasion. Brake-lights flicked on as a cat scampered in front of a taxi cab. The cat, who was missing part of its left ear, jumped onto a trashcan, screeching, and caused someone’s bedroom lights to turn on. It seemed like everyone was a restless sleeper these days.

My shoes scraped along the sidewalk. I remembered to pick up my feet when I walked, something she told me to do when I met her in high school, but the soles of my shoes were wearing out, and sometimes the flap would touch the sidewalk making that annoying shuffling sound.

I had a box of letters on the top shelf in my closet from her. Sometimes I would go through them and re-read them. Where the letters were folded, the ink was smudged and almost invisible. They were all dated in the top right corner and signed “with love”. The last letter was dated exactly one year ago. Thoughts of her had been running through my head all day. What was she doing? Who was she with? Why didn’t she return my calls? Or my letters?

She sat in front of me in high school and her hair always smelled like strawberries. I only got to talk to her because our English teacher assigned us as a group for a project on Shakespeare. There was something about working late after school, alone in her parents’ mansion-sized house, in her room that smelled like vanilla, learning about the despair and passion in Shakespeare that made out eyes click and our lips lock. That was the start of our three year relationship. Then she went to college a few states away, sent me a few letters, met someone new, and that was that.

I made a left onto a side street. There was a night club up ahead and I didn’t want to be in the presence of other people. The street was lined with dumpsters and garbage cans and my nose scrunched up at the smell of lingering wetness. Something shuffled behind a dumpster, “probably just a cat or something,” I said aloud. My feet wobbled over assorted trash that people had thrown out from their windows. Suddenly my balance was thrown completely off by callous hands gripping me around my neck. I thumped on a nearby cinderblock and don’t remember anything after that.

When I came to, I noticed a heavy beard really close to my face. My eyes came back into focus and realized two matching beady eyes were looking me over. I tried to get up, but my foot had fallen asleep and I just fell over again. The man had dirty hands hanging between his knees and I could see faded black socks through his shoes. He inched up to a standing position and I was surprised to see that he stood remarkably straight.

“You feel alright there, son?” He almost sounded like my father.

“Uh, I think so, what happened?” I said while I was trying to boost myself up to a sitting position.

“Well, there was a sucker who tried to take your wallet,” he said, pointing his arm into the opposite direction, “but I clobbered him in the back with this here metal pole.” The extended arm now motioned toward a generic spot on the ground. There was a rusted pole about four feet long amidst the other random pieces of junk. “I guess he decided I wasn’t worth the fight, and he took off,” the man scoffed. “I didn’t want to fight him either; he was too young for me.”

“So how did I end up on the ground then?”

“Beats me, you’re the one down there. Your knees probably gave way when the sucker stopped holding you up. Your head is busted up pretty bad, did you hit something?”

“I must have. Heads just don’t start bleeding by themselves.”

“Well, don’t touch it! It’ll get infected.” Now he really started to sound like my father. “What’s your name, kid?”

“David. Who are you?”

“People usually just call me Smokey.”

“All right, Smokey. Nice to meet you,” I stammered as I helped myself up. Smokey grabbed my hand and gave me a firm squeeze.

“You too, David. It’s a good thing you’re not hurt too bad.”

“Yea, mhm.” I took my hand back and hustled toward the city lights.

“Now wait just a minute, kid,” I could tell he had his hands on his bony hips, “I basically saved your life and all you got for me is a lousy handshake?”

I rolled my eyes and exhaled. It would have been too easy to just keep walking, but I could hear the dissatisfaction in Smokey’s voice and I didn’t want him to follow me home. I spun on my heels to face his stern look.

“I don’t really have any money to give you if that’s what you want.”

“Oh no, kid, I was just wonderin’ if you like coffee. It’s hard to get people to talk to on the street.”

I raised an eyebrow. He looked harmless enough. A little dirty, but he didn’t act hardened by the streets. After all, he did save my life. I should get a cup of coffee with him. One cup, though.

“Fine.” I know I sounded reluctant.

“Great,” Smokey sprung forward, “I know this little place up the road, real friendly folks, used to go there a lot before the accident.”

“What accident?” We were walking now. Fast.  I almost had to skip to keep up with him.

“I’ll tell you about it when we get to where we’re going.”

Why I’m a bad social worker

In Social Work school, they teach you empathy and nonjudgmental acceptance, no matter the situation. If you feel like you can’t be empathetic or nonjudgmental in a certain circumstance, then do not pursue a job dealing with those circumstances.

In a recent interview, I said one of the skills I possess that would make me a strong candidate for the job was that I had the ability to relate to anyone regardless of their situation. I hear about child abuse and (of course I feel bad for the children) but I also figure the parents were abused as well and they don’t know any different. A women experiences intimate partner violence and she doesn’t leave, well, it’s scary being on your own especially if you think this guy is going to come after you or your children. You bust someone’s face in? You must have been really angry… let’s talk about your triggers and skills you can use to prevent incarceration. These might sound like excuses, but if I don’t reframe the situation to something manageable or understandable, my work isn’t going to be very effective.

However, on further self-examination, I realized that although I can relate to MOST people regardless of their situation, I struggle with relating to people with a substance abuse problem that have zero motivation to change. I understand the stages of change model, but I still find it difficult to understand that when faced with numerous examples of things that are falling apart in their life, addicts will still choose a substance over their family/life/job/whatever. The fact that I view it as a choice that they can make each day and I feel as though they would be making a wrong one if they choose to smoke/drink/shootup/whatever makes me a terrible social worker if I worked in the addictions field.  I can literally not comprehend that someone would hit rock bottom and still not want to make a change. I get that substances are a form of self-medication but when there are people that are willing to work with you to provide alternative methods to improve functioning and you just don’t care… well, I’m sorry, I can’t help you. Call me when you reach the contemplation or action stage.

For a very important date

Today’s blog entry is inspired by oneminutewriter.blogspot.com for their January 23rd prompt: When is it good to be late?

Ladies and gentlemen, please start the 60-second timer………

—

Well the first thing that immediately comes to mind is “when you’re trying to have children” but I don’t think that is the kind of “late” they are speaking of. I usually feel it is okay to be late to parties where alcohol is going to be served. I learned this in college when I showed up for a party at the”scheduled” time and I sat around for about 30-45 minutes for people to actually start showing up. Awkward.

—

Okay, that’s all for now. One minute doesn’t really give you much time at all to write but that was fun! That blog also has “Friday Fiction” where it gives you an idea for a short story so if that inspires me, I might try that this week.

January 22 Resolution

When I started this blog, I was unemployed and had every intention of writing on a regular basis. I started out strong enough, even included some pictures and anecdotes of my unemployed life. I felt like it was a legitimate interesting read. Then I got a job and I felt my posts becoming more cynical and boring…  reading about how I wasn’t getting paid is only intriguing for so long. Then I quit and was unemployed again but I was so beaten down and poor that I didn’t really feel like going on any adventures so I started posting pictures about my cat (who is sleeping in my lap, btw) and there’s only so much of that you can do before you start wearing a muu-muu and curlers. Then I got a job. Then I got second job. Then I had maybe 1 day off every 1.5 weeks and I didn’t want to spend it in front of a computer and my blog kind of fell apart.

I often thought about posting something but I never really had any good ideas about what to write about. I had all these undeveloped thoughts that would be good for stream of consciousness writing but I like structure too much for that.  So that’s when I decided I would steal writing prompts off the internet and aim to write at least once a day (or at least 4x/week) for a long time (maybe a year?). I really enjoy writing and I like having a blog so this is my solution to writer’s block.

Today’s prompt is: List 10 things that people are always surprised to find out about you.
From daydreamingonpaper.com

1) I have never roller-bladed. I have roller-skated and I am terrible at it. I asked for roller-blades one time when I had good grades on my report card and was denied because they were “too dangerous” and my dad didn’t want me ending up with a bunch of scrapes and scars on my knees/elbows. It was probably for the best. Around this same time, I remember I was home alone and I was roller-skating in the house and I got some apple juice out of the fridge and I slipped and apple juice flew all over the kitchen.  I cleaned it up and I don’t think my parents every knew. Well, until now because my mom reads my blog.

2) I have never seen Napoleon Dynamite. A couple of my friends in high school had advanced passes to see it in theaters and they spent the entire week quoting it. And then everyone else saw it and spent the next year quoting it. And then people used it as examples in school reports. I felt as though it was talked about enough that either A) it was overhyped and I didn’t need to waste time watching it or B) people quoted it so much that it was like I had already seen it anyway. Now I haven’t seen it because I’m stubborn and I’ve gone this long without it that I’m not going to give in.

3) I have a birthmark. A HUGE birthmark. It goes from the middle of my thumb on my left hand to right below my left collarbone. I don’t think people are “surprised” by this, but I always get surprised reactions. “THAT’S a birthmark?!?!” “Does it hurt?” “What is THAT?!…it looks like a hickey!” My two absolute favorite reactions are when I pretended I didn’t know what they were talking about and looked down and started to freak out and an old lady overheard us and offered to call an ambulance (oops) and a 6-year old went “What is this?…Can I touch it?” and then rubbed my arm. This was after he asked questions like: Where is the carpet? Do we line up in here? What’s your name? <3

4) I can touch my nose with my tongue, buuut…

5) I can’t roll my tongue. My family was probably most surprised by this because they all can do it.

6) My hair is its natural color. This mostly applies when I get a haircut. They go to separate the layers, “Oh, wow, are these natural highlights? I haven’t touched virgin hair in so long!” followed shortly by “Look at all this hair you have!”

7) I’ve never been issued a traffic ticket. Only been pulled over once (a year ago, I could have said never been pulled over) and he issued me a warning because my headlight was out. He was probably hoping that I was drunk because it was St. Patrick’s Day weekend and I was wearing green beads and light up buttons. I think I am a cautious driver because when I first started out, my dad said if I ever got a moving violation ticket he would take my car and my license (and that would really suck!)

8) I once licked a stranger’s foot for a free t-shirt. At an outdoor concert. In the middle of summer. There really isn’t much I won’t do for free stuff… or a chance at public humiliation. It builds character.

9) I would buy books for school before classes started. I guess this isn’t the norm because everyone looks at me like I’m crazy when I have this conversation with them. I just like to be prepared!

10) I cried in Aladdin when Jasmine escaped over the fence and Raja was all O,_O with his big sad tiger eyes.

To slice bread or to social work?

Some days I feel as though I’m not cut out for this profession. Like today, for instance… I had to call in an abuse report. Something that I knew was coming because during the intake, the kid told me he runs away from home then tells the police he is going to kill himself so he can go to a psychiatric hospital instead of going back home. Now, I’ve been to psychiatric hospitals and if a kid would rather go there than go back home, you know something else has got to be going on.

So yeah, during our session today, it came out. There were tears and stomach aches but he did a great job at not back tracking when I told him I was going to make a report.

All the way home I just kept thinking, “I don’t have to make abuse reports when I slice bread at a grocery store.” I hate making abuse reports. I’ve only had to make three since 2008, but they’re not getting any easier.

Then there are days where I feel competent and like I’m actually improving someone’s life and then I remember why I went to social work school in the first place.

But then people don’t show up for appointments and I don’t get paid on time and then I wish I went to community college instead…at least I would not have had to spend the morning filling out an income-contingent application to lower my student loan payments.

But my client at Beta center never would have gotten an SSN card for her baby, another client’s baby’s daddy would not have been able to see him, 15 y/o would not have been able to express her feelings towards her mother, or that same mother would not have told anyone about the years of physical and sexual abuse she experienced growing up.

But then who would slice the bread?

But then what meaning would my life have?