Call it cynicism, negativity, pessimism. We all have at least a little of it. I have always been a glass half-full kind of girl, but sometimes certain situations make me think that the world really is on a rocket-ship course straight to hell.
My good friend, the Happy Bunny, sums it up: School prepares you for the real world, which also sucks. Sure, it's funny. But there's so much truth in that little statement. Most high-schoolers I know have the same response when I ask them how school is going: "Eh...it's okay, I guess." Translation: "Please kill me now." Okay, so maybe there's a few kids out there who can't wait to get up in the morning, eat a healthy, well-balanced meal, and skip off to the sacred halls of learning. Where they will sit in an overcrowded classroom, listen to an angry, bored teacher talk about the importance of being able to add, subtract and multiply fractions and finally get a lot of repetitive homework that will take them into the wee hours of the following morning. Woo hoo.
And then the real world hits them between the eyes. Step one: College. Same basic idea here. Let's all get up, go sit in a classroom with a bunch of other high school graduates, and learn stuff. Talk about my idea of a good time. Don't get me wrong here, I love to learn. I watch the discovery channel. After all the good cartoons are over.
Okay, so now we've learned enough, right? Excuse me for a moment, I've just laughed up my spleen. Got to put that back in...okay, now we can move on. Here's our next step out into the world where we can be productive members of society. Let's get a job! Of course, that's only if we don't want to go to school some more. Maybe get our Masters in Underwater Basket Weaving? No? Okay, but only if you're sure.
So, now we're on a job hunt. I guess I'll look in the want ads. Hmm, LPN. What's that? Lower Particle Nutrients? No, it must be Lever Power Nucleus. Okay, moving on. Here we go! They're hiring at Burger King! Yes! Sign me up.
And here I am, a college graduate, working at Burger King. Of course my supervisor is a 16-year-old high school student with me as an example of why not to go to college. I'm sure he laughed up his spleen when he heard I was starting. It's now the third day of work and I have dunked my supervisor's head in the fryer because he told me I was assembling the hamburgers incorrectly. My next stop, prison. And what a phony charge, too. Assault and battery, my ass. I'll assault and batterize them if they really want me to. I learned all about it in my Judo class in college.
Okay, so maybe BK isn't for me. What else is out there? Ah, here's an office assistant position. Yes, the people seem nice. Good work environment. Nice salary. I guess I'll give it a try. Oops! I accidentally stapled my boss's head to the wall for telling me to say, "One moment, please," instead of, "hold on for one second," for the nine-hundred, sixty-six thousand, two-hundred and forty-seventh time. Back to prison for me.
I guess work just isn't for me. What else can I do with my life? Hmm, there's always wandering vagrant. But then, I'm not into cardboard boxes and grocery carts. I could win the lottery. But I was banned from the 7-11 for yelling at the clerk for being out of Fiddle Faddle. Damn, what can I do?
I guess I'll go back to college, get more degrees, apply for a research grant and discover a way to keep a person's spleen inside their body when they laugh too hard.
Moral of the story: School prepares you for the real world, which also sucks. Happy Bunny was right.
19 June 2008
My Future Restraining Order
There is a question creative people get all the time from less creative people: Where do you get your idea? Mine come from my muse, Jed. Jed is a great guy (most of the time). I love hanging out with Jed. I go to dinner with Jed, I watch movies with Jed, I force Jed to stay up way past his bedtime talking about exactly why the movie Clock Stoppers is total crap.
The first few years I knew Jed, I had no idea he was my muse. I went to watch movies with Jed and it was a lot of fun (Jed's a fun guy). I'd leave thinking about something I'd like to write. Then, one July day, I was in Jed's presence and a story idea hit me in the back of the head so hard it hurt. It took me two years to write it all down and during that entire time, I was still in the dark about why the idea came to me when it did.
And then, I was near Jed again, and again, BAM! Story idea, this time right between the eyes. Made my eyes water a little. Time after time, I would go see Jed and walk away flooded with ideas and the feeling of intense creative vibes swimming around me. When I finally did notice that Jed was the cause of all of this, I named him my muse and he's been disgusted with me ever since.
The point of this is, it doesn't matter what or who inspires you, or if that who gets a little mad that you follow them around with a pad of paper in your hands. It matters that you find it, or him or her, and continue to follow him or her around even after they have filed a restraining order against you. And, damn it, after you post bail, follow them from a legal distance.
Here's tip: Write stuff down. I have a little notebook for each project I'm working on. If I get an idea specific to that project, I write it in that notebook. I also have a book for random ideas. So, every time I think some inane thing that I'd like to remember, I write it down. And then I can go back and read it and remember the things that I had thought before. It's a novel concept and I'd be lost without it. Seriously, I would never remember a thing. My name is written in that book. Okay, that's not true. My name is on the back of my hand. Have to have that handy. Get it? Hand-y?
So, thank you, Jed. For all the great inspirationalness you give me, even if you don't mean to. Even if you actively try to stifle my creativity. Thanks anyway. And thanks for not filing the restraining order. Yet.
The first few years I knew Jed, I had no idea he was my muse. I went to watch movies with Jed and it was a lot of fun (Jed's a fun guy). I'd leave thinking about something I'd like to write. Then, one July day, I was in Jed's presence and a story idea hit me in the back of the head so hard it hurt. It took me two years to write it all down and during that entire time, I was still in the dark about why the idea came to me when it did.
And then, I was near Jed again, and again, BAM! Story idea, this time right between the eyes. Made my eyes water a little. Time after time, I would go see Jed and walk away flooded with ideas and the feeling of intense creative vibes swimming around me. When I finally did notice that Jed was the cause of all of this, I named him my muse and he's been disgusted with me ever since.
The point of this is, it doesn't matter what or who inspires you, or if that who gets a little mad that you follow them around with a pad of paper in your hands. It matters that you find it, or him or her, and continue to follow him or her around even after they have filed a restraining order against you. And, damn it, after you post bail, follow them from a legal distance.
Here's tip: Write stuff down. I have a little notebook for each project I'm working on. If I get an idea specific to that project, I write it in that notebook. I also have a book for random ideas. So, every time I think some inane thing that I'd like to remember, I write it down. And then I can go back and read it and remember the things that I had thought before. It's a novel concept and I'd be lost without it. Seriously, I would never remember a thing. My name is written in that book. Okay, that's not true. My name is on the back of my hand. Have to have that handy. Get it? Hand-y?
So, thank you, Jed. For all the great inspirationalness you give me, even if you don't mean to. Even if you actively try to stifle my creativity. Thanks anyway. And thanks for not filing the restraining order. Yet.
18 June 2008
An Introduction to Insanity
I'm not crazy. Ask anyone. I've been kicked out of therapy for being too normal. Seriously. I have.
I'm a writer. I've never been paid to write. It's not what I do...it's what I am. Does that sound too pretentious? It's okay if it does.
I love stick figures and Anime and stupid TV shows and horrible movies and kitties (NOT kitty figurines for those paying attention) and Stephen Lynch and most cuss words and my mom and dad and human physiology and sugar cookies and sleeping a lot and Nacho Cheese Doritos and seven card stud and gay guys and my best friends Jed and Mandie and Saturday Night Live and books about vampires and chain smoking even though it's not cool any more.
I hate health food and most social situations and most people and cold weather and plants that require water and dogs that require attention all the time and loud children in restaurants (and everywhere else) and soprano saxophones and suicide "victims" and roommates and over-protective siblings and everything to do with getting up in the morning.
See? Not crazy.
I'm a writer. I've never been paid to write. It's not what I do...it's what I am. Does that sound too pretentious? It's okay if it does.
I love stick figures and Anime and stupid TV shows and horrible movies and kitties (NOT kitty figurines for those paying attention) and Stephen Lynch and most cuss words and my mom and dad and human physiology and sugar cookies and sleeping a lot and Nacho Cheese Doritos and seven card stud and gay guys and my best friends Jed and Mandie and Saturday Night Live and books about vampires and chain smoking even though it's not cool any more.
I hate health food and most social situations and most people and cold weather and plants that require water and dogs that require attention all the time and loud children in restaurants (and everywhere else) and soprano saxophones and suicide "victims" and roommates and over-protective siblings and everything to do with getting up in the morning.
See? Not crazy.
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