Sunday, June 19, 2011


Today I feel nearly completely dissatisfied.

I've actually felt this way for a little while.

For a period of time I mistook this for sadness. Now, it's not like I felt depressed (I'm not emo) but there was something missing. It's not that there's something missing though either. It's that there isn't enough to go around to fill the void. The void being my level of satisfaction.

When I looked in the mirror this morning I just sighed and stared. I moisturized my face after getting out of the shower and I smiled. I smiled at the slight improvement that took only seconds. Then I saw it, the recurring flaw. Teeth.

High School is now over and I've finally escaped the torment of my peers. My teeth, they torment everything in my life. I can't smile without being conscious of their astounding grotesqueness.

As I start every day, I have this reminder. So of course I'm thinking of ways to escape this and I can't. In order to do anything, I have to get ready.

What am I getting ready for? Ding! Ding! Ding! More dissatisfaction. I sit in the car for my 20-30 minute ride to the mall where I get to make a nickel for a dime's worth of work. I feel like I could be better elsewhere, not to mention, other people who are less deserving have the jobs and wages that I deserve. It's just so frustrating that I can't get something (that would be beneficial to both sides) without getting upset.

I spoke with Stacy last week and she said that she would talk to Becky and Veronica about how they've been dicking me around and using me. Well, that happened. They didn't even apologize for doing what they did, and Veronica was still really, really bitchy to me. They think they're all hot shit, counting money, and writing e-mails but they can't do what we (associates) do. They can't merchandise and fill out DERs, while ringing and folding down. They're just glorified couch potatoes.

I've been looking for a new job, but it has proven difficult.

My third level of dissatisfaction roots from money. Fucking money. FUCK money. I never have enough, it's inconsistent, and is the only way to get or do anything. I used to not mind looking rich but always being extremely broke, thinking "things will get better". Delusional... right? I'd rather look poor and feel rich than this. I can't enjoy a damn thing without it either.

On my way to school the other day, someone won a brand-new car. I didn't smile. I was jealous. I hated her. Good things don't come to those who wait OR those who go after them. Everything's just luck of the draw and you just have to hope that you won't end up dissatisfied.

Friday, June 3, 2011

The Rosary

As I put together my outfit this morning, Porcelain Black's song, This Is What Rock and Roll Looks Like was playing. I felt the need to embrace some of my past fashions. I wore all black with a studded belt. I had on a lot of jewelery and eye liner. To top off the look, I wore rosary beads that I bought when I went to Italy last year.

I went out the door like any other day. It really wasn't any different. I got a lot of compliments on how I looked, but that usually happens every day.

A friend of mine commented on the rosary beads which I wore around my neck. I had mentioned them because for some reason I held the beads in my hand often. I had thought about how it may be offensive and brought that up. She said that it was ignorant of me to wear rosary beads like a necklace as a fashion statement.

When I bought them, I thought of Madonna and how killer she looked when she wore them. It was a big deal when she wore them, but that was a million years ago. I didn't expect to get any reaction.

With this thought I was concerned. Was I being rude my wearing the beads?

I kept them on because I felt like there was no real reason to take them off. Through the rest of the day I was much more aware of their presence. While holding them in my French class I thought about what they represented. I believe in God, and that all of the stories in the Bible teach good morals. While I may question Jesus' existence, I don't think that his character (fictional or non-fictional) was poor in any way.

I remember when Mary was sick in the hospital and was dying. She had asked me to say the rosary every time I saw her. I was young at the time, and I did not want her to die. I would say the whole entire rosary every night for her. My faith was strong.

Although, I don't blame myself for her death, as my faith grew weaker when I got older, so did her health. When she passed, my faith was restored. All of that time I spent where I didn't acknowledge my faith was careless. I was living without purpose. I believe that death and birth come in pairs. With the death of her life came the birth of my stronger faith.

Wearing a rosary wasn't just a fashion statement. Faith isn't apparent at first glance. In wearing a rosary, I wore my faith close to my heart.

It's a shame, but I'm not wearing those rosary beads any time soon.

Thursday, June 2, 2011


I've always known that I'm a generally aggressive person. I acknowledge the fact that I displace and suppress a lot of my anger, hate, and rage, in order to have better social interactions.

Today in Art Class, my teacher questioned me, "Why do you cuss so much?"

I was quick to excuse my crude vocabulary with, "If people didn't piss me off so much, I wouldn't have a reason to curse." I tend to think that I'm easily agitated. Now I'm sitting here thinking that maybe people are just stupid. Isn't that so disgustingly vain of me?

For the rest of the day after being questioned, I thought about who I'm usually mean towards and who I share my true sources of hate with. I'm mean to everyone, really. I'm mean to some of my coworkers, my friends at school, and the people I live with. The people who I'm NOT mean to though--those seem to be the far-and-few-between who don't piss me off.

If for some reason, there is a person who pisses me off and for one reason, or another and just can't help but piss me the fuck off, I just channel all that rage into something else. When this happens, I notice that I start to hate myself. It comes in many forms. It ranges anywhere from feeling fat or ugly, or even under-measuring my successes.

To branch out on another note--I noticed that although "people" piss me off, it's not their fault. A lot of the time I'm jealous, I want what they have.

So I guess "life's a bitch, and then you die."

It should be, "life's a bitch, and then you live miserable."

I was about to start a sentence with "Now I know that..." and then I realized that I have NO idea what I'm talking about. I sat and thought, "What the hell do I know?"

I just need realize that life isn't fair. I have to get the fuck over it and stop being so damn mean.