(no subject)
Okay, maybe not eons, but a long ass time, to be sure. Last time I checked in, I was pretty miserable. Then, I didn't check in for a while. And got more miserable. And even more miserable. I scared myself and my friends quite a lot. I was having seizures all the time and ended up in a pretty dark place. I quit the library, dumped my boyfriend, left school, and cut off all my hair. Okay, maybe not all of it, but a solid 8 inches. I went home, got my shit together, and got at least a semblance of control over my seizures. There was one point where I was like, 2 and 1/2 months seizure free, which was pretty cool. Now I've balanced out to a point where I'm having a few "mild" grand-mal seizures, if there ever was such a thing, around period time.
Anyhoo, I got hired at a bank, and was totally prepared to jump on board and make $20,000 a year with benefits doing a totally menial job. I had three weeks inbetween when I was hired at said bank, and when my training started. The day after I was hired, I was at the bus station reading "From Walt to Woodstock: How Walt Disney Created the Counterculture," and I was approached by a tall, bearded man to sign a petition. We got to chatting, and he offered me a job working with the political campaign he was with. I told him about the bank, and he told me that it was just a temp job, they needed help, and would be just fine if I was on board for those three weeks alone. I wasn't really sure what they were all about. The guy looked like a dirty communist, and their office was based out of an old funeral home downtown. I was a little afraid, but really liked the guy who recruited me, communism be damned. I got there, and fell in love. Working with them was incredible. It's like... If someone were to take all of the skills, talents, and interests that I have and created a job crafted to utilize them to their fullest advantage, they'd end up with campaign organizer. Needless to say, I was good at it. Really good at it. Three days after hiring me, they made me a supervisor. A week after that, I got promoted into the office. I worked with them for three weeks and loved every damned minute of it. When the bank job started, I did the training from 8-5 each day, and then would rush home to work with these guys from 5:30 to 11. Well, that's a bit of a fib. I only managed to do that one day. The second day, they wanted me to be a part of an interview for a news article for the Washington Post. I HAD to leave early for that. Then, on the third day, there was a Tea Party rally downtown. I HAD to see what those nutjobs were all about! It was crazy and a ton of fun. Then, on the fourth day, Leon, the tall bearded one, asked me to help them out for the afternoon. That's when I decided that I'd rather do this for the remainder of the campaign and go job hunting again afterwards. Then towards the end of the Raleigh campaign, they invited me to come travel with them and work on progressive liberal campaigns across the country. Oh yeah. Not communists. Mostly democrats, but pretty far left on the political spectrum. I started by spending two months in Charlotte, a town 2 or 3 hours away, helping set up their campaign there. We were successful, and I've been home for about a week. I got an email today setting up for my next trip, and I couldn't be more excited. Lindsey (another one of my coworkers in Charlotte) says that they have campaigns about to be set up in New Jersey, Alabama, and California, but who really knows. I've got my fingers crossed for California. Alabama is hot as balls. New Jersey? I'm afraid of New Jersey politics. Either way, I'm still excited to go.
My parents on the other hand? Not so excited. They have been miserable that I took this job since I started. Every time I get good news or get excited about something, they like to tear me down about something or other. Schedule, seizures, healthcare, stability, SOMETHING.
Being home is excruciating. I hiccuped the other day, and my parents came running into the laundry room out of breath from running, to check to see if I had a seizure. Because of a hiccup. When I was in Charlotte, I crashed into something and knocked something over (per usual), and my boss Ben said something that sounded like "Randi, are you seizing?!". He had said something else, but he turned to look me in the eye and assured me that he would never say anything like that to me, ever. They appreciate me and the work that I do, and see me for so much more than a girl with epilepsy. My parents have been through too much to ever see me for anything more than the things that worry them. I think that goes hand in hand with being parents, but it means spending time with them while I'm finally figuring out my identity is not only counter productive but it's fucking killing me. So. I'm glad that I'm headed out the door again, and hoping that by the time I get back, I'll have figured out a way to either avoid them, or their feelings will have changed. Who knows.
I'm not looking forward to dealing with all that crap, but even with it, I'm happier than I've been in ages. Obnoxiously happy. Irritatingly happy. The people I'm working with are such an eclectic group of people with absolutely nothing in common except their awesome powers of awesome. There's Leon, the banjo playing mountain man from Northern Kentucky. There's Lindsey, the short, african american lesbian from Missouri, and Wally, the tattoo artist from NYC who will do the occasional campaign for funsies. He's pretty nuts. So different, yet equally awesome. They just find people, like they found me, who are suited for the job and pull them all board from all across the country. I'm so fucking lucky to be a part of this. AND they pay well. This is a dream. I am so happy, livejournal, it's redonkulous.
I miss my friends like crazy, but I get to throw down with them on my times off. I'll work for a few months, and then get a month off. That's how this job rolls. God, I am lucky.
I avoided livejournal a lot before, because I felt shitty about just being such a downer all the time of livejournal. Now that I'm happy, hopefully I'll update more. Who knows. I do feel a little goofy.
Anyways livejournal, I hope this finds you well. Lots of love!
XOXO
Anyhoo, I got hired at a bank, and was totally prepared to jump on board and make $20,000 a year with benefits doing a totally menial job. I had three weeks inbetween when I was hired at said bank, and when my training started. The day after I was hired, I was at the bus station reading "From Walt to Woodstock: How Walt Disney Created the Counterculture," and I was approached by a tall, bearded man to sign a petition. We got to chatting, and he offered me a job working with the political campaign he was with. I told him about the bank, and he told me that it was just a temp job, they needed help, and would be just fine if I was on board for those three weeks alone. I wasn't really sure what they were all about. The guy looked like a dirty communist, and their office was based out of an old funeral home downtown. I was a little afraid, but really liked the guy who recruited me, communism be damned. I got there, and fell in love. Working with them was incredible. It's like... If someone were to take all of the skills, talents, and interests that I have and created a job crafted to utilize them to their fullest advantage, they'd end up with campaign organizer. Needless to say, I was good at it. Really good at it. Three days after hiring me, they made me a supervisor. A week after that, I got promoted into the office. I worked with them for three weeks and loved every damned minute of it. When the bank job started, I did the training from 8-5 each day, and then would rush home to work with these guys from 5:30 to 11. Well, that's a bit of a fib. I only managed to do that one day. The second day, they wanted me to be a part of an interview for a news article for the Washington Post. I HAD to leave early for that. Then, on the third day, there was a Tea Party rally downtown. I HAD to see what those nutjobs were all about! It was crazy and a ton of fun. Then, on the fourth day, Leon, the tall bearded one, asked me to help them out for the afternoon. That's when I decided that I'd rather do this for the remainder of the campaign and go job hunting again afterwards. Then towards the end of the Raleigh campaign, they invited me to come travel with them and work on progressive liberal campaigns across the country. Oh yeah. Not communists. Mostly democrats, but pretty far left on the political spectrum. I started by spending two months in Charlotte, a town 2 or 3 hours away, helping set up their campaign there. We were successful, and I've been home for about a week. I got an email today setting up for my next trip, and I couldn't be more excited. Lindsey (another one of my coworkers in Charlotte) says that they have campaigns about to be set up in New Jersey, Alabama, and California, but who really knows. I've got my fingers crossed for California. Alabama is hot as balls. New Jersey? I'm afraid of New Jersey politics. Either way, I'm still excited to go.
My parents on the other hand? Not so excited. They have been miserable that I took this job since I started. Every time I get good news or get excited about something, they like to tear me down about something or other. Schedule, seizures, healthcare, stability, SOMETHING.
Being home is excruciating. I hiccuped the other day, and my parents came running into the laundry room out of breath from running, to check to see if I had a seizure. Because of a hiccup. When I was in Charlotte, I crashed into something and knocked something over (per usual), and my boss Ben said something that sounded like "Randi, are you seizing?!". He had said something else, but he turned to look me in the eye and assured me that he would never say anything like that to me, ever. They appreciate me and the work that I do, and see me for so much more than a girl with epilepsy. My parents have been through too much to ever see me for anything more than the things that worry them. I think that goes hand in hand with being parents, but it means spending time with them while I'm finally figuring out my identity is not only counter productive but it's fucking killing me. So. I'm glad that I'm headed out the door again, and hoping that by the time I get back, I'll have figured out a way to either avoid them, or their feelings will have changed. Who knows.
I'm not looking forward to dealing with all that crap, but even with it, I'm happier than I've been in ages. Obnoxiously happy. Irritatingly happy. The people I'm working with are such an eclectic group of people with absolutely nothing in common except their awesome powers of awesome. There's Leon, the banjo playing mountain man from Northern Kentucky. There's Lindsey, the short, african american lesbian from Missouri, and Wally, the tattoo artist from NYC who will do the occasional campaign for funsies. He's pretty nuts. So different, yet equally awesome. They just find people, like they found me, who are suited for the job and pull them all board from all across the country. I'm so fucking lucky to be a part of this. AND they pay well. This is a dream. I am so happy, livejournal, it's redonkulous.
I miss my friends like crazy, but I get to throw down with them on my times off. I'll work for a few months, and then get a month off. That's how this job rolls. God, I am lucky.
I avoided livejournal a lot before, because I felt shitty about just being such a downer all the time of livejournal. Now that I'm happy, hopefully I'll update more. Who knows. I do feel a little goofy.
Anyways livejournal, I hope this finds you well. Lots of love!
XOXO