someone who will die for you and more, but it ain me, babe.
get comfortable, everyone, cos this is gonna be a long one.
special thanks to the Morningstar 75 for free internet access.
its official! i HATE grand rapids.
i dont hate anything, but i hate it here.
yesterday, when i was at the Costco orientation, i overheard a man talking to a woman who had moved back to grand rapids after living in california about the "Grand Rapids Curse" in which, people who come to grand rapids never leave. they move away sometimes, but they always come back. people who visit buy real estate here. "nobody ever leaves."
"why would they? this city is perfect!" the woman replied.
no.
no it is not.
ever since i arrived here, i had a bad feeling. a horrible, unexplanable burning in my stomach.
its been four days since then.
the burning hasnt stopped.
i looked around the city for a place to live. after hours of searching, getting rejected, i drove down a long, dark, lonely road and found a place called "The riviera motel" for 150 dollars (plus deposit) the owner, through broken english, told me that i could stay in room 119. as soon as i opened the door, i knew i was in deep trouble. this was the shittiest, creepiest motel room ive ever stayed in. the walls were solid brick, the carpet held together by duct tape patchwork. oh, and SURPRISE! the place is crawling with bugs. i set down my pop for a second, no more, took a drink and coughed up a live cockroach.
the accomodations didnt bother me that much. hell, i would and will gladly live in my car. i could even handle the fact that my landlord steals from me and uses my stuff when i leave.
but god i was lonely.
i sat in my single room, often times in the dark when they would cut the power, and mulled over my whole situation in my head.
you know, you can learn alot about yourself in four days, if you would just take the time to listen.
on my second day, i set my alarm before i went to sleep. the next morning, i woke up only to find out that my power had been cut durring the night. hmm. i looked at my phone. 7:00am.
i was supposed to be at my orientation at right now. i threw on cloths and hauled ass to exit 43a, hoping against hope that i wouldnt be fired from a job i hadnt started yet, because the asshole thief that i paid for boarding cut my power. that, and the fact that i couldnt remember what hotel they were holding the meeting at. do you know how many hotels are off of exit 43a? 7.
was the first hotel i went to the right one? no.
was the 7th?
yes.
i burst into the room at 8:00am, sat down and filled out forms for the next three hours. for the rest of the time, i got to watch videos and listen to some asshole spill every little secret that costco has about lying and cheating people into giving us thier money. i got out of the meeting at 5:30pm. only to sit in my room, and discover that 20 dollars was stolen from my bag.
alone in my room.
i didnt even see the sun that day.
i decided that, unless youre ted kazinscki, its no fun sitting alone in the dark thinking cynicle thoughts. i was gonna go out and meet people, make friends, so i popped into the Morningstar 75, because its the only place in grand rapids that i know. it was a full house. it wsnt filled with your hard-studying college students, no. every single fuck in the place was, for lack of a better term, a scenester. now, it was hard to tell one from another, and coincidently, they all seemed to be saying the same thing: "look what HE's wearing!" these comments, though sometimes in my direction, were mostly about thier peers. every conversation i was unlucky enough to hear included "god, what a scenester/poser/fag. i hate george bush for these standard reasons. he stole my look. she looks like everyone else who isnt me!" god for a bunch of people who consider themselves to be better/smarter/cooler than the next and (most importantly) BEING AN INDIVIDUAL (becuase we all know how big of a deal it is that everyone shops at the same thrift store)they didnt have an original, or relevant thought in thier head. even if i wasnt timid around people, i wouldnt dare try and make friends with a single one of them. everyone was more worried about themselves than anything that ACTUALLY matters in the world. they cared much more that "that kid has the same pants as me" than the war in iraq (which everyone was against because we "have no place deciding whats right for the iraqi people" and "because bush is a fascist conservative")when all along, they were at were in a wrongful war with each other over who is the biger faker, and deciding how someone else can wear thier hair.
hypocrasy? i think so.
then i came to a startling revelation:
its wasnt gonna get any better than this.
i strolled into work today, my first day, and hour late, and the whole time i was thinking about one thing.
why?
why am i here, in grand rapids.
whats the point?
i came out here looking for something but now i cant quite figure out what that something is.
theres nothing out here for me.
at all.
i thought "well at least it could be worse. soon i'll be burning in hell, and i'll wish that i were back, living with my bugs and going to some shit job for the rest of my life."
then i thought about it.
really, whats worse?
hell, or nothing.
at least in hell you know youre alive.
maybe thats what i came out here for. maybe i didnt come out here to get a job, work, and die.
maybe i came out here to find out if i was really alive.
but if you stay in one place for too long, you stop questioning this. you forget that theres something else outside of what you think to be your own reality. your brown pants and your long hair.
then i thought "god, i need a drink"
after a drink, i would be more accepting to the fact that this is life. this is real life. nobody said it would be easy. and in all honesty, i can understand why people become alcoholics. youre open to everything. no inhibitions. you dont care that youre not living youre life, just living. you dont even think about it. you dont mind that "that band sucks, cos they sound like this one."
case in point: my aunts boyfriend was an alcoholic, but nobody knew it. everyone thought he was just a happy-go-lucky guy that could befriend anyone. he was a biker with long hair and a knack for conversation. always the life of the party and always just drunk enough to be happy. then he and my aunt had a baby, named josh. he had bills, a bad job and endless responsability. he had so much wieghing on him that he had to drink more and more to be happy. as soon as he would get his paycheck, it would be lost in whiskey and burbon, so my aunt left him. after almost half a year, he decided to be a good father and a "respectable person" and they got back together around thanksgiving time. i managed to talk to him at my grandparents house on thanksgiving day. the guy looked like hell. his hair cut, leather vest replaced with a flannel button up. his usually expresive, smiling face and personality had faded away to nothingness. he drably told me that he had been sober for 21 days. he told me about his bills, how his job sucks and how he hasnt talked to his first son, marc in over a year. then he pulled out a few loose hairs from his thinning scalp and said "goodbye". the man had traded his happy reality for a "real" life.
if "the pursuit of happiness" is what our nation strives for, then why isnt anyone happy?
i used to think that the world was my oyster, but now i know that its really just my ashtray.
im not ready OR willing to have a real life. having a life takes the living out of living, if you know what i mean.
when youre just living, you have nothing but memories. thats the only happiness you have. you dont wanna forget something good. but why does it have to be memories? i have scars on my body and each one has a memory attatched to it. i can tell you what every one means. the one on my leg is from my first pet, a dog that we gave to my grandprents. one day it attacked me and i had to break its neck. i have one on my hand from a footbal game, where my hand was crushed between two helmets durring a play.
these are memories too, and my point is that not all memories are happy. people tend to forget the bad ones though. in my opinion, this is wrong. our past has shaped us into who we are. our past is not all happy, no matter how much we smile and pretend it is. and a message doesnt have to be happy, for it to be important. i have scars on my body for this too. i burn messages into my skin.
now this isnt in some sick freak sense, where i get off on pain. no, a scar to me, is a constant reminder for something important. but the most important things dont leave physical scars, so you have to help yourself out a little. for instance, i have a big "4REAL" cut into my left arm where my sleeve is. up until now ive only told a select few people why its there when they notice it, which i avoid like the plague. my theory is that its not enough to just remember that something is important. there are somethings you know to be the real god honest truth. and it doesnt get much more real than burning yourself. and you are reminded of how real it is everytime you see it. by the time the scar fades, youre molded to know and accept something tuly important, and you come out a little bit wiser.
hah now i dont need to burn myself to know that im not happy in grand rapids. i dont know if i wil be happy anywhere. a good friend told me once that it was his dream to go on the road to find himself. this is a good idea, but i dont think you have to go anywhere else to find yourself. you can, but its not nessecary. who you are is not a location on a map. you can find yourself anywhere as long as you are willing to listen, and i mean truly listen to yourself. you just need is willingness to accept yourself, and thats the first step. i happened to find myself in a dark, crooked motel room.
i'll stop myself there.
if you havent already skipped past this whole entry, i thank you for listening.
and if you dont think im stupid or crazy, i thank you for your acceptance.
later, everyone.
special thanks to the Morningstar 75 for free internet access.
its official! i HATE grand rapids.
i dont hate anything, but i hate it here.
yesterday, when i was at the Costco orientation, i overheard a man talking to a woman who had moved back to grand rapids after living in california about the "Grand Rapids Curse" in which, people who come to grand rapids never leave. they move away sometimes, but they always come back. people who visit buy real estate here. "nobody ever leaves."
"why would they? this city is perfect!" the woman replied.
no.
no it is not.
ever since i arrived here, i had a bad feeling. a horrible, unexplanable burning in my stomach.
its been four days since then.
the burning hasnt stopped.
i looked around the city for a place to live. after hours of searching, getting rejected, i drove down a long, dark, lonely road and found a place called "The riviera motel" for 150 dollars (plus deposit) the owner, through broken english, told me that i could stay in room 119. as soon as i opened the door, i knew i was in deep trouble. this was the shittiest, creepiest motel room ive ever stayed in. the walls were solid brick, the carpet held together by duct tape patchwork. oh, and SURPRISE! the place is crawling with bugs. i set down my pop for a second, no more, took a drink and coughed up a live cockroach.
the accomodations didnt bother me that much. hell, i would and will gladly live in my car. i could even handle the fact that my landlord steals from me and uses my stuff when i leave.
but god i was lonely.
i sat in my single room, often times in the dark when they would cut the power, and mulled over my whole situation in my head.
you know, you can learn alot about yourself in four days, if you would just take the time to listen.
on my second day, i set my alarm before i went to sleep. the next morning, i woke up only to find out that my power had been cut durring the night. hmm. i looked at my phone. 7:00am.
i was supposed to be at my orientation at right now. i threw on cloths and hauled ass to exit 43a, hoping against hope that i wouldnt be fired from a job i hadnt started yet, because the asshole thief that i paid for boarding cut my power. that, and the fact that i couldnt remember what hotel they were holding the meeting at. do you know how many hotels are off of exit 43a? 7.
was the first hotel i went to the right one? no.
was the 7th?
yes.
i burst into the room at 8:00am, sat down and filled out forms for the next three hours. for the rest of the time, i got to watch videos and listen to some asshole spill every little secret that costco has about lying and cheating people into giving us thier money. i got out of the meeting at 5:30pm. only to sit in my room, and discover that 20 dollars was stolen from my bag.
alone in my room.
i didnt even see the sun that day.
i decided that, unless youre ted kazinscki, its no fun sitting alone in the dark thinking cynicle thoughts. i was gonna go out and meet people, make friends, so i popped into the Morningstar 75, because its the only place in grand rapids that i know. it was a full house. it wsnt filled with your hard-studying college students, no. every single fuck in the place was, for lack of a better term, a scenester. now, it was hard to tell one from another, and coincidently, they all seemed to be saying the same thing: "look what HE's wearing!" these comments, though sometimes in my direction, were mostly about thier peers. every conversation i was unlucky enough to hear included "god, what a scenester/poser/fag. i hate george bush for these standard reasons. he stole my look. she looks like everyone else who isnt me!" god for a bunch of people who consider themselves to be better/smarter/cooler than the next and (most importantly) BEING AN INDIVIDUAL (becuase we all know how big of a deal it is that everyone shops at the same thrift store)they didnt have an original, or relevant thought in thier head. even if i wasnt timid around people, i wouldnt dare try and make friends with a single one of them. everyone was more worried about themselves than anything that ACTUALLY matters in the world. they cared much more that "that kid has the same pants as me" than the war in iraq (which everyone was against because we "have no place deciding whats right for the iraqi people" and "because bush is a fascist conservative")when all along, they were at were in a wrongful war with each other over who is the biger faker, and deciding how someone else can wear thier hair.
hypocrasy? i think so.
then i came to a startling revelation:
its wasnt gonna get any better than this.
i strolled into work today, my first day, and hour late, and the whole time i was thinking about one thing.
why?
why am i here, in grand rapids.
whats the point?
i came out here looking for something but now i cant quite figure out what that something is.
theres nothing out here for me.
at all.
i thought "well at least it could be worse. soon i'll be burning in hell, and i'll wish that i were back, living with my bugs and going to some shit job for the rest of my life."
then i thought about it.
really, whats worse?
hell, or nothing.
at least in hell you know youre alive.
maybe thats what i came out here for. maybe i didnt come out here to get a job, work, and die.
maybe i came out here to find out if i was really alive.
but if you stay in one place for too long, you stop questioning this. you forget that theres something else outside of what you think to be your own reality. your brown pants and your long hair.
then i thought "god, i need a drink"
after a drink, i would be more accepting to the fact that this is life. this is real life. nobody said it would be easy. and in all honesty, i can understand why people become alcoholics. youre open to everything. no inhibitions. you dont care that youre not living youre life, just living. you dont even think about it. you dont mind that "that band sucks, cos they sound like this one."
case in point: my aunts boyfriend was an alcoholic, but nobody knew it. everyone thought he was just a happy-go-lucky guy that could befriend anyone. he was a biker with long hair and a knack for conversation. always the life of the party and always just drunk enough to be happy. then he and my aunt had a baby, named josh. he had bills, a bad job and endless responsability. he had so much wieghing on him that he had to drink more and more to be happy. as soon as he would get his paycheck, it would be lost in whiskey and burbon, so my aunt left him. after almost half a year, he decided to be a good father and a "respectable person" and they got back together around thanksgiving time. i managed to talk to him at my grandparents house on thanksgiving day. the guy looked like hell. his hair cut, leather vest replaced with a flannel button up. his usually expresive, smiling face and personality had faded away to nothingness. he drably told me that he had been sober for 21 days. he told me about his bills, how his job sucks and how he hasnt talked to his first son, marc in over a year. then he pulled out a few loose hairs from his thinning scalp and said "goodbye". the man had traded his happy reality for a "real" life.
if "the pursuit of happiness" is what our nation strives for, then why isnt anyone happy?
i used to think that the world was my oyster, but now i know that its really just my ashtray.
im not ready OR willing to have a real life. having a life takes the living out of living, if you know what i mean.
when youre just living, you have nothing but memories. thats the only happiness you have. you dont wanna forget something good. but why does it have to be memories? i have scars on my body and each one has a memory attatched to it. i can tell you what every one means. the one on my leg is from my first pet, a dog that we gave to my grandprents. one day it attacked me and i had to break its neck. i have one on my hand from a footbal game, where my hand was crushed between two helmets durring a play.
these are memories too, and my point is that not all memories are happy. people tend to forget the bad ones though. in my opinion, this is wrong. our past has shaped us into who we are. our past is not all happy, no matter how much we smile and pretend it is. and a message doesnt have to be happy, for it to be important. i have scars on my body for this too. i burn messages into my skin.
now this isnt in some sick freak sense, where i get off on pain. no, a scar to me, is a constant reminder for something important. but the most important things dont leave physical scars, so you have to help yourself out a little. for instance, i have a big "4REAL" cut into my left arm where my sleeve is. up until now ive only told a select few people why its there when they notice it, which i avoid like the plague. my theory is that its not enough to just remember that something is important. there are somethings you know to be the real god honest truth. and it doesnt get much more real than burning yourself. and you are reminded of how real it is everytime you see it. by the time the scar fades, youre molded to know and accept something tuly important, and you come out a little bit wiser.
hah now i dont need to burn myself to know that im not happy in grand rapids. i dont know if i wil be happy anywhere. a good friend told me once that it was his dream to go on the road to find himself. this is a good idea, but i dont think you have to go anywhere else to find yourself. you can, but its not nessecary. who you are is not a location on a map. you can find yourself anywhere as long as you are willing to listen, and i mean truly listen to yourself. you just need is willingness to accept yourself, and thats the first step. i happened to find myself in a dark, crooked motel room.
i'll stop myself there.
if you havent already skipped past this whole entry, i thank you for listening.
and if you dont think im stupid or crazy, i thank you for your acceptance.
later, everyone.