Teen ANGST

I'm pretty sure at this point, I have maybe one or two readers, so I'm going to continue to post for myself all willy-nilly. Today I'm digging through my old poems again, and came across two Firsts:

-First time I admitted to myself that I am bisexual (although it's clear from the poem that I was still resisting a little)
-First time I admitted to myself that I was seriously depressed

I'm posting the second one here; maybe I'll do the other one later.

Background: I've been dealing with depression and serious self-esteem issues for as long as I can remember. I'm not even kidding; I recall being self-conscious and self-loathing as far back as my single-digit years. This poem was written either in late high school or early college... I know because it was put into my college literary-art magazine in 1998, which would have been my freshman year.

I wrote this at home, at my kitchen table. I'd been making macaroni and cheese (shout out to Kraft!), and was sullenly watching the water boil. Back then, I wouldn't so much write poems and they would write themselves in my head, and I would dutifully commit them to paper. My brain doesn't really do that anymore, which is kind of sad.

ANYWAY

here is the depressing suicidal poem that I wrote. I'm not including the title because I "cleverly" titled it my own first name (on the off chance anyone reading this doesn't actually know me, I go by my middle name, so it was a semi-sneaky way of saying HEY THIS IS ABOUT ME OKAY).

the coarse dark waves
forced roughly over her pale smooth skin
filled with treacherous wrath.
They say it's like going to sleep.
she was so tired.
her eyes closed slowly
 redly veiling the inky dark blueness
as it rapidly blackened.
she opened her mouth
breathing in death as easily as life.
it tasted so awful.
her eyes flew open and were immediately violated
    by salty frustration.
before,
 she was making the choice.
now,
 the decision was snatched away
as her mind overturned and she struggled
  to go back.
I want to go back!
and midnight fell firmly about her.

Kickin it Old School

I have a treat for you! Okay, either a treat or torture, depending on your viewpoint, but either way: yay stuff!

There was a hacking incident at my real website's host, and I had to change my FTP password. When I logged into the FTP to test it, I realized I hadn't looked at this shit in years. Guys! Guys! My old poetry is still on there! That's right, poetry from high school and college. Stuff that was published (in the school literary art magazines BUT STILL).

So what I want to do is share some of those, and tell the stories behind them! Woo! Are you super excited? ARE YOU? Because I can promise you that I was SUUUUUUUUper emo back then. I mean, I still am, but back then I was all HERE IS MY EMOTION ON PAPER FOR ALL TO SEEEEEE and then I would run and hide and act like I didn't have anything to do with it once someone was actually reading it. But man... I felt shit. DEEP.

BAM. Poem number one is a gem that I wrote my senior year of high school, which was published in the college lit-art mag my freshman year (1998, oh god I feel old).

Hump Day!

I know why it's called that, but really? We couldn't think of anything better? That's just BEGGING for awful sex jokes.

My brain is incapable of forming comprehensive thoughts today. I got a ticket (of the work-related sort, not the oops-I-broke-the-law sort) this morning that I've read about 10 times and it still doesn't make any sense to me (or any of my co-workers), so I'm continuing to just stare at it. Which means, lovely friends, you don't get any kind of thought-provoking and/or hiiii-larious post from me today. You get blank stares, links, and haiku.

G-Funk and I have decided to communicate only in haiku. This morning, regarding my plans to ride a bicycle in public in just a few days, while quite nude:

me:
Naked in public
The day draws ever closer
What was I thinking?

It’s gonna be cold
And will probably rain too
Stupid Seattle!

G-Funk:
Bouncing naked jibs
Painted like a circus clown
You are so so brave

me:
Can’t stop laughing now
Will forever call them “jibs”
This will get me through

Also I have just found this blog about a girl's experiences using the free online dating site OKCupid. Could it BE more relevant to this blog's interests? </Chandler> It's a "tumblr." I don't understand tumblr. I'm sorry, I JUST DON'T GET IT. It's a blog that's not a blog? How is it different than a blog? Or is it just a blog with a different name?? HELP ME UNNERSTAN.

In a sharin' mood

My last poetic post spurred a little swirl of haiku-related emails betwixt (I honestly can't decide if I love or hate that word. Mostly it just makes me want to eat Twix.) myself and G-Funk. She whipped this one up:

Your file got fucked up
It’s not the end of the world
Some perspective, please

And then gave me the best Tuesday afternoon present a crotchety office worker could ever ask for: THIS WEBSITE. Now I get to sit here trying not to guffaw and snort and chortle (all totally different laughs) at my desk when I am supposed to be Serious and Worky. Instead I'm all, *snicker* ... *snerkle* ... *ahem*

Snerkle? Yeah. Next time you try to hold in a laugh, just go ahead and tell me what it sounds like.

that website + bunneh = lurve 4eva (...or at least until I reach the end of his archives. Which just happened, and now I'm left feeling abandoned and alone and other a-words. Awry, maybe? Sure. I feel awry.)

EDITED TO ADD MORE POETRY FANTABULOUSNESS

Catching up on news
Makes me make serious face
Like I'm working hard.

Notice boss looking.
I squint thoughtfully at screen
Frown at web comic.

And a couple more from G-Funk, who is a natural at this:

Vending machine Twix
Exists only in my dreams
What the fuck, Alan*?

*Not the real name of the guy at work who buys the stuff that goes in our vending machines. NOT GONNA POST IT HERE PEOPLE. I'm retarded, but not quite that retarded. Yet.

Quality control
team asleep behind the wheel
Yet client blames me

Brain Dumpin' and Poetry

I'm frazzled today with work, so I can't remember what I wanted to post about. Instead, you get whatever weird crap happens to come to mind! Wheeee!

An article about women faking orgasms. With other links inside! Links within links! A rabbit hole of fake orgasms!

I'm always hesitant to talk about my job on the INTERNET, because while I am a huge fan of dooce.com and would not at all mind making my living blogging (who wouldn't?), I would rather not start out the way she did... which was that she blogged about work, was discovered, and fired. Eeek.

But! Here we go anyway.

I do tech support, which I am not a fan of doing, but it pays more than the things I'd rather be doing, which are, in no particular order:

1. Nothing.
2. Writing inane crap.
3. Playing with puppies and/or kitties.
4. Breeding hamsters.
5. Sleeping.

Unfortunately, even though I could sort of mold at least one of those into an actual job (work at a pet store, which I used to do, and mostly enjoyed), it would not pay enough for me to continue my current, um... how do they put it in divorce cases? Quality of living? I'm a Woman in Debt, and I feel I pay my penance for such irresponsible spending in my youth by now working miserable jobs.

MY POINT IS

I am now taking applications for the position of Sugar Daddy. No sex guaranteed, but I will make you lots and lots of cookies in exchange for large sums of money with which I can pay off my debts.

No wait, that wasn't it...

I have written some poetry regarding my work woes, and I like to call them Helpdesk Hate Haikus. There are a couple that are specific to certain users in my company, so those I'll keep to myself, but here's some generos for you:

If email is down
Stop trying to email me
to tell me it's down.

(no really, that happened at my last job.)

You think you're crucial
A monkey could do your job
Try to get a grip.

(as I like to say: you're not Jack Bauer. What you do is not crucial to life or national safety.)

It's out of toner
Just put in some damn toner
You don't need Helpdesk.

(it's one thing if your printer stops working and you don't know why. It's another entirely when you know you're out of toner, but you expect someone else to walk all the way over there and pick up a toner and put it in your printer for you. It's not rocket science.)

Don't type with caps lock
Everyone will think you're dumb
It looks like yelling.

(a lot of people at this company do data entry in all caps. They frequently fail to take the quarter-second necessary to tap that CAPS LOCK key once before putting in a ticket, thus sending tickets that look very much like this: MY COMPUTOR ISTN WORKING PLEASE HELP URGNET.)

Anyone else want to try their hand at some workplace haiku? It's therapeutic!