04 September 2001 ~ In pursuit of success...

I owed Chris a drink at the Bel-mar, home of the Janis Joplin jukebox, the glowing vagina above the bar, and the consistent Radiohead arguments.

So last night, with thirty bucks to my name, I repaid Chris his drink and had one myself. Forgot I hadn't eaten all day -- just lots of coffee and half of Norman's cheeseburger -- and was drunk quite rapidly.

Before complete incoherency hit, I said to Chris: "You know, I've been really angry lately... I've felt really revolutionary... I've noticed a lot of things in the world that I don't like, and I've felt like doing something about it. But I don't really feel justified in BEING angry, because I'm less than confident in my intelligence and in my education. I want to go back to school. I want to have other people around who give me a little bit of encouragement when I get into these moods."

How I wish I had the courage to DO something about my convictions.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Incoherency approached rapidly after that. I recall being on a rooftop with Chris and being completely unable to pay any attention to him. The wind was blowing, and I was thinking about autumn in New Mexico, how the wind touches you so delicately for a few months... I recall being very sad and trying not to show it. And talking a lot. Damn, I shouldn't drink, ever. I only had ONE, but I hit the pause button on my inhibitions about babbling... That is so, so dangerous. I've lost too much by being inebriated and confessing too much.

Bad Helena. Helena shouldn't drink.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Lost my job today. How fucking appropriate.

Boss-man cited bad salesmanship. He's very good at following people around the store and telling them to buy things without seeming like a scary stalker salesman. I've been yelled at three or four times in the past few days, by customers who just wanted to be left alone. So I've been a little hesitant to follow them around telling then to buy shit.

I have the neurotic feeling that my entry yesterday might have gotten back to Boss-man. He'd seemed genuinely pleased with me until today.

Whatever. Just whatever.

He said, "You can sign out now. Good luck in whatever you decide to do."

I said, "I'll need it." I didn't thank him. I didn't say goodbye. I walked out. I can't handle this anymore, this consistent rejection, these consistent negative approaches to my work. I'm a fucking good worker, kids. I'm a good worker and a loyal worker, and when I'm AT work, I'm not the bitchy little cunt-rag I am in this journal. I'm NOT myself. I'm an employee and I do the best I can do. And if Boss-Man doesn't like it, he doesn't deserve any thanks, he doesn't deserve a goodbye, he doesn't deserve a damn thing from me.

Fuck you too, very much, Mr. Boss-Man.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I have two options.

I can stay here. I can beg and plead for another job somewhere. I can work shitty hours for shitty pay. I can be completely unappreciated and completely despise what I'm doing. It'll afford me a meager survival. I'll have food at least. And maybe rent.

I can wait for my paycheck on Friday. I can withdraw from my class at the community college. I can take the $600 and run. I can couch-hop. I can buy an atlas and a cup of coffee. I can walk across Iowa. I can find someplace better and fucking START OVER.

What's the difference anyway? I'm hungry NOW. It's not like being on the road and destitute is going to be much different than being HERE and destitute. It's not like I'm going to be colder or anything. It's about 30 degrees in my apartment right now, despite the sunshine, and my clothing is soaked from the rain anyway. It's not like much of ANYTHING would be different. Although maybe I'd be less lonely among people who don't know me, than among people who don't LIKE me.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I've been saying "I have a future to look forward to..." I guess I can still say that. Eight months from now, I can BE in Olympia. Three or four years from then, I can BE a teacher, or an editor, or something. It's just going to take a HELL of a lot of work, and roughly eight months of hell.

I've been thinking, what if I get hit by a bus in three days? what if I don't make it another three or four years? why am I wasting my PRESENT for a future I might not see? Not that I'm planning on dying or anything, but WHY AM I WASTING MY TIME BEING UNHAPPY, when there's no guarantee about anything anyway? Nobody's given me any notarized contracts that ensure me a future. Nobody's given me any insurance whatsoever that eventually, I'll be at blissful peace with the world. I'm alive RIGHT NOW, and I want to make it good. I don't want to wait around in this town for results that might not happen.

Fuck it all. I'm through waiting for "someday."

Helena's going to do what makes her happy RIGHT NOW. For once, I'm going to be happy RIGHT NOW, without thinking about anything else.

[I guess I shouldn't say "for once." I let myself live in the present one time, live for the moment, be happy, be aware, be in love... It lost me a few friends I think... But it was a good time, better than any I've ever had...]

And what would make me happy right now? A hot bath and a Tom Robbins book. Nothing less. Possibly a Jones Soda, too.

To hell with everything else.

~H.T.*