For shame. It has been months since I've blogged, or written anything besides restaurant orders or checks. I wonder if anyone even checks to see if I've written anymore. The last three months have been strange and great and fun, but I'm glad they're over. Working eight-plus shifts at Le Bistro a week, plus making super-fantastic desserts for Landlocked, plus desserts on occasion for Bistro, plus trying to keep up with yogging... was trying. One week I had to work about eight shifts and make twelve cakes for a party of 200, which also happened to be the same day of the wonderful floods. Good times, Mother Nature!
The summer has ended on some fantastical notes, though. I am officially working with my awesome-o boyfriend at Landlocked and it's been fun so far. We'll see if he's ready to fire my whiny butt anytime soon. I also got to play bridesmaid in Evelyn's wedding last weekend, which was wonderful. So wonderful, that when I got to give my #2 speech, I cried the whole way through and undoubtedly made a complete tool of myself (and embarrassed the crap out of Aaron by catching the bouquet later... WHOOPS!). But it was incredible to see all of my college friends. It makes me sad that we all don't live in Las Cruces and hang out at The Brew after happy hour at Si Senor, but it also makes the times we do get together even more special.
Anyhoo, I am hoping my new slave arrangement will allow for more writing time, ergo more blogs in the future. Birthdays are coming up, so some fodder much come from getting old. OLD. Check back...
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Friday, September 12, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Sarah needs to figure out what the f*ck she's doing in this life.
Lately I have been enjoying utilizing the "Status" feature on MySpace. My status may or may not change a couple of times a day, depending on how busy I am or how "ninja" I feel. Tonight I am feeling particularly disappointed in myself and where my lot has taken me, so I made it known on MySpace. Talking with a friend today made me wonder if my problem of not knowing what I want to be when I grow up is just an issue of an unlucky few, or a generational flaw. I am grown up, but I have no real idea what the heck I want to do for the rest of my life, however long or short it may be. Or maybe I just don't have a plan.
Don't want: To work in an office ever again. To have people demean my intelligence on a daily basis. To be treated as lesser when I am better. To end up as the saddest person I know, whom I also happen to live with. To grieve anymore.
The pathetic part is my wants are so not focused. I want to write what I want to write, and get paid for it because I know I will never be fully satisfied in my life working to live as opposed to living to work. I like to listen to music, read about it, write about it, and maybe talk about it with people who aren't retarded. I want to write about my life (I put the ordinary in extraordinary, so we'll see where that goes). I need help with those things. I want love, fresh air, mountains, and to hang out with my friends and my dog. Ah, the things I like seem few and far between at times. I bitch about the same shit over and over again, but for some reason it doesn't do any good... Imagine that.
I've been composing a manifesto of sorts over the past day (since I had my keyboard replaced by one of the nerds from the movie Nerds) and have some great and thoroughly inappropriate one-liners I want to share with the world that made me wonder how - should I ever find an opportunity to publish some of the terribleness that is my private life - how could I openly be held accountable for what I write? Scathing rips on my family life, relationships and sex, the occasional illegal activity (ah, yes... use your imagination because that's probably more fun than my reality), death, friends, work, and so on and so forth. I'd become a pariah of all trades. Maybe it really is time to start posting on my other anonymous blog...
Gawd help us all if I should die before I can destroy all of my journals and the Dell's hard drive and an assortment of college notebooks I used for random thoughts after they'd served their scholarly purpose.
Don't want: To work in an office ever again. To have people demean my intelligence on a daily basis. To be treated as lesser when I am better. To end up as the saddest person I know, whom I also happen to live with. To grieve anymore.
The pathetic part is my wants are so not focused. I want to write what I want to write, and get paid for it because I know I will never be fully satisfied in my life working to live as opposed to living to work. I like to listen to music, read about it, write about it, and maybe talk about it with people who aren't retarded. I want to write about my life (I put the ordinary in extraordinary, so we'll see where that goes). I need help with those things. I want love, fresh air, mountains, and to hang out with my friends and my dog. Ah, the things I like seem few and far between at times. I bitch about the same shit over and over again, but for some reason it doesn't do any good... Imagine that.
I've been composing a manifesto of sorts over the past day (since I had my keyboard replaced by one of the nerds from the movie Nerds) and have some great and thoroughly inappropriate one-liners I want to share with the world that made me wonder how - should I ever find an opportunity to publish some of the terribleness that is my private life - how could I openly be held accountable for what I write? Scathing rips on my family life, relationships and sex, the occasional illegal activity (ah, yes... use your imagination because that's probably more fun than my reality), death, friends, work, and so on and so forth. I'd become a pariah of all trades. Maybe it really is time to start posting on my other anonymous blog...
Gawd help us all if I should die before I can destroy all of my journals and the Dell's hard drive and an assortment of college notebooks I used for random thoughts after they'd served their scholarly purpose.
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