So this is how the conversation went down with my mom tonight while I was making delicious muffins.

My mother started with, “How was your day today?”

I answered, “Eh. It was whatever. I was in a mood and got irritated at lots of stuff. So not that great I guess.”

"Well, just hang in there. They may offer you something full time."

"They already told me about something that was available, so."

"Oh great! Did you tell them you were interested?!"

"Yep. I knew that even though I don’t like the job, or really want the job, that I’m automatically expected to take it and go with it so of course I told them I was interested."

"Well, almost no one likes their jobs, Kimberly. You should be grateful for it anyway."

I turned around at that point and gave her “the look.” “Grateful? I will take it, I will work hard at it, but I won’t be grateful for it.”

"Wow, Kimberly. I think you need to change your attitude."

"I’m allowed to have an attitude about it if I want to. I’m a free person with my own thoughts. Doesn’t mean I’ll show them, but I can have them. I’ll take the damn job, okay? But I don’t have to like it."

More disappointed and slightly outraged comments on my behavior followed at this point, along with a awkward silence after that. A few minutes later, I asked her what time we were leaving on our little trip the following day, which I really didn’t want to take. I’d pretty much agreed to go out of guilt coupled with the much feared “mom” look that mothers give at times to forcefully persuade their children into doing things. She replied that we’d be leaving at 10am. “If,” she said, I still wanted to go. She said she wasn’t going to force me, especially if I was going to have an attitude. I replied that yes, she had forced me, but I was actually used to being forced to do tons of things so I was pretty much used to it and therefore mostly unaffected by it.

At that point she stormed off to shower.

My point in recording all this is not to “show off” how big of a bitch I know I was being, but to just get my thoughts down, I guess. I know I could have made my points in a less antagonistic way, but today I was just fed up with tons of things. It was one of those days when everything that has been bothering you for the past however many days or weeks or months or even years suddenly hits you right in the face and you just can’t see the light of day anymore. I still do believe that people should be allowed to make their own choices. Sounds simple, but it gets denied all the time, especially by parents. When children are small, young, and extremely incapable of making their own rational decisions, fine, help them make that choice. But for someone like me, at this point, it feels more like just blatant control and I don’t like it. I don’t like being told what to think or feel, where to go, how to live and what to do. I know what I’m supposed to be doing in the eyes of my family and of society, so fine, I will begrudgingly fulfill that expectation. But when it comes to my own personal thoughts and emotions, I don’t give a damn who you are, you’re not going to tell me to think or feel a certain way about something. If I don’t like something, I don’t like it. Fact of the matter is, now that I think about it, I actually am grateful for the job. That part of what I said to her was wrong. I know people don’t come by jobs very often these days and I’m lucky to have found one. I am not happy; I am grateful, but not happy. However something about being told that I should be grateful, happy, what have you, that ticks me off. It feels like force, like being talked down to. Whether I choose to feel a certain way or not is my decision. I don’t want to be told to.

My head, my rules. Try to force your way in and you’re going to get either a wall going up in front of you, or, on days like today, snapped at. Or, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just not broken spirited enough yet to say that I’m happy about something which earns me money to buy mediocrity and nothing close to satisfaction. 


neoliberalismkills:

being neutral isn’t being neutral

if you have the privilege of being neutral and you do it and stay silent, it only benefits the oppressors

your neutrality is literally never going to help those who are being crushed by an oppressive system

so don’t feel like you’re a good person for “not picking a side” because that oppressive system loves your passivity

(via cats-and-sass)


To the loved, a word of affection is a morsel; but to the love-starved, a word of affection can be a feast.
Max Lucado

I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of or apologize for, needing to be told you’re special by the person who’s special to you.


The “Death Moment”

Whatever I have, whatever “disease” of the mind…it is like a cancer of the soul. It eats from the inside. There’s always hope of a cure, hope of redemption from it, but the hope is a minimal one. 

It’s like waking from a nightmare, a shaking, crying, broken soul, except the nightmare is still going. And it’s still going. Still going. You’re not waking up. You won’t really. It just keeps going and going and going…

You see, there’s a life I want to live. And I can’t. Because the world I live in is unfortunately not designed for me, or anyone like me. The world is not made for those who would rather live in worlds that are created in dreams, by dreamers. Worlds that are filled with creation, characters we love, people we’d rather be, whether they are better or worse versions of ourselves. 

The world is hard. You’re to struggle, you’re to feel pain, you’re to never get what you really want. You’re to die unhappy. You’re to never really feel fulfilled.

This is the message I get every single time I step foot into another office, another temp job. Every time. I enter in anxious for myself; I leave completely torn apart. Melodramatic? No. Basic denial of basic human needs for my side of the species. The dreamers, the artists, the wallflowers. I cannot stress this enough. Force me towards something I loathe and I will literally shrivel up and decay just at the mere sight of it. My heart will dry up. My soul will die.

All of what I have written up to this point, I wrote in the dark of my room, eyes closed, in my bed. Heart pounding. Chest tight. Near sobbing, near panic, all because every single thing I’ve put down in words, I feel at this very moment, all at the same time, just at the thought of living another day in that goddamn office. Even a few hours. It sucks me dry, even of tears.

My parents would blame an addiction to the internet. But let’s examine that assumption. If I were able to experience the same feelings and emotions and sensations of the mind that I do while writing my stories online, but outside the internet, would I really even need my computer? If I were able to feel that love, the warmth, and see my words come to life in the same way they seem to on my screen…would I need wifi? Absolutely not. I’d give it up in a heartbeat. What I am truly addicted to is the story writing, the affection of my friends, the joy I experience through my characters. No, it is the wonderful, tender warmth and hot passion it brings to my mind — that, is what I’m addicted to. If it is the same for you, let no one ever tell you that you are only in a mad search for an internet connection. You are on a mad search for art and for connection to emotion and other human beings. That is what you are after. Human feeling.

As for myself, I can’t go on like this, going from job to job that I hate, slowly watching myself be washed out by the relentless tides of the stress it causes me. After this one is over, I’ve got to do something else or die trying. Again, someone may scream melodrama at that. But I don’t mean a physical death. I mean the death of me — myself, my personality, my mind, my heart, my spirit, everything that makes up the soul that inhabits this shell. That, dies; just at the thought of living the rest of my life like this, I experience a sort of “death moment,” one where the desperate, blind panic suddenly comes through white hot and all I can see in front of my face is wild fear. Because I have found what I love. The thought of being dragged away from it kicking and screaming nearly brings me to tears.

And I have to get back.


Let’s not talk about how I am. It’s a subject I know too much about to want to think about anymore.
Ernest Hemingway, A Way You’ll Never Be (via slutstatus)

(via cats-and-sass)


notmydate:

Martin Freeman & Susan Earl | Hardware S0102

(via jamesonandreds)


Z Berg in “First kiss

(via jamesonandreds)


I want every piece of me to crash into every piece of you,
I swear to god that’s how they make stars.
Mary Lambert, from Sarasvatī (via daianayumi)

(via cats-and-sass)