finding memo

There were so great cat memes on being stuck, but because I despise cats so much I bypassed ALL THE CAT MEMES for this Finding Nemo meme, which I aptly named in my pictures folder as “finding memo” 🙂

I’m baaaaccckkkk.

I don’t know why I made a dramatic introduction. It’s not like I have a bunch of followers on this blog ATM. Shoutout to whoever is reading this post right now, though. *tips hat*

Full disclosure: I’m sitting on the couch in my apartment about to take some Tostino’s pepperoni pizza rolls out of the microwave. I ate better as a child, y’know, during the ages when it was more appropriate to eat pizza rolls. Anyway, I digress.

So here I am on a rainy Tuesday evening. It’s been raining/storming on and off for several days. As a result I was without internet for a gut-wrenching 2 days, and I’m already at over 75% of my allotted data. For the month. I listen to a lot of Spotify…

In a stunning series of events/challenges I’ve done some self-assessment. I’ve taken a look at my life, and looked at it for what it is. Structure. Regimen. M-F/9-5/Weekend. Chores, exercise, an obscene amount of grooming, binge-watching shows (although it still takes me forever to actually finish an entire series) and YouTube videos. Sprinkle in some time throughout the week for quiet time (but never enough time) with Jesus, spending quality time with my boyfriend (&& the homies), and with girlfriends who I “have to do this more often” with. Boring. Kind of sad, really.

I took a more-than-brief pause to clean up the pizza rolls plate, and was distracted by Buzzfeed via Facebook aaaaand now I feel like I have an attention disorder. Hmmmm.

Earlier this year I decided that I wanted to transition out of my current job, out of finance, into something more interesting and meaningful to me. If I’m being honest with myself I’ve had short spurts of motivation, and longer spurts of complacency where I haven’t done much digging/applying/networking. I grumble about work and come back the next day, the next month, this fall it’ll be the next year. Why? Because I feel stuck.

I’m toting the line between comfort and progress. Progress requires discomfort – not all the time, but a good bit of the time. I’m so exhausted from this job, that is now increasingly more stimulating in the wrong ways, that I just want to come home and sit. I want to comfort myself from the woes of the day, and in doing so I don’t really accomplish anything for myself.

Over the past couple of weeks a loved one of mine pointed out the monotony of my life, and asked me what I look forward to doing when I get home from work (that doesn’t involve sitting).

— Mind you, I recognize that I’ve mentioned sitting an alarming number of times, but in an effort to minimize whatever judgment is coming my way from whatever random reader(s) I’d like to mention that I’m in Zumba/the gym several times weekly in an effort to still be able to eat ice cream and not look like a blob. So there. —

I didn’t have much to say. I mentioned that I enjoy spending time with my friends and family. I didn’t have any activities or hobbies explicitly my own (outside of activities with the people I care about) to look forward to. That bothered me. A lot.

When I was in college I was constantly stimulated (in the positive ways, as long as I wasn’t procrastinating). With my school work, involvement in student organizations, and such easy access to all my friends, I hardly had enough time left in the day/night for sleep. My life was full ALL THE TIME. It was exhausting, but everything was so well defined and purposeful. I studied what I wanted, had money to do what I wanted (which I’m now paying off to the Federal gov’t and Navient), and had a well-defined path. Take these classes, become involved in these things, graduate, get a job doing the thing, etc.

And you know what happened? I graduated. I moved back home for two years. I started working in a restaurant, feeling inadequate because I didn’t go to college to end up in a job I could have worked…before college. So I took the first legitimate full-time job opportunity to feel a certain amount of pride and worthiness. It was exciting for a brief period of time, and then miserable. I left. Worked a crappy job, worked what I thought was a dream job (but actually a poor fit), left, and now I’m here.

So what now? I have bills and responsibilities. There’s stuff I want to do – nothing fancy. Maybe go to the beach with my boyfriend. Watch the sunset. Eat some tacos. Go to the beach and watch the sunset while eating some tacos with my boyfriend.

I’m older so I know better than I did at 22. People work corporate jobs for the benefits. I like having health insurance. Not sure what my options are going to look like under the current administration. (I’m looking at you human-rights stripping, immorally scary GOP).

Something that I have now that I won’t have as much of in the future is time. Time to practice my violin, to learn tagalog, to work on this blog and make it cool – not just so I feel comfortable making it “public” but so that I’m proud of the platform housing this content.

I’m already frustrated about not having all the time I want to to run through scales and old sheet music, to create and study flash cards for Tagalog, to learn how to edit websites so that I can have a cool-looking blog.

This is a good frustrated, and I’m proud of it.

For the sake of time I’m going to call it quits on this blog post. I had a lot to say, and I’m not quite sure how to tie this all up in a neat bow. Hopefully I’ll be back on here sooner rather than later




Streams of Consciousness

If you’re one of the few people who have decided to follow my blog then buckle your seat belts folks because you’re in for a bumpy ride.

I’ve been in a blog post drought for roughly 3 weeks now? Possibly longer?

Anywho – I’m baaaccckkkk 🙂

There are lots of things I’ve thought about writing about, but I couldn’t decide on one topic.

This blog post may read similar to a diary of sorts. *shrug*

Let’s talk about microaggressions. Microaggressions are the sort of actions that make me say that I’m tired of white people. That’s not to say that minorities aren’t guilty of microaggressions too because we certainly are. I’ve been the victim of microaggressions from both.

I’m not sure who is following my blog at this point so I’ll be brief here. One of my co-workers tried me recently. Let me say that again. Some dude at work that I have to work with and pretend to like on a regular basis tried me. At work. The place where I make money so that I can afford my bills and pay for food. I wanted to emphasize that for the people in the back.

We use a chat feature at work so that we can blast everyone with useful information. Given that for the most part we’re a bunch of 20 somethings, and that I work with primarily grown-ass men children, the chat is usually full of crack, memes, and bad jokes (often perpetuated by myself).

This dude at work takes a picture of The Donald, and uses it as his chat profile icon. He makes a point to tell me to take a look at it, and asks if I like this new photo. It was irritating. Inappropriate. Targeted. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a prime example of a microaggression – an intentional act used to challenge or mock a characteristic or identity of a person. Oftentimes this characteristic or identity is something that a person cannot change about themselves (or at least not easily) such as race, sexual orientation, physical ability, hair texture, etc. As a socially conscious, unashamedly liberal, woman of color, The Donald literally stands for everything that I don’t. The personal is political.

Grumble. Next topic.

Adulthood is hard. I read what is technically considered a self-help book when I first got out of college called Adulting by Kelly Williams Brown, a then late 20-something herself. The book explored a variety of topics, including relationships, cooking, careers, etc. It was hilarious, and full of actually good advice. I’d like to read this book again now that I’m deeper into my adulthood than I was a few years back.

What I’ve found interesting about adulthood is that I looked at this season of life looking forward to being independent, self-sufficient, and having the answers to things. The reality is that the independence is stressful and costly, most of my home-cooked meals still come from the home I actually grew up in, and I’m learning that I don’t have the answers to most things. I’ve been humbled by recognizing how little I know of the things that I couldn’t wait to “know” about as a child. Does that make sense? I mean, does that sentence make sense? Hopefully my sentiment makes sense.

Another great humbling thing about adulthood is that no ones cares. No one cares that I went to a highly-ranked public university. No one cares that I work a job that requires a degree from some highly-ranked public university, and that I earn a salary with benefits. No one cares that I live in a one bedroom apartment that I (praise the Lord) don’t have to share with any other humans. No. One. Cares.

On the flip side no one cares (or notices that much!) if I fail at something. No one cares if I happen to be really great (or think that I’m really great) at something. These days I’ve found myself jaded. I used to think of myself too highly, and now I struggle to recognize that I’m still smart, accomplished, and capable. I’m not where I want to be, but I am doing well. I’m not in the career that I want to retire from, but I do have a career that allows me the independence that I was looking forward to so much as a child/adolescent/young adult.

What I’m certain of present-day is that I don’t really know much of anything, and that I have so much left to learn about people, the world, etc. I’m making peace with this on the day-to-day. I’m learning to forgive myself for not having access to the people and experiences that could have taught me more lessons and truths earlier in my life. I’m grateful to have people in my life who are understanding of me and my quirks, and (sometimes) my denseness on the basic topics of life.

I’m also grateful for this tasty Mediterranean restaurant 2 minutes away from my apartment. On the flip side I’m also grateful that this zumba class is also 2 minutes away from my apartment on the days/weeks that I consume more calories than I should.

And on that note I’m reminded that I’m trying to drink a gallon of water a day in an effort to offset any junk that I don’t have the self-control not to eat on any given day. In case you were wondering 1 gallon = 16 cups = 128 fl. oz. That’s a lot of water, folks. So I’m going to refill this water bottle (again) and log these 3 additional cups into today’s water intake.