Tuesday, August 01, 2006

And then they carried me to a dark hospital room

I hate job hunting.

But at the same time, you'll never hear me laugh as much as I do when I'm answering the questionnaires for the personality profiles that they have you go through. You know the ones:

"I hate being ordered around."
A. Strongly Agree
B. Agree
C. Disagree
D. Strongly Disagree.

"I don't mind working long hours on my feet without a break."

"I will answer all our guests questions with a smile, with or without reasonable accommodation."

"I would sell my soul, with or without reasonable accommodation."

I honestly have no idea why this amuses me to the brink that it does. I'm known to say such things as, "Yes, I am your whore, I will do as you please... ", "Yes, master", "So you wish it, so shall it be!". Of course, of course, I am being completely sarcastic. My sister hasn't yet figured out that fine art, so she just looks at me funny.

For those of you that are lucky enough, smart enough and talented enough not to ever step foot in retail or food service, consider yourselves lucky.

And again I did that frustrated hoping in the seat, up and pacing around, back down in the seat to yell out, frustrated as the day you met me here on this beautiful blog, "I'M SO FUCKING CLOSE, WHY CAN'T I GET THE GOOD JOBS!? I'M ALMOST EIGHTEEN!"

If I thought I was frustrated before, these next few weeks are sure to be a blast. I saw very many opportunities on the websites and searches I was conducting for jobs I could fulfill, for far more then minimum wage, but they all require eighteen and older. Of course.

You know, sometimes I seriously pause, lift my head, and think with a furrowed brow, "How old am I again?" You know, especially when I could hold conversation about tragedies, politics, drugs, pop culture, and those that I'm having conversations with are twice to three or four times my age. Then I really have to think about it. How old am I?

Is there a test for how old you are, really, outside of your actual years, by how you act? If there is, I wish to take it. I'm curious.

And if it wasn't bad enough just being older in mind, I have to LOOK older in body. "You look twenty-three," someone told me the other day. Thanks. Thanks for another reminder that I won't be twenty-three for FIVE YEARS. I wish I was twenty-three. I wish I could buy alcohol, purchase a house, sign up for the military and see another president in office. Not that I would do any or all of those things, but I would like the option.

Kind of like I want the option to marry a woman if I want to. But that's another subject.

Hopefully, hopefully, four weeks and three days from now it will all seem like a bad dream. That is the way my mind has worked in the past and I hope it continues to work in the future.

For there will be celebration. God, yes, there will be celebration on the day of my birthday. The hearts of dozens of men and women will be warmed by the idea that they no longer have to worry about being locked in jail with a well-placed touch or a well-spoken comment. The glances and comments spoken will no longer be threatening to the giver or the receiver, and Teigra will rejoice. She will rejoice with much gusto.

Just thinking of it makes me happy, and then I come crashing down to earth and realize--damn it. Still seventeen. Still... illegal.

Damn it.

Well, here's tricky thing.

Anyway, here's the list of all the things I have done in the eight years before my eighteenth birthday.
  • I have written over 4,487 pages of writing (approximately 3,944,073 words) on my computer. Not counting hand-written.
  • I have competed at three artistic competitions at the local level at 11, 13 and 15. Won one first place and two second place metals.
  • I have had two art gallery showings, one at Mattie Rhodes in Kansas City, one in the Opera House in Belton.
  • I was arrested for stealing $28,000 worth of jewels at fourteen. I stayed in Juvie for three weeks. 50 hours community service.
  • I've tried committing suicide no less then four times. The most recent being two months ago.
  • I graduated from High School at fifteen, but was prevented from receiving my diploma until I was sixteen.
  • I enrolled in Metropolitan Community Colleges at sixteen. I finished 9 credit hours, and was prevented from finishing my last 12 when I was kicked out of my mothers house.
  • Got my drivers license at 16.
  • I've bought one car, recently settled a dispute with another car, and paid monthly insurance for two years. (until recent)
  • Became the sole benefactor of my mother for three weeks.
  • Lost my virginity and explored my bisexuality.
  • Supported myself financially for almost a year off of e-bay.
  • Gone through four different jobs, one of them working with my mother.
  • Drank and got drunk for the first time at fifteen. Started drinking more often at sixteen 1/2.
  • Become something of a social smoker (marijuana)
  • Tried my first cigarette at 14, quit. Tried again at 17, and still at it.
  • Got kicked out of my mothers house for asking advice.
  • Got into my first car accident (with a 2005 Ford Mustang)
  • Was raped by a boyfriend (he was drunk).
  • Lost many good friends to time.
  • Moved out to California.
  • Filed charges against James Sumrall for child molestation and sodomy at 12. Spent the next year fighting in court to get him imprisoned.
  • Was thrown into a mental institution once by my mother when I had a psychotic breakdown.

I don't know much or any more, honestly just don't want to think about it. Starting to think about those things is getting me a wee depressed. Oh well. Bet you didn't know most of that, did you? Well, there you go.

And who says that I'm still a child?



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