Friday, December 16, 2011

another letter to a person of interest

Dear Person of Interest,

You know I’m not particularly fond of pedestrians. They are these funny, in a bad way, kind of people who walk about on streets and sidewalks, and they go when they shouldn’t and they drive real slow in the narrow passages of the skyway, where you can’t pass them because of oncoming “other” pedestrians. And are you a pedestrian only when you are outside, and crossing a street, or can you be a pedestrian in a crowded hallway, or in the bike only path? I mean don’t you only become a pedestrian when you get in the way of someone who is a hurry to get to their destination, whether they are on foot, or bike, or are in their car, and you are the cause of what they consider an unnecessary yielding to your way?
And I find it a bit maddening, that if today, I decided to put “find some money” on my “to do” list, that I could look under my chair cushion, on the floorboards of my car, on the sidewalk, and in the lawn, and even at the bottom of the pen holder, and I would find a penny or two, or three. However, I will not find the money I desire to find (and that would be most helpful) such as a fat wad of bundled together 20’s. Damn those conveniently located pennies for taking over the “Here I am! Money!,” world. I feel if they got out of the way, that perhaps dollar bills could fill the void. Although there was one time that I had parked in the parking garage for overnight parking which was going to cost my $5 dollars, and at the time of leaving work to head to my car, I realized I had forgotten my wallet at home and therefore, had nothing to pay for the parking of my car. I then happened to look to my left at a shelf un-thought of at work, and there was, five $1 dollar bills on the shelf. Well I figured that if I were to ask around as to who it belonged too, and went to hand it back, but then asked “Do you by any chance have $5 dollars I can borrow to pay for my parking?” they couldn’t lie to me and say no, cuz then I would hide the money between my fingers and make it look like I did a magic trick and made their money disappear, so I lent myself the money.
And one time, I found $500 dollars in a room I had to clean at my place of work at that time. And no, it was not left as a tip. It was left in an envelope where just the teeny tiny bit of the corner of the envelope was sticking out from a tray the coffee maker sat upon. When the money finally was turned over to me after the rightful owner never came forward, well; that was about the time that I started adding the additional caramel drizzle to my Starbucks morning chai tea, for an additional 60 cents. Disposable income is amazing.
And normally I am not the traffic controller.
Well let discuss what is enough. He says “I just want to hear you say to me “You are enough for me.” To which in my head I reply, enough, is similar to the word “snuff,” which implies, putting out and smashing violently to quit a process. So I say, well what is enough? Why is enough a comforting lullaby to his ears? If you are pouring me a glass of milk or dishing me up a plate of garlic mashed potatoes and you say “tell me when it’s enough,” I feel very comfortable saying, “Ok, that’s enough,” and I am quite satisfied at the result of the just the right amount of potatoes and milk to eat and drink. But in a relationship, being just the right amount of stuff is not good enough. I want you to be my everything, (but not my car, or my mom, or my job, or my walk about the park.) I want you to exceed my expectations, to disappoint from time to time, to hug me tight on a perfectly good day, to sext me when I’m feeling down, and to surprise me with a witty comment or goofy face to make me laugh every single day! But never will you get me to say with perfect harmony in my voice “You are enough.” And this I am glad about.
And finally, I wish today to say that I am terribly sad at the exiting of three very fine co-workers of mine, who wish to move to far away places across many state borders. This is my Congratulations to each of them. “Congratulations! And I say that with this odd feeling of sadness in my heart, similar to the way one might feel if they had just got a flat tire while they are on a desolate road, 50 miles from a town, where the wind is blowing the snow around, and the land is lost in a blizzard, and the temp is -33, and ironically you were the last car to pass through on the road, as the sheriff came by and shut down the road right after you crossed the border 30 miles back.”
And to all, Happy Holidays. May you get yourself something nice, because we all know so well, we give ourselves the greatest gifts around the holiday season!

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Some poems I wrote long ago.

Version One – Is this the reality of Love?

Can it be that you polish the stars just for her?
Is that you who dances on the moon every Saturday night?
And every day, is it such that you carry the sun
Across the sky upon your back just for her?
Oh blue eyes of heaven, how you adore her;
And is it such that you spin this world round just for her
Oh how your feelings run deep in the salty ocean depths
Your spirits softly treading high among the feathery clouds
Your soul ever seeking through the forest depths
Searching for her love
Searching for her soul
You know that she’s out there.
She knows that you exist as she sits quietly upon a grassy hill
To watch you paint the sunrise just for her.
And all that she wants is for you to sit beside her,
Wrap your arms around her,
And let the stars go dull.

Version 2 – But is this not the reality too?

Can it be that you polish the stars just for her?
Is that you who dances on the moon every Saturday night?
And every day, is it such that you carry the sun
Across the sky upon your back just for her?
Oh, blue eyes of heaven, how you do look into her eyes with fascination,
And is it such that you spin this world round just for her?
And now she, she had just taken you very beating, throbbing heart,
Into her delicate hands,
Dropped it,
Stomped all over it,
With a little glee,
And walked away with your heart on the bottom of her feet.
And tomorrow you’ll be up early to paint the sky with vivid colors
Of the sunrise, so that the green eyed girl with your heart on the soles of her feet,
Can see the beauty of it all
Could it be love?

And just for fun, a poem I wrote about one of my biggest fears, what it feels like to live alone and fear an intruder in the middle of the night.

I think there is a dead guy somewhere in my home,
He’s hiding in my closet, wearing my good clothes,
He sitting on my bed and writing out his grocery list,
He’s in the spare bedroom staring out the window, watching it snow,
He’s behind me in the kitchen as I’m cooking my dinner,
He’s in the bathroom combing his hair as I’m brushing my teeth,
But I live by myself,
And as each night I do the dead bolt to keep the strangers out, 
I feel his hand upon my shoulder,
As I shudder with a fright.
As I crawl into bed, he stands at my door….
I think there is a dead guy somewhere in my home.
This I fear, 
Good night.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Who Do You Find Captive in Your Thoughts?

I am a thinker. I put way to much thought into things I should not. I find myself caught up in the details of things that the average ordinary person does not think of. Do you ever look outside your driver’s side window, and think wow; I am just that close to kissing the front end of someone’s car. There is just the door there, which is RIGHT next to me, between me and a car that crosses paths with me. 

Think you have thought of every possible “worst case” scenario for any given situation. Come to me, I will help you come up quite a list of “worst case” scenario’s that will keep you up late at night. I do have some other good qualities, some of which I might mention on another day. 

So, as I always take a while to get my initial point and sometimes never quite get to the point, but find another entirely worthwhile point to discuss in the process.
No one ever talks about the people who come into their thoughts, and hold their thoughts captive for a while. We think we should only really hold captive in our thoughts our significant other, our children, and those family and friends we are closest too. We don’t talk about the people, who you secretly adore, or who you wish you could get to know better, but know for reasons outside ourselves; we will never seek that closer knowledge of that person. I have many people who come into my mind, much more then they should. I find these people are not who you think they might be, those being successful people, happy people, or people who seem to have life pretty well figured out. One can not really define the people who captivate their thoughts; however, if we were to try to explain what it is about that person, we couldn’t quite share that with anyone either. It’s a guilty pleasure we all have and never share, the way we have “secret crushes” on those we cross paths with. Certainly there are people who I only briefly crossed paths with, where their mannerisms, or short conversation we had, still comes into my mind, and I dwell on it, and savor, and enjoy the moment, again, of that person captivating my thoughts. 

And so where did this come from, perhaps only I am wondering that, and it really came from thinking about my blog, yet trying not to think of it. It came from the thought of my blog not really being about my day to day life, but about my random thoughts. It comes from a few people sharing they really enjoy my blog, which to me might indicate that sometimes I come into your head, and stay for a while, that perhaps I am an interesting enough person, to occasionally be held captive in someone’s thoughts. 

This week I am going to make the attempt to share a facebook message with the people who I secretly admire, who I secretly ponder about, and whose way they go about this life amazes me. I challenge the few who will read this to do the same, to reach out to just one person, and let them know what you admire about them, let them know how they captivate your thoughts from time to time, and have taught you a lesson about ________ (fill in the blank), or how they have impacted your life. Sure you can do it to the people you are close too, if you just don’t share these things with them often enough, but I challenge you to surprise someone who might think you never think about them! If you don’t hear from me, well, I am a procrastinator….

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

I Thought I Heard You Laughing

Here is a essay I wrote in my freshman year of college (which was in 1999, and yes I graduated from college in 2009!) I don't remember the assignment, only that the teacher and other people I have read this too have greatly enjoyed this essay. It is about sadly, what I would consider a story of what was a good friend to me as a child. (Confusing sentence, I know). Mind you, this essay has many errors, yet I feel like rewriting it as I wrote it then and not trying to improve it.

As a child, I hated how the cold winter months creeped by. I would stand in my bedroom, staring out the window, my forehead pressed against the cold glass, hating the cold white world outside my window. I'd gaze down the long stretch of pasture, which was our backyard, searching for my tree, which was hiding among the rows of trees down at the bottom of the pasture. I longed to be down there, sitting in my tree, to get away from my brother's loud tantrums; to get away from my mother who was always yelling at us for something; to get away from the monotony of the four walls that surrounded me. I hated the suffocation of the cold days that kept me captive inside the anger-filled house. However,, the spring and summer months always came, like the key that unlocks a cage, and I would be outside flying across the pasture like a cheetah running across an open field, ducking through the trees, dodging the tall grass, finally reaching my tree. It was the perfect climbing tree because it had a low V, which served as an excellent stepping stool up into it's heights, which held so many possibilities. 

When I was young, my tree was primarily a hiding spot from my angry mother. I was too afraid to venture very far up into the higher branches, for fear of falling. I was content sitting in my little perch six feet above the ground, letting the tree gently rock me, as the wind moved through it shaking hands with all the branches. I was pleased with myself for having found such a perfect hiding place, as I listened to my mother yelling for me up in the yard. I knew that she would never find me, and that I could keep neglecting my household chores. I felt like a secret safely kept by my tree; as I was unnoticed by the passing cars, or birds perched among the neighboring trees, or by the roaming barn cats down in the grass below. I was a secret observer of the world around me, sitting in my tree. 

As I got older, the tree meant more to me. I visited the tree more often for the silence it offered. I would climb into the highest branches, looking out over the tops of the neighboring trees, seeing my house looking so innocent, in the distance, atop the slight upward slope of the pasture. I'd let my eyes roam across the endless wheat fields that came tumbling over the tops of distant hills, like worn silk falling down in gentle folds around our land. I felt peace here. 

I visited the tree after long stressful days to cry out loud, without any human ears to hear me; only the silent staring owls, skiddish rabbits, and prowling barn cats heard me crying. I would go there on nights when the moon was full, to soothe my broken heart after being hurt by a friend. In the mild winter months, I tromped through the snow, to climb up into the naked branches, to cool my anger after a fight with a family member. I would sit there and watch the snow dancing in endless circles across the open pasture and fields, one swirl of snow chasing after another, then disappearing, only to reappear seconds later, which would go racing yet again after another circle of snowflakes.

Sitting there over the years, I thought about life, my family, my dreams, and my goals. I discovered who I was, my love for nature, animals, silence, and peace. A lot of my art and poetry was inspired as I sat there at different times of the passing seasons, seeing so many different things, thinking so many different thoughts. 

As an adult, I still visited my tree, even after I moved out. I'd drive the eight miles to spend a few minutes in my tree, to think about a problem, to relieve my stress, to feel the quiet of the day. However, as my life became more hectic, I found that I did not always have the time to take the trip out there. I missed the quiet solitude that my tree offered. I felt like a child lost without my comforting security blanket, but I knew that I had to move on with my life, that I would have to say goodbye to my loyal friend of so many years. 

On the day that I made my last visit, it was a cool autumn day, bright yellow and orange leaves were shimmering in the sun, clapping politely in the breeze. I drove the eight miles and parked along the road; climbed though the barbed wire fence into the pasture, ducked through the trees, and stood in front of my tree one more last time. I didn’t have to climb it; I could climb it inside my head, feeling the rough bark beneath my fingertips, hearing my shoes biting into the branches, seeing the view from the top. I reached out and touched the tree with my fingertips and realized that the tears were falling down my face. Through my tears, I heard myself softly say “Thank you.” Then I smiled to myself, suddenly feeling stupid crying over a dumb tree that had been here long before I was born, and that would be there for many more years to come. It was just doing its job day in and day out; standing there silently, offering up its branches to whoever might come to visit. However, for eleven years of my life it had felt my sadness, anger, pain, and hate. It had heard my cries, my questions, my fears; it had listened to my deepest troubling thoughts, my dreams, my goals, and now I shared with it my love, and for the first time ever my laughter. As I turned and walked away, a sudden breeze gently shook the branches of my silent friend, and I could almost hear the tree say, “I thought I heard you laughing.”

~And ironically, yes Shel Silverstein's book The Giving Tree, was a book, I hold dear to my heart ~

Monday, September 5, 2011

This Relationship

My mind is full of chatter. My heart is heavy with the anxiety that comes with a decision. The battle within continues. I know how I can make it stop, yet discussions keep occurring over the same topic, and he doesn't understand that there can be no good reason to take a stand on what he desires, and I have thousands, perhaps millions of reasons as to why I am right to take a stand on what I know to be completely unnecessary in a relationship, therefore, reasons to end this relationship.
How do I go about doing what I have tried over and over, yet fail at each time? How many people can be supporting me on my decision, yet I continue to disappoint them all?
If I don't find a way to follow through on leaving this relationship behind, I'm going to find myself left behind, and lost in what I once was.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Treading Water

This heart must be ripped out,
beating, throbbing from deep inside, 
bloody soul of anger must be wrung  
from the devil's hands. 
Eyes so evil, poke them sickly 
from their sockets, 
leave them gaping, 
hands of hate, heal them, soothe them, 
cut them at the wrists, 
And don't look away not for one minute
as the rage of hell comes forth
Forgive if you will. 

Monday, August 29, 2011

Of love and such things

This a poem I wrote many years ago, that I had forgotten all about. And while I can remember the relationship that I was in at the time I wrote it, I don't quite understand where this poem came from, of what circumstances in the relationship, brought these words forth. Funny when you come across old letters or poems you wrote in response to the person you were dating.

Rushing in,
The water,
Tumbling down the broken stairs,
Swirling around my feet,
And you are there.
I can taste your hurried footsteps,
Beneath my toes.
Walking down the long watery corridors,
I open doors and shut doors,
Red and black doors,
Like those of the child’s checkerboard.
And you are there.
I can hear your fearful scent drifting
In and among the dark, dark rooms.
Sitting in my soggy chair, in the living room,
Feeling your shortness of breath,
As you run through the sloshy hallways,
Searching for a way out,
Of my watery grave.
Playing with my blue rubber ducky,
In the yellow waters of my attic,
Smelling your drowning as you sink,
Beneath the depths of the ankle deep water.
Smiling as I let the tub water run hot,
Burning my hands,
Seeing your flesh cold beneath my fingers,
And knowing that you are there.
Here in my dreams,
My deep dark watery dreams.

A Sharing of Someone Else's Poetry

~ Stone ~

By Charles Simic

Go inside a stone
That would be my way
Let somebody else become a dove
Or gnash with a tiger’s tooth.
I am happy to be a stone

From the outside the stone is a riddle:
No one knows how to answer it.
Yet within, it must be cool and quiet,
Even though a cow steps on it full weight,
Even though a child throws it in a river;
The stone sinks, slow unperturbed
To the river bottom
Where the fish comes to knock on it and listen

I have seen sparks fly out
When two stones are rubbed,
So perhaps it is not dark inside after all;
Perhaps there is a moon shining
From somewhere, as though behind a hill-
Just enough to make out
The strange writings, the star charts
On the inner walls.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Letters to People

Dear Morning Person,
I would like to inform. 
On matters of the heart: it matters, for any given reason, simply because it is the heart. 
On matters of the birds and bees, I'm not sure about this, as bee's sting, and birds sing. I'm not sure what this has to do with sex. 
On matters of love, well it mostly depends on if you are talking to a child.
On the matter of spinning tops, they seem to stop and tumble, but they spin in a different kind of way then, and I think that is the better of the two. 
On all matters that have to do with August, we seem to think August occurs in the summer, but someone once told me if you live elsewhere, winter, occurs in August. And August once lived down the street from me, and he preferred spring best. 
One can not mention August, without bringing up the matter of glass coffee pots. If ever entirely excited about a statement of a coworker, while working at McDonald's, and carrying two glass coffee pots, do not emphasize your point, by tapping them together. Usually a broom and dustpan is required after that. 
On the matter of people sleeping, well it should always be done with ninja like qualities; never noticed, except taken note of by the person stealing your TV. 
On the matter of written material, let's break that down, writ. ten. mat. erial. Similar to Arial the mermaid, but somehow unrelated. 
Well I thought that might be all, but I was just reminded of matters of the playground. Do not let the monkey bars fool you as they did me. I never saw any monkey's there, even if I tried to quietly sneak up onto the monkey bars. Pretty sure the monkeys were playing in the kiddie pool.
Always existing,

Dear Afternoon Person, 

I do hope the day is treating you well, but then can a day treat you well, or do you treat the day well? This is similar to the question of which came first, the mosquito, or the mosquito eating bug. And really, what are those large mosquito eating bugs called? Surely they have a name, and I believe their name might give some indication on other particularly good qualities they might have besides mosquito eating, but hence we shall never know of their other skills, until someone comes forth and confesses its name. 
And really, what's with logic? 
Sometime I question if I should stop and think. 
Oh, and in trying to share an interesting segment of a time in space with you. 
So, let's ponder for a moment the struggle we all try to justify in our heads of the meanings we put behind "need" and "want." I feel very right if I say "I need a purring cat in my lap right now." And people think, well she said she "needs" that, which means it IS a necessity, and they will quickly fetch me a kitty, although I did once have someone attempt to give me a puppy, as a cat was not readily available, but the damn thing only made whimpering sounds, and wagged it's tail a lot; odd. So back to my point, but if I say "I "want" a purring kitty in my lap," people assume that this is not a necessity, but only a desired state, and now I question if the person who got me the puppy the one time, misunderstood me, and thought I said "want" instead of "need."
So in all matters such as, and similar too, and of the words their, there, and they're, I think I might be done. 
Yours kind of truly, though sometimes I tell stories that are not true, but they have a small detail of truth such as when I told the story about the white bunny I ran over by accident. I told people later when I rolled my car that the bunny was the cause, although the bunny incident happened about a mile prior to the rolling of the car, when I went around a corner to fast, and fishtailed, and over-corrected, and successfully flipped my car upside down. You see instead of speed being the cause, which would have indicated the car flipping being my fault, I  simply placed the bunny at the corner where the fantastic flipping of my car occurred, and now people give me a hard time about "Oh funny, you can't run over little bunnies," but really I'm ok with running over bunnies.
For example, Goodbye, 

Dear Evening Person, 
This comes to you a little flushed, as I wrote this while cleaning the toilet. It's a little rushed as well, as one never walks to the bathroom, but always runs; to the bathroom that is; one does not always run. 
One time I had a cat named Squirt, and I loved this little adorable black and white kitty. Then I let all the cats into the house in the winter one day, when my mom was gone, and I noticed Squirt was not present in the warmth. I inquired with my sister, who generally didn't give a damn about the cats, but who for the most part was still aware of their whereabouts. She did not disappoint on her knowledge, but rather cruelly shared with me that "Squirt had been squirted." My mother had apparently accidentally run him over as she was backing out of the garage. I still don't speak to my sister these days about the private lives of private detectives.
I once minded my own business, but found that this wasn't very much fun. It was kind of like eating cinnamon graham crackers, but finding you were not particularly fond of the cinnamon, but would have preferred sticky gummy bears instead.
In the second grade I was sent to the principal's office, when the teacher discovered I had written fart on the back of my spelling book. This was an unpleasant situation, as the kid next to me, was doing time for hitting a kid in the back of the head with a bat. He seemed overly pleased in having done this, and did not seem to mind sitting in the principals office. I however; was told that fart was a very bad word, and I did not feel very good about my use of this word. The principal told me I was always to be a polite young lady, and never use bad words. I only wish I had misspelled fart, similar to the way I misspell thier all the time, and that I had spelled fever instead.
Well once again, I leave with hesitation, automatic updates, and poppy seeds taken directly from where they grow in muffins. 

Leaving the day. 

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Tiny little black bugs, with wings, and some have lots of legs....

So the other night, at my place of employment, which has some people sleeping behind closed doors, on beds, as such...
I had this guest who asked to speak to a manager, which meant very important information was about to be shared with me, most likely negative. I approach the guest, (and please keep in mind I am approachaphobic, where as I don't like someone approaching me, especially when wearing clicky shoes, or carrying an ax of some sort). Henceforth, the guest made a point of itching his legs with the bottom of his flip flops, and he told me that he had woken up to the feeling of being bitten by bugs. He then revealed the horrifying details with me that he peeled back the sheets, to see that there were little black bugs ALL over his bed. There was even a location where it appeared they had laid their eggs, and were milling about waiting for the happy births. Anywho, I promptly call engineering, and given the magnitude of the "creepy" factor, I decided to go up to the room with the engineer to investigate the matter with my own eyes. (I mean really who doesn't want to see the spectacular horror of a bed full of black bugs) So we get up to the room, quite promptly I might add, and the guest pulls back to the sheet to show me the worst of the worst, the egg laying gathering, upon, which very quickly, I become aware of the fact that it is black lint on the lovely white sheets. Oh, and it gets better, he had "collected" two of them to hand over gingerly to Engineering, or the tooth fairy, whichever came first. So Engineering, who quickly recognized the lack of life and "bugness" in these black specks, carefully placed the "bugs" on a piece of paper to take to his lab and further investigate under a microscope. The guest even explained to us that the one he saw had lots of legs, and one of the ones he collected had wings, (very tiny unmoving wings, mind you). The guest was moved to a grand room for the remainder of his night. The next morning, I had the great pleasure of checking this "gentle"man out, and he told me that the situaiton would have been much worst, had his wife been with him. (Ummm right, becuase she would have pointed out to you that you were blind, and that it was black lint, and that your were a damn idiot!) All I can say is, Yowzers, his wife must be constantly entertained, similar to when your child is 3, and believes that eating the sticky stuff off the floor is yummy.
~ I have to say, I was initially tempted to smash my hand down in the egg laying area, and say "Oh my god, they got me, they got me," and promptly fall to the floor, as if eaten by tiny black bugs.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Some poetry about... well you guess...

~ Oh, but I care about you a little more then the others, you're not the average ordinary.... You look good and have some personality. Oh the loss of you will be felt, as one without the other simply does not work. ~
(a lost black floral sock after the dryer ate it; and of always the thoughts of my connection with him, and potentially having to walk away) 

~ Every day I set out to maneuver around you, as your gaping holes of emptiness are an inconvenience to me. And so it goes, my expectations of you potentially ruining my day, if I should run across you. But today (at least there) you were fixed, and it made my day. And perhaps, tomorrow; there; you will be fixed. ~
(the plight of potholes; as well as reference to the many breakup's; and his learning curve of becoming better at smoothing the way, and making small changes) 

~ I feel you might snap at any moment, give way, part ways... You rumble as we go along, and oh how you shudder when action is required of you. It seems I can not ignore your protests any longer, but that I must fix you... or else you will surely leave me abandoned with your unyielding ways as you give up and part ways. ~
(my broken wheel, with a big 4 inch crack in it; and reference to yet again, him needing to make changes, big changes, and how he protests at making those changes with his own will, instead of requiring mine to be the driving force)  

~ Yes, I push your button all the time, just because you are the first in line; yet I cringe each time you rush up and volunteer to assist me to bring me to where I need to go. I quickly push their buttons and hope one volunteers; as they are much faster at doing what you do. You are slow and quite often smell. ~
(of the back of the house elevators at work; and ok a little reference to eager puppy dog ways, to be of help no matter what, even it means getting in the way.)

Saturday, August 13, 2011

So about the interview...

So, my interview on Thursday went very well. I was enjoying the interview, there was good questions, and good answers, and some laughs, which I think is good. The two HR people interviewing me mentioned towards the end of the interview, that if I hear back from them, that they would want me to come back in and meet with the HR Director, (the person who would be my boss). Well then the interview continued, and they suprised me and said, "lets go see if Linda (the HR Director) is available now." And she was. She a very sarcastic person, and I apprecieated her sarcastic take on HR, and she told me that in the 7 years she has been at that company 6 out of 8 of her HR consultants went on to become HR Managers or HR Directors. (Good money that is). So I am excited that she would be a great boss to mentor me on HR policies and all other things HR related. I got an email today, saying that I am one of the top candidates being considered for the job, but that they still had a few more interviews to finish up with. They plan to make a decision by the end of next week. That seems to be a really long ways away! So will this be the beginning to my career in HR? Will I find that I like as I think I will, or that I hate it, and only like learning about HR?
We shall see.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Ok, a little peek into the going on's in my life right now!

~ A person must always be in a forward moving action of achieving, challenging, and making change~
So today I have an interview for an HR coordinator position for a full service hotel here in the Twin Cities. I blindly applied for the job last friday, when an ex-coworker of mine text me (after almost 6 months of no contact) and tells me the hotel she is working at is hiring an HR Coordinator. Well, my initial thought was that an HR Coordinator job is not typically an entry level job. And well I have pretty much forgotten everything I learned in college about HR, soooo, I'm really not qualified to be coordinating any great efforts on any companies behalf!
Well, I believe, much to my advantage, I could not find the job posting online, and so I asked my ex-coworker if there was a direct email for which to send my cover letter and resume to, and there was. So without knowing the details of the job, I put together my best cover letter, and catered my resume a bit, and sent if off.
Then I hear nothing on Monday, yet first thing Tuesday, I have a voicemail on my phone from that company asking me to come in for an interview. I squeeled a lot and did some happy dances, and set up an interview for Thursday at 10.
Well, I am a procrastinator, so I waited until I was at work last night, to search one more time for the job posting online, and I Found it! And as I was reading the job description, I realized that I was not qualified at all for the job. It lists of things such as
  • Schedule, facilitate, and coordinate all aspects of the Hotel Safety Committee. (I really care so little about safety on the job, this has always been someone else's job. Safety bores me in more ways then one)
  • Facilitate the administration of safety activities and Worker's Compensation case management.
  • Handle ALL written employment verifications.
  • Insure compliance with OSHA standards.
  • And the most dreadful of them all was the last bulletin point of - Working knowledge of federal, state, and local laws, governing equal employment opportunity, and civil rights, Title VII, ADEA, FLSA, ADA, OSHA, FMLA, ERISA, and NLRA, etc.
So to begin, all those abbreviated laws in the last statement, yep, don't know what any of them exactly stand for. So I started off simply looking up what all those meant. (yep, I sure do have "working" knowledge of all the "stuff!") Then scheduling, and facilitating things, coordinating, oh dear.... All things I dream of doing one day, being super organized and in charge of making things happen, but I'm not ready for it yet. So basically is what I am saying is I'm glad I found the job description a mere 6 hours before the interview, so I can only fret and worry, and over-think how unqualified I am for the job for a few precious hours.
But in reading the description, I would be sooooo excited if I did go in and do (miraculously) well in the interview, and did get offered the job, as It is not entry level, and how awesome would that be to jump right into the career I want and start out above entry level! I am so excited.
May I do very well in the interview, and may this be the opportunity I have been looking for to get started in the HR field. May my Bachelor's degree finally start to work for me!
And well, pretty sure my deodorant is failing me with just less then two hours to go before the interview, so may they not notice my stink!

Monday, August 8, 2011

Motivation Monday

I've decided I will post on Monday's any quotes I have come up with up with for motivation, or famous quotes I really connect with to post. Today I will share some of what I recently came up with. It's good to start out Monday with motivation! If anyone has a good quote they would like to post as a comment, please do!

~ Having moments of self realization is amazing, of discovery of the reason as to why a behavior or thought might exist, and then deciding to do something about it.~ 

~ Bad habits hold us back, keep us held captive in their reality, and distort our perception of what self comfort really means. Self comfort should be something to be cherished, something that breaths new life in us, refreshes you, and leads to a happy life! ~ 

~ Be comfortable with being uncomfortable, with holding yourself to a high standard of discipline and self control.~

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Sunday Morning as Poetic Thought

On coming home, to discover that it appears as if though the lines on the highway have just been recently painted.
~ It would seem that the lines have just been painted, what path yesterday was vaguely defined, yet known completely; today, is stark white boundaries defined against unforgiving ground, only for you to travel over and leave behind your dirty marks, indicating lack of focus, and disregard to work begun. ~
(But in actuality making the reference to a person whom I know, who says he will begin the process to heal the demons in his soul, which would require attendance at a certain meeting, and to him, saying and saying, and yet when the day of the meeting comes, not following through with action, but giving disregard to the many conversations spoken.)
On going down to start my laundry in the apartment shared laundry facilities, and coming back up to my apartment to think fondly of Oreo ice cream I purchased a week ago, and left at my boyfriends house, and how I wish I had that ice cream sitting in my freezer for me to eat, instead of me having nothing to eat, when I am hungry and thirsty.
~ Omg. Am hungry, am thirsty, with nothing to obtain from my cupboards. Then a happy dance moment when the thought of ice cream came to mind. Off to Target.~
~ A moment recaptured, Oreo ice cream locked away in the confines of his apartment, now to be repurchased, complete with chocolate syrup, to occupy a frozen place, to fill up my empty tummy times. ~
On heading out the door to go to Target and looking down at my self to discover that I look quite dumpy in my work uniform, which I have not removed since getting off work a little over two hours ago.
~ Decisions, Decisions, for this tired hungry soul. Do I go as I am fully clothed in uniform or put forth the effort to change my clothes to blend in with the Target Sunday crowd? ~
On giving it some thought.
~ Tackiness I have disregarded in exchange for simple attire of a comfy pair of jean and worn tee. ~
On stopping by the laundry room on my way out to take my clothes out of the washing machine and put into the dryer, only to discover someone has removed them and placed them in my hamper and shoved them beneath a table.
~ Someone took my clothes out the washing machine. Weird thinking of someone handling my wet clothes. A bit uncomfortable when my undies are involved.~
On arriving at Target and begrudgingly realizing I need to use a cart, as I am out of bottled water, and wish to purchase a heavy 24 pack of bottled water. A cart is needed.
~ To roam the aisles, here I go, to not conform to your ways, I pull instead of push. This way you are to follow me, instead of me following your ever clumsy ways. Never to push the cart as you all do. ~
On making a decision outside of my original ice cream selection choice.
~ Oh Sugar Cookie ice cream, you got my attention, as your existence I was not aware, , and then the words “with a hint of brown sugar,” so enticed me, without hesitation I came to know it was to be you. ~
On exchanging a text message with my boyfriend, in which he inquires if it could be so that I will love the sugar ice cream more then I love him.
~ In due time she will know if sweetness is what she craves of sugar cookie goodness, or kisses tender on her lips and his arms wrapped around her tight as she dozes off to sleep. ~
On referring to all thoughts coming out poetically for the morning.
~ Is not the challenging of the ordinary thoughts, to be placed in poetic verse, to distort the simply meaning, to elongate the vowels, and add many more commas then is needed. ~
On eating my sugar cookie ice cream.
~ Oh how ordinary the sugar cookie becomes when blended in with sweet frozen vanilla ice cream. Frozen pieces you should not be, and what a disappointment that is to me. ~
On going down to retrieve my clothes from the dryer, only to discover my towel wrapped up tight in the corner of the fitted sheet.
~ Why is always the tender soft towel that is captured in the corners of your harsh reality? The one thing for which you give a damn as whether or not it comes out fluffy soft and dry for which all others can be hung to dry, as fluffy soft they do not need to be; only you. ~