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It has been a hard couple of weeks.  I lost a friend that I thought would be a close friend.  I had all my faults stripped bare, when I thought I was sailing smooth.  Physically it was exhausting as I was working 16 hours shifts minimum sometimes outside in the late winter air.   Things are on the fritz with my landlord, I got into a fight with my roommate last night, and my boss at one of my three part time jobs was pissed that I missed work on Wednesday to take a catering gig.  It’s not surprising that I am fighting off a head cold.  Its from emotional and physical fatigue.

Alyse was telling me about a saying in french that basically means there are two sides of a coin.  Basic premise is that misery=happiness.  It is the best of times, it is the worst of times.

Its been too long since I’ve written.  Reading the old posts, I don’t know where my head has gone.  I went to full twitterpation mode with two days of warm weather and a nice smile from a guy.  Absolutely pathetic.

Last week, I worked a total of three days.  I fit in a movie marathon (2 movies), balled my eyes out at one, it felt really good to cry, and managed a few chuckles at the other, and even though it was a terrible movie, I still managed to enjoy it- which is a biggie for me.  I’m getting softer with happiness.  

Another day, I went back to my old apartment on West 146th and Broadway.  I ran my old route in Riverside Park up to the Little Red Light House, stretched my arms up in the air, and breathed in the fresh air from the Hudson river.  I heard that the Vanderbilts or some other tycoon like the Astors, made the Jersey shore from around North 130 upwards into a nature preserve in order to preserve their view of nature from their home in upper Manhattan.  This is the only time that I am grateful for ludicrous expenditures by the ridiculously rich.  I thank god to be alive and thank whoever the monied tycoons are who that kept the verdant lands on Jersey for me to enjoy.

Harlem is my favorite place in Manhattan.  Although the entire time that I lived there, I felt like I was living in a foreign country, the river and green forests are so close that I feel closer to God.  When I first moved to the city, and only knew my roommate Chris, I would run along the river, watch the sun set, and pray.  The George Washington Bridge would light up romantically and the black elegant street lights along the running path felt like I was in Paris, even though I’ve never been.  Families all hispanic would be having barbecues alongside the river, groups of old men would be fishing, and some other gringo outcasts would be running or cycling by.  

Going back almost two years later, as a sort of anniversary, my prayers are different.  Then, I was praying all out that I would find a job that would allow me to stay in the city.  I did. I could afford an apartment in the East Village.  I could buy expensive clothes, go out, and buy airplane tickets.  It didn’t work out.  I hated it.  I hated my life.

Now, I am praying please let me want what you want for me. I have been so stubborn, so self-centered, so god damn determined that even though I’ve been able to achieve what I wanted, I haven’t been able to make things perfect even though I got perfectly what I asked for.   Sheer will and selfishness have only landed me in a place that I don’t want to be,  even though I took a lot of effort paddling there.

Now, I for the first time in my willful life, I would like to let go of my will, and watch things happen.  I feel a little guilty and ashamed out of habit that I don’t have some clear goal and dream, but I can’t even fathom it.

I know this.  I would like to do good, and use my talents to help others.  This has been said a million times and sounds like its an uninspired sentence to some grad school application, but I truly mean that.  

For once in my life,  I feel ready to let go of what I want and think I want and see what may happen.  I’m excited to see where life may lead and for once have no idea where that is.

Nothing like being at work and trying to fit in a blog post. It’s almost been a week since I last wrote, and I think its because I’ve been perfectly happy.  I know its shocking.  Usually I try to be so sad, angry, depressed, or lost, but right now I am really enjoying who I am right now, and the place and the people that surround me.  This hasn’t been such a bad Valentine’s Day and I am a little grateful that I don’t have to worry about creating spectacularly romantic plans for tonight, although it would be nice sometime in the future to have that.  

The cafe is slow today.  The majority of the clientele are well established thirty somethings and a lot have wives or husbands so I imagine they took a weekend get-a-way to some tasteful wonderful little hidaway.  

I am thankful, because I am physically a little tired and would like to get through this shift without being overly busy or irked.  I’m in a good mood, but its precarious.

I have had a chocolate sundae, chili nachos, the part of a hamburger that Dacia didn’t want to eat anymore and half of her fries.  

I didn’t get to talk to my crush really, because I was too afraid and couldn’t even make eye contact.  I was too nervous to talk to him and he never showed up at the bar that I hoped he would.  

It was like New Years Eve.  I appreciated the time with my friends, but I never got the kiss.

Well, I consider myself lucky.  Two days ago, I was unsure if I was going to be laid-off from my part-time work at the museum.  I can hang on a little longer, because I am scheduled to work there next week and my boss at the cafe asked if I could work full-time for them.  I don’t want to work full-time at the cafe because they are so sketchy, but I need the money.   So I might work four days at the cafe and two days at the museum.  I am afraid of working too hard though doing the things that I don’t want to do and being too exhausted to work on the things that matter like my writing, art, building a portfolio for a career in art direction, and spending time with friends.

In other news, in the looove department that is, or the lack of love t and just the earnest wanting of love, I am excited about the gradual development of my crush.  My love horoscope the other day said, do not get excited about a first date and start imagining marriage.  To have a first date would be freaking exciting, I am trying to downgrade the advice into do not be excited about conversation one on one and start imagining marriage.  I couldn’t sleep last night because I was excited about seeing him today.  I am pathetic, but such a hopeless romantic and prone to unrealistic and inappropriate infatuation.  But it definitely gives me more energy to work, so much so that I somehow managed to arrive to work a whole hour early.  A fact that I didn’t believe and had to keep on checking different watches to see if it was really 7:00 AM instead of 8.

I want to ask him to go on a date with me.   I’ve never asked a guy out, and I am more than nervous.

I yelled at my land lord today after he came in with his key and I was standing in my bedroom doorway with just my purple towel tucked under my armpits.

“You’re ruining my life!”  I yell.

“Well, don’t call me tomorrow if the apartment is cold.  Do you want me to call your roommate, Aja.”

“No, I want you to leave and come back another day.  I have things to do and don’t want strange men in the apartment!” 

“I have to do the work.  If you don’t like it you can always find a new apartment”

With this I slam my bedroom door, throw myself on top of my bed and yell fine do the damn work.  I don’t care.

He says, ok thank you Joy we will be by at 10:00.

I’m almost in tears.  I want to cry, but I can’t.  Its too farcical, and I’m not really hurt as much annoyed.  I half-heartedly try to research shark diving for  the next art direction assignment due on Monday.  And then spend the next hour and a half napping in midst of the sounds of power saws, hammering, and drilling.  

Its that time of the month again.  Sigh.

I woke-up at 5:15 AM today.  I pulled on my gray wool stockings, black unflattering K-Mart Docker imitation pants, black Dansko shoes with two inch rubber soles, a undershirt instead of a bra, black turtle neck, and black v-neck sweater.  I washed my face, cajoled my contacts in my tired eyes, and pulled back my hair in a bun.  A little eyeliner and quick swipe of mascara and I was out of the door at 5:30. I clinched my toes in hopes of gripping the sidewalk as I walked quickly to the G train in the dark.

I came out of the subway station like a ground hog seeking the daylight.  Buildings in perfect squares all made out of durable and cheap material are stacked down the street.  Three large banners donned with ten by ten feet wide clip art of furniture hang to the ground weighed by the ice from yesterday’s snow storm in front of a warehouse.  It’s all warehouses down this far on the L train. 

Walking a few blocks, I arrive.  Looking into the door of Ania’s now defunct cafe in Ridgewood, Brooklyn, I smile at her friend prepping the last of the food for our catering job, and Ania comes to open the door.  Ushering me in from the cold, she beckons loudly for me to get a cup of coffee.  I don’t protest at all and eagerly pour myself a cup immediately.  Her large tomcat meows and stands on his hind legs taking a swipe at me.  

We load her white mini-van and head out to the city.  Pulling up to the studio, we are an hour early.  She pulls around the block and idles the car.  We talk about the economy, how she watched a news magazine show which said college students are making about $8.00 an hour and was questioning if college was really worth it, I chuckle, there’s not much more to say about because its like discussing unicorns flying in with machine guns, what else is there to say about it.  She talks passionately about how unfair it is for hard working people who cannot afford to buy a home in New York City. She says she wishes she had a washer and dryer and how much she hates bringing her laundry to a laundry mat.  ”It doesn’t make it clean.  I wouldn’t mind so much, but my clothes turn out dirty.  It’s crap.”  I nod with her even though I never had a problem with the Laundromat.  

We end up heading into the studio a half and hour early.  We unload the boxes of food and orientate ourselves with the space.  Twelve hours later, shrimp paella, chicken and mushroom, four pots of coffee, cookie platters, crudities with celery cut in match sticks, chocolate covered pretzels, brie wrapped in filio paper, and many bottles of soda and poland springs- later, we load the van back up to go back home.

Ania tells me about Point of Woods, the place I will be working in the summer with her as we wind out of west Manhattan, past the Flatiron building, past Madison Garden, Union Square, and over the Williamsburg Bridge.  She says every month there is a theme party.  First she asks me if I know what theme party is.  Speaking with a heavy Polish accent, I think she says team party, and am confused that she asks me if I know what this means.  Team party means something else than team party?  I ask her if she means team party like team building while I’m thinking that is pretty weird if we would have to do trust exercises like falling backwards from a log into each other arms.  She repeats it and I say a loud, oh.  Theme Party!  She wants to do an Australian night and an Asian night.  I say oh this sounds like fun, and I’m not really lying this time, or trying to endear myself to her, well maybe a little.  I think about Dirty Dancing and can only picture white waspy people having good old fashioned fun. 

She likes me.  I am glad, because I like her too.  I think mentioning the Asian night was a nod to my ethnicity which I appreciate, even though, I grew up in a rural small town white community where Chinese flavored Ramen noodles and Frozen Stir Fry vegetables with cut-up pieces of elk steak were considered Asian Food.  She lists off names of Asian dishes that she has made, and I know she is just making conversation and I go along with it. 

After we unload the catering supplies and left over food at her cafe, she drops me off to the L train, and I feel so good.  I like craft services.  The whole point is to be invisible other than responding to requests that are made like, can we have water upstairs?  Where are the sodas?  In the cooler on the stage.  Where is the cooler?  On the stage.  What does it look like?  It looks like a cooler, um its blue.  Its on the stage.  Or packaging up leftover food at the end of the gig for the people in charge that say they are “bringing it for their kids”.   

But otherwise its just putting out food, putting it away, arranging things, refreshing things, and I like it.  I like making the food look pretty and I enjoy the control and creation factor and being quiet.  

A production assistant remembered me from another job, and was commenting loudly to his boss about how much he loved are food and how we are amazing.  I was embarrassed and went to clean the cutting board and knife in the sink behind the studio.  He was cute and my age, but I couldn’t even try to be flirtatious with my strictly work clothes and attitude.  

I appreciated it though.  The sound, grip, production guys that wear overalls, with gear attached to their waists, and eat big portions of food are always nice and grateful.  Its the skinny bitches that you have to be careful about, the future aspiring producers with heels and skirts that cause the most trouble.

But even then I can forgive the assholes, because at home, I have a week’s wages made in a day, my body is tired, my boss is grateful, I ate a good meal that day and I feel like I’ve done something.

I can’t make the world stop changing.

I’ve been really happy recently with the set-up of my jobs.  I work two days at the cafe and two days at the museum.  I barely make 300 dollars a week, but in some impossible way I am still managing to stay afloat.  What has really made me happy is the new friendships I have formed at the museum.  

Dacia has been such a creative inspiration for me and an ally for all sorts of mischief.  I love to gossip with her and speculate and we share the same love of overanalyzing everything.  She is astute with picking up people’s character traits, which I find fascinating also.  

However, I just found out last night that she got a Real Job- a real job with a real schedule and a real salary.  Of course, for all the whining that I will do, I would never ever want her not to have this job.  This means so many good things for her.  1) She will be able to stay in the city 2) It is what she wanted 3) She deserves it because she is so smart and qualified.

But, I just don’t want things to change.  I was having such a good time with her around: going to coffee on a Tuesday afternoon, working out late in the mornings and having lunch at my apartment, going out after work to a bar.  I am afraid that I will never see her as much or at least in the same casual way.  

I know this because my roommate Alyse has a different schedule than me.  She works a Real Job also, and although I see her on evenings, we rarely go out to do anything.  I miss spending time with her and would love to go out on a Friday or Saturday night and not have to worry about getting up in the morning.  I would love to have a long brunch with her on Sunday.  Instead because of my odd hours working mostly weekends and nights, I am limited to what I am able to do.

All of this does not mean I want a nine to five job, but it makes me feel more alone in the choices that I made and if I need to justify myself further.  I feel insecure about not making a lot of money and working jobs that require the skill set of a high schooler.  (Although as a high schooler, I was pretty damn smart and more sure of myself than now)  Its hard for me to stand by my choices sometimes especially when it means giving up a lot of money.  I don’t regret that I quit from FreshDirect, or quit my banking job three years ago to work at a bakery, but it makes it all different when your posse starts to leave.  

I guess as my roommate was counseling me last night said, this may push you to find another job.  I know I should, but I just don’t want to.  I want to stand still right now, because now is good.

I’m at work right now.  Typing away at the new iMac that we use to ring customers up.  I am conflicted about a crush that I have.  

Is it worth it to go after a guy or should you leave it to fate?  

I feel like every time I make an effort it backfires, and when I don’t “go looking for love” things happen on their own- but usually these are not people that I am initially attracted to.  They just seem to sneak-up on me, because I don’t like them, and act natural instead of the idiot that I become when I’m infatuated with someone.

—

(After shift, 8:45 PM)

I have a relationship with the city- we have been going out for two years.  I haven’t dated anyone else.  When I’m lonely, it is there for me.  I wish I knew how to go about liking this guy.

At twenty-six, I still haven’t figured out how to act normal around someone I like.  I’m over the one night flings and jumping into bed and then finding out about them later.  I think I want to try to do things slower from now on.  

I would like to just be their friend first.  I would like to not act like an idiot.  I would like to try to be as much as me as possible.  If they like it then good, if not then they can leave.  I guess its that old cliche “just be yourself.”  

If I loved myself more than I guess I would be okay with who I am instead of acting like someone else.  No more acting a certain way for any boy.  Decided.  Mind made up.  There is no plan of action.  There’s just me and him and we’ll see.