I Had A Point Once, But Hear Me Out Anyway

It’s exciting to be back in a writing mind. I’m eager to get my thoughts out, and I look forward to the dialogue my posts may open up.

But the mind to write isn’t the same mind to publish, and regaining that drive has been frustrating, to say the least. When I’m not meeting you all here, I’m meeting myself in my head. I write in my notebooks pretty often, here’s a look into what that looks like:

These pages are a visual interpretation of how I think. Colorful, all over the place, outside the lines, too much to even fit the boundaries of each sheet, and not even always in English. It’s hard enough for me to turn actual blog ideas into a coherent post, so I can’t say much of this book gets transferred here.

But I woke up this morning, drank some water, visited my notebook for a fresh new page, and wrote myself into a little mental breakdown. After I had a good cry and washed my face, I thought I might share some of what I wrote.

For a little context, I’ve been frustrated with myself and how easily I throw my plans aside for others’ sake when it’s not necessary or even noble to do. This constant self sacrifice has been eating at me in different ways and as I — eh, let me just quote the book and we can go from there.

Why are you so willing to hold yourself back? And also, why can’t I just cry? Sitting on the brink of myself is physically jarring. It hurts. The pain is strange.. It’s like being attacked by an internal black hole. Just an aggressive pulling, denying my escape, preventing the release, blocking the healing. No motive, just there. Tormenting.

I had a point to share all of this, but honestly the struggle to open up in this way took all of my focus away. It feels important still, so please excuse the scattered nature of this post.

All I can do at this point is ramble a little and hope it goes somewhere, so bare with me. I don’t mean to continue the same energy as the last post. You guys come here to laugh most of the time, and I’ll get to that. I want to get back to that.

But maybe it was that perceived pressure to be light and quirky and witty that led me to isolate myself when I felt none of those things. I’d rather be real with you than to not speak at all.

I was blown away at the reception of my last entry, actually. It wasn’t easy being that honest, and I really appreciate all of the responses I received, and the support and love. I don’t necessarily write with anything in mind besides clearing my head and shouting into the void about any and everything. So when my writing is actually relatable or helps in any way, even to just one person reading, it surprises and humbles me.

The more I write and share, the more I get to see the multidimensional nature of people, as well as myself, and it changes my worldview more and more each time. I feel empowered, I feel more forgiving and empathetic, I feel more curious, I feel more unaffected by fuckery, I feel hopeful.

I don’t really know how to wrap up this trash fire of a blog post. But hey, I hope any of you reading struggling to find that release from whatever finally snap. Because yeah, I woke up this morning and promptly fell apart, but I also got this written, drank water, moisturized my hair, and I’m gonna finish crocheting a scarf when I’m done typing this up on my phone(I’ll fix formatting issues when I get to a computer by the way) all before 11am! I can’t remember the last time I was this productive. Snap the fuck out, safely and constructively, but do it. Get there. Bye.

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Crumbs

“No, mom! Don’t talk to her, ask that guy over there, the NICE one.”

I am her, and at that point in my day at work, I couldn’t give less of a crap about the woman saying it. I believe I caught a glimpse of what has to be the tenth circle of hell that Dante was too scarred to write about. That circle where you’re working in a busy coffeeshop where nothing works and it never stops being 1 o’clock in the afternoon. It has to be, because it surely made me find Jesus again.

The shop I work at is located right in Center City. We have many times when we’re slammed with customers and everything is hectic. It’s to be expected. I wouldn’t work in food service if I couldn’t handle chaos. And to be honest, I kind of crave a good amount of chaos in my life; I wasn’t hugged enough as a child, sue me. But I have never felt as overwhelmed at my cafe as I was this day.

The best part of weathering a shitstorm is that by the time you’ve absolutely had enough, things finally die down and you look at the time to see that there’s only 5 minutes left in your shift. Time moves in hyperdrive when you’re too frazzled to pay attention to it.

By the time I served what seemed like about 100 customers, I look at the clock to see that only a mere thirteen minutes had passed since the last time I had checked. This is defying all rules and principles of madness. How is this happening? What cruel joke is this? Every time I desperately look at the time, none has passed me by.

It’s the worst kind of misery. Every fiber of your being wants to ball up in a corner and sob, but you know that won’t stop the gremlin-esque, caffeine-lacking customers from still needing things and yelling at you. And then you’d have a puddle of tears to mop up, and you’re already tip-toeing around the lake of spilled Half and Half nobody has been able to clean that a customer dropped earlier. So you push through. You feed the gremlins. With all the rapidly depleting energy you already don’t have. And they are blatant in their utter lack of appreciation. Somebody ordered a slice of cake.

It was the last slice of cake on display. and I plate it for the customer and start taking away the cakestand to wash it.

“Hey. Hey! EXCUSE ME!

I turn around to see who’s screaming. It’s the same guy who I just served the slice of cake to.

“I want the crumbs.”

“I’m sorry?”

I want the crumbs.”

Really, sir? Sir, whom I understand can see. With two perfectly functioning eyes that must clearly see me and my coworker drowning in the sea of demands being thrown at us by other overbearing, entitled, rude and hungry patrons, such as yourself. And upon receiving what you asked for in a timely manner, despite the horde you had to fight through to get it, you decide, You know, these poor souls just don’t seem like they hate their lives quite enough. I need the scraps off of the cakestand that they don’t have the time to return to because there are meals going cold that need to be run to tables and lattes that need to be crafted and only two pairs of more than full hands to do it all. Yes, the crumbs. Nothing is of greater importance and I must have it now. Really, sir?

I walked away. Yeah. I am only human, and I have my limits. If I didn’t ask my coworker to handle it, the situation would have gone very differently, and I would no longer have a job. Heck, I would no longer have my freedom for a while.

And I look at the time again. 1:23pm. This isn’t right. Last time I checked the time it definitely said 1:37pm.

Son of a…

 

 

This happened about a year ago and I still remember it vividly. It was possibly the worst day of my entire working life, let alone that job.

No.. I didn’t. I may have wanted to briefly, but our street was closed for construction and there wasn’t any traffic to walk into.

I’m kidding.

But if you ever ask me how things are going and I tell you, “Life is asking me for crumbs,” you’ll understand where I’m at.