Labour

Here I am. Saturday afternoon, and I’ll admit it. I lurked a couple of times on Facebook and Instagram because I love everyone’s pictures, but since I've been forcing myself to stay away from it, I have been more connected and more aware, and that has made all the difference.

It’s been nostalgic. Remember when we didn’t live like this? It wasn’t that long ago that life seemed a little simpler, but I don’t think I would give it ALL up. We live in a remarkable time and have access to so much information, it's hard to imagine not having this kind of access, but just like everything else, it requires temperance.

Here’s something that I’ve noticed: the longer I sit still, the more I want to sit still, and the longer I sit still, the darker my thoughts get. Nothing makes me feel more hopeless than multiple days sitting in front of my television, computer, or phone thinking of all the things I need to do and not doing them. Don’t misunderstand me. There are days when all I need to do is sit in front of the television, but there is never a day that I don’t need to walk my dog or feed myself, and therein lies the distinction.

Say it’s age, say it’s the drugs, but I’ve always been this way. The hardest part of my whole life is actually having to live it. Just like Buffy the Vampire Slayer said in Buffy the Vampire Slayer season 5 episode 22 before sacrificing her life to close the door to a hell dimension that her annoying fake sister's blood opened by doing this.

At dinner with a lifelong friend the other night, I confessed that I would never be happy if I couldn’t make myself do things after she admitted to the same foible. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, if I’m not doing anything, I’m lost.

Life is work, but you do have to be conscious of your own threshold. You have to find the balance. Even the French, with their, like, five or six weeks of government mandated vacation time (it’s not a joke, that’s real as hell), have to do laundry and wash dishes, cook for themselves to feed themselves, sweep the damn floor. Life is work.

Life is not “success.”

I’m a good salesperson. I can close. However, my assignment for this month at work is to find 20 viable leads...over the phone. I got the assignment and a book on cold calling. I’m a good salesperson, but this assignment is balls. I’m not jazzed about this part of the job, but I’ll do it because I need the money and the practice of having a work ethic.

I’m not kidding when I say I’d rather produce than market and sell. I can only take the weight of the American economy for so long. I’ll produce what you need or want, and I’ll make you feel good about buying it from me, but I’m not desperate to make you my bitch, and therein lies the distinction. That’s where the manic-whispered violence of Glengarry Glen Ross (which I fell asleep during: brass balls, always be closing, we get it) comes into play, the desperation to control people for what it pays, and trust me, it pays well.

Anyway, that's computers...phones...touch screens...healthcare...if we can't live without it, they'll always have the most money.

And that’s capitalism. Y’all.

Happy freaking labor day weekend.

There's a bouncy castle a couple of back yards away from me and a kid friendly DJ. But the weather is incredible.

Over the Hump

Wednesday was exhausting. It was my route day, the day I traipse around River North, Chicago with a little green bag on my back, an apron, shears, loppers, leaf bits and stems, a towel, a spray bottle containing mild castile soap, mint alcohol, and leaf shine (so calming), a copy of Clarissa Pinkola Estès’ Women Who Run with the Wolves, a water bottle, ibuprofen, and a two gallon water bucket.

At the end of every Wednesday, I am sore, I am hungry, insatiably, and I am content. For the most part. I love working with my hands.

It’s hard to be away from social media on this day because it can be a bit of a lonely day. Despite the sweetness of the little fellas (plants), they don’t say much. I tried listening to music in between my accounts, and that helped a bit, but all in all, I felt a lot more connected with my surroundings and at peace. Dangit.

I felt a little grateful too. Sometimes I dread this day because I’m tired, or stressed, but today I soaked it up. It helped that it was about 75 in the sun with no humidity with a pleasant wind by the river. I took bigger mental pictures of the towering shrines to corporate America. It’s such a remarkable panorama from 57, but the buildings are so close, I feel I could wrap my arms around them on 43. On 25, I’m inside a photograph, surrounded by mirrors, flashing in the sun, and beneath them, there is a river, and on the river, there are boats and kayaks, trees and tables under umbrellas, buses and cars, cyclists and pedestrians, but on the other side of the double paned window, it is silent and still.

A lady at the front desk of a hotel I service asked if I would like a bottle of water, and I responded with wide-eyed disbelief, a pause, and, “yes.” “Well, get one,” she said, “you deserve it.” Well done, front desk lady. I totally did deserve it. I gulped it down on my way to my last stop, this company that edits media: commercials, film, lots of commercials, all sorts of different people on computers. It’s probably my favorite stop. Mostly because I have a crush on every boy at that office.

They all have beards and tattoos and stare at computer screens watching the same millisecond over and over again until it’s perfect. Hello? I mean, even the guy with the ponytail is hot, especially the guy with the ponytail. It’s work, y’all, so I gotta just enjoy it for what it is, but I’d marry any one of those nerds if they asked.  

The woman that produced the “like a girl” ad campaign...I think, also works there. She introduced herself to me on the elevator one cold day back in March, said she admired that I worked with plants. She was everything a powerful creative woman should be, mostly because she told me to eat whatever I wanted when I was there in front of the interns, who then had to hound me to eat waffles every day after that. I treated a pest problem in one of her plants and revived her Jade.

Then there’s the office manager, who has a desk in a closet and dresses like a QUEEN. She is fierce. She’s got this 1950s pinup girl thing going on, and her hair is almost always done up. Sometimes she’s got a killer face on too, and she’s lovely without makeup.

It’s the fun stop.

Then I hopped on the Grand bus heading west and squeezed myself into my spot amongst the sardines. Look. I’m not railing on babies and kids and stuff. I love em. But I hate...with a passion reserved for very few…those giant SUV strollers. At 5:30 P.M. on a Wednesday going OUT of downtown Chicago. The front half of the Grand bus was overtaken by a slew of precious children, a wagon, and an SUV.

Every time the bus pulls aside to pick up new riders, everyone looks around desperately for a way to squeeze five more people, and they all look butt hurt the whole time, as do I. We were surrounded by a sea of traffic as well, so it took a good half hour to get the half mile out of the center of town.

I finally acquired a seat, after watching a little girl try to pretend she knew how to tie her shoes until a standing woman helped her, and she hugged her knees to her chest with a satisfied grin. I took out the huge book I’d been lugging around with just enough time to read about three pages before pulling the “let me off” chord. It’s a dense book.

I listened to music the whole time, too. Billie Holiday and Fiona Apple, Sinead O’Connor and Tori Amos.

This morning, there are dark grey clouds in the distance, and I am going to a Cubs game tonight, so I hope they clear up.

I'm starting to think that maybe taking a week long break from social media is a good idea once a month. After all, who am I beholden to on the internet? Who am I beholden to in the world?

The First 36

After surviving the first 36 or so hours away from the socials, I find myself more energetic, and more positive. It could also be the hormonal roller coaster. Might as well go with it.

Anyway. Had a productive day of sales calls in the hour away suburbs. The first stop was a company that makes flavors for my presentation of my “Holiday” design. Look. Guys, I’m not gonna parse words. I don’t have positive feelings when I think of Christmas. I’ve had some pretty bleak Christmases in my life. Some distant and some recent. Some frozen nights alone, even if I wasn’t. I’ve had some pretty rad Christmases too. Don’t worry. Roller coaster.

I designed one though. Kind of my worst, visually. I’ve gotten better at the rendering program at work, where I impose designs onto pictures I took on site. It’s so basic. It’s Excel. “Rendering program.” But seriously, Excel is impressive.

And she, an exotic woman wearing color contacts that made her look kind of fiercely terrifying, loved it? Now that I’m remembering, she was surly at the beginning of our last meeting, and within a minute, she was sweet as honey. She softened and smiled at the pictures that I really didn’t have much to say about….other than, “remember...we talked about how you wanted that, well…” Probably my worst work, in my opinion, but keep in mind, my opinion is the harshest. She waxed sappy about Christmas, and wanted to do the whole thing, or most of it because, of course, it’s a lot of money.

No decision was made, but plans were discussed. And you shake hands and leave. It’s so gross...except, Christmas. And Plants. It's hard to go wrong with those. Well, definitely plants, at least.

Our next stop was a wedding venue, that almost went out of business, or there were rumors, that we obviously should have heard but didn’t. It was a redesign proposal for a three year contract signed by a lovely...suburban girl, who hated the design for which she signed and wanted a new one, for free. And she is getting it….at cost. I think.

We call her “glitz and glam,” which she probably said about a million times while she was explaining what she envisioned as she jazz-handed in front of her face.

I like to say mean things about her to my colleague, who designed a gorgeous installation for them the previous year. She tells me to stop, that the customer is right...but with just enough of a twinge of distaste. And by “say mean things about her,” I mean I just say, “glitz and glam” over and over again while I jazz-hand in front of my face. I’m vicious, but I still don’t want her to walk up behind me while I’m doing it. Because that would be uncomfortable.

Anyway, she was magically satisfied with this, my colleague’s third attempt to meet her requests. So we all had a pleasant ride back to the city.

When I get home from work, I'm now greeted by the happy excitement of two dogs, Linus and Fela. It's a frenzy of snouts and tails, tongues and toes, and I trip over them all the way to the back door where I can let them out while I check on my garden.

It's surprisingly easy to let go of social media. I still occasionally feel that pull, but I know it's just an addiction, that I'm looking for someone to notice me, or to feel like someone notices me. With a tap of my finger. And I know that's what the world of computer geniuses wants from me. To be addicted. To need it. Halt and Catch Fire is a good show. Really good soundtrack.

Having said all that. I shall talk to you all tomorrow. If I can find the time.

I Can't Let Go or The First Fourteen Hours

I'm taking a break from social media this week. This is a blog. It's not really social. No one gives a random monologue at a pizza place with their (gender neutral, y'all) friends. Blogs are pure narcissism, and curiosity that feeds that dirty, filthy narcissism.

Having said that, allow me to get back to blogging. Not tryina post a bunch of serious projects that I begin and leave nearly finished for longer than most people can keep paying attention. I just want to get back to the fantastic details of my wild and crazy existence.

Well, I'm super hormonal right now, and I'm having some allergy issues that are sucking me dry and having to take these decongestants makes my brain meds all weird, but I gotta keep myself clear so I don't get an infection. Y'all. It's hard being a person.

I currently live in a house in Humbolt Park Chicago with a vegan pedi-cabber, a divorced and angry chef, a super chill and flaky chef, Linus, and Fela (fay-luh), the vegan pedi-cabber's dog...who is also...a vegan.

In a few days, the chefs will both move out to be replaced by a Mexican lady chef (for. real.) and a dude named Charlie who totally lives up to how cool his name is and who used to work at Target. I have a garden in the back yard, and I worry myself with the path of the sun and how my tomatoes are NEVER going to get enough direct light. I will at least have about three, which is FINE. I started late. I'm still going to get lettuce, and radishes, and Zinnias.

My street, despite the mid-summer barrage of fireworks, is rather quiet and comprised of mostly homes, mostly Puerto Ricans, mostly older couples. Everyone speaks spanish, has multiple small dogs, gardens in one way or another, and everyone over 50 sits on the porch for the better part of the day. Sometimes they play cards; sometimes they just watch, and the ice cream man comes around bringing joy and treats (including nachos!) playing the same stupid song over and over again for the entire time I was doing yoga on the back porch yesterday! (I'm so sorry. I know. I know how this looks.)

I sell indoor "plantscaping" designs, for a company that does that sort of thing, as well as build and install botanic art, and this other rad southern girl, ten years younger than I am is teaching me floral design and planter box design....yeah. Planter box design. Thriller. Spiller. Filler. I'll slow down.

I'm mostly well. Despite the usual ups and downs. And the moon. Sometimes it still gets dark, lonely, but way less often than it used to do.

I am working up the courage to take an improv class after quite the hiatus, provided I can keep from getting angry (per my therapist). I have this frustration thing I'm working on.

I'm not writing enough. So. That's why I'm here. I'm writing here, and I'm writing other places. All this week. I need it. I need to get it out of my stuffy head.

There. I feel better. I'll probably see you guys tomorrow. I'm needy.