Changes In My Life

Last time I tried to blog here, my computer kept freezing, and after three tries, I gave it up. That was when Poet/Punk Rocker Jim Carroll died, one of my punk poet idols. Instead, I posted as Chirichica on my Postmodern Prometheus blogspot. I felt compelled to respond, to say something about Jim's passing. I Twittered comments, and blogged as my alter ego. I was sad, so very sad, that Jim Carroll died. But he lived hard for a time, and I suppose it caught up with him at sixty. I was disappointed that I couldn't blog about him here too, but the Cosmos, it seems, were against it. Here, I blog as myself, even if I don't use my real name, but blog as "unachicana", that  is, una chicana, an anonymous chicana: Chicana aka indigenous Mexican (Mex/Apache), aka Mexican-American, and those other aka's I don't particulary care for, like "Hispanic" and "Latina". But, that's another subject.

Have been busier lately than have been in years. I'm taking these real estate courses so I can get licensed. Initially, I was pursuing a salesperson license, but am now pursuing broker license. Since I have a four-year degree, here in California it qualifies me to take the broker exam after completing and passing eight particular real estate courses.

I used to have a supervisor, a gal younger than I was, some twenty years ago (damn, it's been that long?!), and she planned her life out. She had a toddler, a little girl, and planned to have her second child in two years. She wanted to two children, no more, no less. She wanted a boy next, but there wasn't much she could do to control that, though I'm sure those control-freak mad scientists are working to make that a reality. At any rate, my supervisor, let's caller Susie, had to leave the gender choice of her next child to the Cosmos, to the Universe, to God, to the Creator, to chance. I was amazed that she lived like that. She planned how her life was going to go without regard for the possibility that something unexpected might present itself. She had planned I would be there for two years, which I had initially thought might be the case. She about peed her pants when I gave my two weeks notice a year later, because I upset her plans. Her cheeks flushed, and horror then anger crossed her face. "You said you'd be here two years," Susie said, rather emphatically. "I know, but I've decided I want to go to grad school," I told her, "and I can't work full-time. I can only work part-time." If she had changed my position to a part-time, I would've stayed, but she didn't do that. She could have, since there wasn't really that much to do. I finally had to beg for more to do. She told me to water the f'ng plants on the back deck behind our office. That hadn't been in the job description. I didn't water the f'ng plants, unless she specifically sent me to do it. I'm sure my feelings about it showed on my face. She only asked me to do it once. After that, I'd see her go out there and do it. She finally gave me much more form-filling paper work than anyone could possibly handle. This was after I had turned in my two-weeks notice. I hustled to get it all done, without complaining, even though I knew the office manager, her supervisor, was being vindictive, because she was also put off that I was leaving. She'd wanted to make my life miserable for at least two years. Oh, by the way, that form-filling was on a typewriter, not on the computer. Makes a difference.

I needed a job, and that is why I took that particular job. I was relieved they hired me. Relieved, NOT happy. I had just graduated, had my four-year degree, which took me eight years to get, after getting divorced. I also had three children to raise. I was thirty-eight. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, and I figured in the next two years, while I worked here, something would come to me. But three weeks later, I did not want to be there. I didn't like the way I was treated. I started working in Dec, and at the end of Dec, there was no one there for two weeks, except the office manager, her assistant (my supervisor), the bookkeeper, and me. Other people floated in for one reason or another, but they didn't stay. It was a research center which was affiliated with the university, and the university urged people to take time off during these two weeks to cut costs. The central heating was shut off. It was an old building, and with the heat off, it was freezing in there. I wore multiple layers, including tights and long john's underneath my pants. Susie had a portable electric  heater under her desk, the office manager and the bookkeeper had portable electric heaters in their offices, and they kept the doors shut to keep the heat in. I had nothing, and I was f'ng freezing. I didn't even take off my coat, and I was shivering. It pissed me off. So, yeah, I hated working there. They treated me with disregard and disrespect, like some people treat "the hired help", like people treat slaves, short of beatings. I also had a difficult time getting people to give me their time-sheets so I could enter the data into the computer, which was one of the major responsiblities I had. It was in the job description. But these people were professors and grad and post-grad students, and some would say, "Oh, this isn't important." or "Oh, this doesn't  matter." It wasn't until Susie asked them to please turn it in that they would give it to me, but not without shooting me an uppity look. Then I had to put up with the bookkeeper who seemed to think it was all right t yell at me. Man, I was so glad to leave that hateful job.

I live open-ended. To some degree, I plan a day, or a week, if I must. I write down something important that I don't want to forget: an appointment, homework due date, a reading I want to attend, stuff like that. Sometimes I have to make a list if there's too much going on in a day. But for the most part, I live open-ended. I need to have a feeling of freedom. Perhaps it has to do with having lived with so much abuse in the past, that I need to feel free to do as I please, if and when I please. You know, a rebellious reaction to having had abusers run my life in my past. But of course, being a responsible person, there are deadlines to meet. I mean, I can't pay my bills when I please, because I prefer to have a good credit report. If I have an assignment due, it's best I get it in on time. If I have an appointment, it's best I keep it. Short of that, I do as I please.

Changes: I'm busier than I have been for quite some time. And I like it. I'm happy that I can keep up with it. I had to stop working eight years ago, because of chronic fatigue, and I was an emotional wreck. I had severe menopausal symptoms: not hot flashes, but intense heat waves that randomly hit me; I woke up multiple times at night soaking wet and I had to change my jammies and the sheets, that's when I could sleep, because I had chornic insominia too. But that's behind me. Thank goodness. Besides registering in the real estate program at the City College, I also joined a writers workshop and am working on short story writing. I like that it prompts me to write, and that I have a tangible objective for my writing. I want to write a series of short stories that are all related, like chapters to a novel. I've decided that I don't want an MFA. I had thought about that for awhile, but I finally decided that isn't my path. I know that for sure.

So, if I did it right, here's a clip of Jim Carroll singing his most famous song, and one of my faves:

 

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