Hardball

I have a second interview for the better paying job on Thursday, and as much as I thought I was planning out my career, maybe it's going to end up in a different, more lucrative, place. That's perfectly okay with me, I need to make more money and I have total faith that I would kick-ass at this job. Eventually, that is- there's a lot to learn.
 One of the benefits of working at my current place is that I get to make use of my Spanish language knowledge. There's a pretty sizable demographic of Hispanic customers, so it's at least a weekly thing that I am called to help with a conversation or transaction. However, each interaction reminds me that I need to bone up on it, also :P
I really hope I get good news at this interview! 
Oh, and one more small Public Service Announcement: 
This blog is about a chic who is all about moving forward in her life. As in, continually making progress, and building a better future. If you've been left behind, you can be sure there's plenty good reason. And if you're not down with that, then maybe you shouldn't read it.
K

The Written Word, my Old Lover (originally written 6/08/13)

While I was doing the dishes this morning, I was thinking about writing. Yesterday, while I was at work, my brain seemed to have settled on the word ‘subculture’. And there it was– the bittersweet niche of inappropriateness & debauchery that I could relocate to and set up shop.
With the topic of subculture, I feel like I put enough distance between myself and the parts of my life that I’m trying to distance myself from. Yet, I am never going to be normal, or snuff out my crazy flare-ups. (Perhaps I like the term “flare-ups of crazy” better, the latter sounds like a venereal disease, haha. )
I’ve been a fickle writer the last five years, at best.  A few years after starting to dance, the creative well seemed to lose its source of nutrients….too many distractions, a little bit of experimenting with drugs, being in a shitty relationship, having too lax of a lifestyle.
Struggling with anxiety and bouts of depression the last couple of years didn’t help matters either.
Well, maybe it was just the majority of my 20s, and all the self-discovery and trial-and-error that everyone goes through. I’m currently working on an essay about how much better 27 is than 21. Like, for real.
In any case, I feel like I’m finally starting to wake up. I’m ready to, I no longer need to keep my head buried in the sand and stay numb to block out reality.
Maybe that’s it- it’s impossible for me to create alternate realities if my own isn’t comfortable. And throw in a bit of don’t-give-a-shit-what-anyone-thinks-about-my-words, which also comes in your later 20s (if you’re lucky )
Peace & Chickengrease, y’all,
Kelly