Oh, you
didn’t know it was election day? Well, surprise! I wish it was the presidential
election, but sadly no. Just the little stuff. I’m so tired of watching those
TV commercials and the debates. I don’t believe any of it. I just go with what
my guts says. What does it say? Don’t vote for Republicans. (I’m laughing a lot
on in the inside.. Go Dems!)
In case
you didn’t know this, I’m currently unemployed. So, what do the unemployed do
with their unfortunate free time?
1) look for jobs
2) always tweaking the
resume and writing cover letters and
3) doing random things
Right
now, I am doing number three. I’ve had enough of one and two for awhile and I’m
taking a break for a day or two. Of course, in my one/two day hiatus, my dream
job will become available and then be filled by someone “more qualified” and
with “more experience”. *sigh* don't get me started..
Again,
if you’re a loyal reader of my blog, you’ll know that I started to write a
story. It wasn’t very long –only a few paragraphs – and it didn’t really have
much meaning or anything. I’ve been working on it some more in my “free time”,
developing a plot, structure, characters, the works. I even have a working
title: Gibson, by Morgan Bergmann.
Sounds nice, no?
Yeah
maybe – it’s a working title.
Today
is the perfect day to write too. It’s cloudy, rainy, and cold. I am currently
sitting on my made bed (which I don’t do very often) in my very clean room
(first time in a long time), wearing my favorite sweater, with a dog asleep
next to me, a laptop in my lap and a cup of hot chocolate (with the little
marshmallows) in my favorite gingerbread man mug next to my typewriter (yes, I
have a typewriter).
The only weird thing about this is Sex in the City is on TV and I’m watching it. I don’t watch Sex in the City. So yeah, it’s weird.
A lot
of people don’t understand why I’m writing anything. To quote those people:
“It’s
not going to come to anything”
or
“Shouldn’t you be doing something more
productive with your time, like job hunting”
or my favorite
“Why? That just
sounds like a waste of time”.
Wow,
that makes me feel so great about myself anonymous people. You’re so nice. My
answer to these people is this:
“I
write late at night, from 11-2 in the morning. What should I be doing at that
time other than sleep? Should I be job hunting then?”
They’re
silent . HA! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. I do a secret checkmark in
my mind, chalk one up for Morgan.
But yes, unemployment has allowed me to do some things I otherwise wouldn't. I get to write, I get to see my nieces and nephews a lot more, hang out with friends.. The downside? No money. And that's a pretty big downside.
Anyway, that was all I had to say. So here is an excerpt from my story/book/thingy:
My bedroom door was closed and my parents had removed all the posters I had on the outside. Did they change everything on the inside too? Or is it all the way I left it when I was 17? My hand turned the knob and I was immediately transported to my teen years.
It still smelled the same, like my lavender and vanilla candles, both of which were still sitting on my desk. The corkboard on the wall was covered with pictures. My sister and me, my old dog Rusty, my best friend Beth, our group of friends at a birthday party, all left untouched. Old books were lined up alphabetically on my bookshelf, mixed with the knickknacks that I loved to collect.
It looked like the seventeen-year-old me could come strolling through the door any moment and pick up where I left off. I didn’t take anything personal with me to college, except for a few photos of my family. I wanted to start completely over.
A framed picture of Beth, dusty from my absence, sat my by bed. We were so happy then, our smiles innocent and full of life. God, we were so young. I picked it up and held it close. Beth was the reason I left this town. I couldn’t stand the looks, the whispers behind my back. People were judging me for things I hadn’t done. I put the picture down and closed my eyes and
I heard the screech of the tires,
Beth screaming,
People yelling,
A knock on my door brought me out of my daze before I went fully under. My doctor told me the black outs were a result of the accident. He didn’t know if they’d ever go away, a seemingly permanent reminder of what I had done. This trip was going to be harder than I thought.
