Oh The Places I Will Go
I am not sure if I've had the time to talk about the places I have had to deal with and go to in the last few months. This will HAVE to be in parts! I can't bare to give you my whole life of the last 4 months in great detail. That is just forcing you to become to adhered to my brain, and that I just can not do.
*Disclaimer for the reader: If you should feel this becomes too emotional, you can turn back right now! DOn't you dare look at another word I type. DOn't do it! Seriously, what are you still doing here? Turn around right now. :)*
*Disclaimer for the skim reader: If you don't like reading, go to the magazine portion of this article for a
good read. (Hand to mouth whisper- there isn't really a magazine portion.)*
Lonely months. Months of tears, lack of sleeping, frustration, and down right arguments with God. Yea , those happen outside of the Old and New Testament still. 'cept He hasn't asked me to sacrifice the tangible child I've been praying for. Maybe not a literal child, but things I may have a deep love or connection to with, like a child. The same goes for the hopes of a relationship and marriage. He wants those things for me. (I feel like that is something sweet married people in church tell you. It's quicker than them preceding to hand you a glass of alcohol and tell you this will be a long and bumpy ride.)
I will say that the majority of people that have (bless their hearts) told me that I will have a boyfriend/husband when I least expect it, are the same people that have met the man of their "dreams" when they were a ripe age of 18, 19, 20, or 21. Rarely has it ever exceded past those ages. I have one friend who has found love a little later for herself in life, but I have already passed that age of being in the same boat. Twenty-five and twenty-six have easily floated past me without a chance for me to grab a hold of it fully.
Back to the real topic: battling it out with my own disillusionment of personal success and failure. When I was working at, (in this story we shall call it) Staple Saleswoman of the World, I was happy to be working there. More because of my co-workers than the actual tasks at the job. I wasn't doing specifically what I wanted to be doing, but I was seriously in a good place as far as what I felt like could be accomplished while there. I also thought with a little elbow grease, I'd be able to find a new position within the job and continue doing my photography on the side. I was working a legit 9-5(6) job, and I didn't mind it. Then came OZ himself, revealing himself from his mystic green curtain of DOOM.
"Could you come in my office when you get the chance?" How cordial.
I was waiting to hear, "Hey you! Single-African-American-individual-who-resides-in-my-office! Speak!"
If you know my manager, you will know that his tone is all too familiar with those who work around him. Pleasant. (bats eyelashes, cue cartoon-ish sarcasm face).
I was called in to be told that Oz was not aware that I would be freelancing for almost a year. Oz also wasn't sure that there were anymore available positions at SSW in which I could move up in. 'Oh Sir!, thank you for rallying for me.' Oz wanted me to finish any work I had been working on, to make his life a little easier, away. So after leaving Oz's office with my chin up, I could only hope to skip back to my desk in jubilation. I didn't. I walked back with my hopes a little crushed and starting to not feel good enough.
To be continued...
*Disclaimer for the reader: If you should feel this becomes too emotional, you can turn back right now! DOn't you dare look at another word I type. DOn't do it! Seriously, what are you still doing here? Turn around right now. :)*
*Disclaimer for the skim reader: If you don't like reading, go to the magazine portion of this article for a
good read. (Hand to mouth whisper- there isn't really a magazine portion.)*
Lonely months. Months of tears, lack of sleeping, frustration, and down right arguments with God. Yea , those happen outside of the Old and New Testament still. 'cept He hasn't asked me to sacrifice the tangible child I've been praying for. Maybe not a literal child, but things I may have a deep love or connection to with, like a child. The same goes for the hopes of a relationship and marriage. He wants those things for me. (I feel like that is something sweet married people in church tell you. It's quicker than them preceding to hand you a glass of alcohol and tell you this will be a long and bumpy ride.)
I will say that the majority of people that have (bless their hearts) told me that I will have a boyfriend/husband when I least expect it, are the same people that have met the man of their "dreams" when they were a ripe age of 18, 19, 20, or 21. Rarely has it ever exceded past those ages. I have one friend who has found love a little later for herself in life, but I have already passed that age of being in the same boat. Twenty-five and twenty-six have easily floated past me without a chance for me to grab a hold of it fully.
Back to the real topic: battling it out with my own disillusionment of personal success and failure. When I was working at, (in this story we shall call it) Staple Saleswoman of the World, I was happy to be working there. More because of my co-workers than the actual tasks at the job. I wasn't doing specifically what I wanted to be doing, but I was seriously in a good place as far as what I felt like could be accomplished while there. I also thought with a little elbow grease, I'd be able to find a new position within the job and continue doing my photography on the side. I was working a legit 9-5(6) job, and I didn't mind it. Then came OZ himself, revealing himself from his mystic green curtain of DOOM.
"Could you come in my office when you get the chance?" How cordial.
I was waiting to hear, "Hey you! Single-African-American-individual-who-resides-in-my-office! Speak!"
If you know my manager, you will know that his tone is all too familiar with those who work around him. Pleasant. (bats eyelashes, cue cartoon-ish sarcasm face).
I was called in to be told that Oz was not aware that I would be freelancing for almost a year. Oz also wasn't sure that there were anymore available positions at SSW in which I could move up in. 'Oh Sir!, thank you for rallying for me.' Oz wanted me to finish any work I had been working on, to make his life a little easier, away. So after leaving Oz's office with my chin up, I could only hope to skip back to my desk in jubilation. I didn't. I walked back with my hopes a little crushed and starting to not feel good enough.
To be continued...
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