Would It Matter?

Would it matter if I told you what was on my mind?

Would it matter if I shared how I felt?

Would it matter if I changed the way you wanted?

Would it matter if I remained the same?

Would it matter if I was more like the rest?

Would it matter if I was thinner than I am now?

Would it matter if I was society’s version of perfect?

Would it matter if I was seen and not heard?

Would it matter if I were more “girly?”

Would it matter if I wanted the same things as you?

Would it matter if I were smarter and more capable?

Would it matter if I went right instead of left?

Would it matter if I told you how I longed for your 

touch?

Would any of this matter?

Round and Round I Go.

Round and round I go. Am I happy? How in the hell 

would I know?

Round and round I go. My exterior is all for show.

Round and round I go. It could all be over in one 

single blow.

Round and round I go. How freeing it would be to fly 

like the crow.

Round and round I go. It would be so much easier if 

these tears didn’t flow.

Round and round I go. Experiencing both the higher 

than high and lower than low.

Round and round I go. Sometimes it seems as 

pointless as wet grass to mow.

Round and round I go. There’s a reason I am a fan of 

Poe.

Round and round I go. How seductive it would be to 

slip beneath the undertow.

Round and round I go. 

Escape

Apathy overcomes me as I feel the pressure give 


way. I feel the slight jolt as the skin is broken, 


stinging from the lather of innocent bubbles. A quick 


intake of breath as the new opening in my waterproof 


barrier is exposed, followed by an exhaled moaning 


sigh. The crimson against the paleness of a porcelain 


tub is a bright contrast, standing out as I do in this 


World. 


My life essence is circling the drain, trying to find 


freedom from my thoughts. I find myself jealous and 


wanting to follow suit. I watch the blood leave the 


confines of my body, as there isn't much I can to do 


stop the escaping fluid, like grains of sand falling 


through graceful fingers.

Well, That Was Short Lived

It appears that my days as quarry girl have come to an end. Last Wednesday I had told them that I had an “appointment” I had scheduled on Friday, as I had no idea what my work schedule would consist of, since they had yet to “officially” start operations. They asked if I could reschedule it, as they would need me there starting Thursday, from 0630 – 1700. Well, as it was really an interview with a company that was closer to my field (psychology), I couldn’t pass it up and told them that I couldn’t reschedule. They said that they would be able to find someone to cover for me that morning, as I told them I would be there by noon.

I ended up working 0630 – 1530 on Thursday and upon arriving home, I received a call from work stating that they wouldn’t need me to come in on Friday after all, as they needed someone there for the day and didn’t want to have someone there just for a couple hours, only to be sent home when I arrived. I asked them about Monday, and they said that someone would call me to let me know when they needed me there on site. Well, it quickly became Sunday afternoon, and without hearing from them I called and left a message stating that I was unsure of the hours for Monday, as nobody had contacted me as of that time.

I was torn as to what the “right” thing was to do, for I usually try to do what’s right, either legally or according to my morals (pesky little things at times). There was a point in my life where that wasn’t the case, but that is for another time. I didn’t know if I should set my alarm for that horrible hour of 0330, which is the time between when the hoodlums run the streets and the birds start their annoying morning chatter. Heck, the sun isn’t even up at that hour, why should I? I finally decided on not setting the alarm for that dreaded hour, but rather a little bit later, as there was a local hotel here that was having open interviews for front desk agent. I figured if the quarry was going to keep me dangling and not value my time and effort, then I may as well move on and keep looking for other employment opportunities.

I donned my interview “costume” and headed over to the hotel. They were holding interviews over the span of three days, two hour blocks each day. I arrived at the beginning of the first block, on the first day, for there was no messing around when it came to job seeking. There were a couple “girls” ahead of me, but it appeared that I was third in line…not bad. I say “girls,” as they are what you picture when hearing the word: long, straight hair and wearing high heels and a skirt. The type that probably has everything in pink. In other words, not me. Sure, I may have my feminine moments, but I am most comfortable in jeans and a hoodie…heck, I have a partially shaved head, but I still like to feel like a girl sometimes.

The person I interviewed with for the position most certainly fit the “girl” description as well. She came up to maybe my shoulder, greeted me with the limpest of handshakes, the kind where I was afraid I would crush her hand if I squeezed too tightly. Yes, I have what some have referred to as “man hands,” but they are still a bit feminine, as my fingers span for miles…and yes, I have been known to palm a basketball. So to have this wee little hand in mine felt like that of a child’s; it didn’t help matters that she had a high-pitched voice reminiscent of sucking helium. 

She asked me a few questions, some of which I KNOW I answered wrong for the position. One of which was about long-term goals, “Where do you see yourself in 5-10 years?” The problem with this question is I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I WANT TO DO, and it’s not working in the hospitality field for minimum wage. I am grateful that people do the job, and I would be thankful to have such a position, as it would equal an income, but I wouldn’t want to do it for the next 5-10 years. We also ran through a little role-playing via a script, where I read the part of the front desk agent and she was the customer. She remarked that I have a lovely voice and read the part well…hmmm, perhaps I should do voice over work? Anyways, she said that they would be making their decision and conducting second interviews with the select few next week. I’m not holding my breath, as it’s only part-time and not for great pay…it wouldn’t even cover my rent.

So, back home I went, where I changed out of my monkey suit and looked online for more employment opportunities. Shortly after my return, I received a call from the quarry office. Being that I have a strong dislike towards confrontation, I let it go through to voice mail. It turns out that they wouldn’t need me again after all. They thought that someone had already called me regarding this matter (which they were wrong…and I’m not surprised, as they seemed to lack communication skills) and would keep my name and number on file just in case another opportunity arose.

I could have let this rejection get to me, but instead, I used my resources. The previous week, a home improvement company which I had interviewed with for a loader position, had called and left me a message regarding a job offer. I hadn’t called them back, as I had found employment. So, being the quick to act person that I am, I called them back and spoke with the woman, inquired as to the availability and said that I would most certainly accept their offer for employment. She asked if I could be there in half an hour or so to fill out the paperwork. It’s funny how true the statement is, “It’s easier to find a job when you have a job,” as that was the case in this instance.

I changed in a hurry and made my way to the store. Turns out, the position is up to 40 hours per week, with better pay, and best of all…indoor plumbing! Heck, they even have a whole section of the store dedicated to such! Had to fill out some papers and take a saliva drug test. I will admit, there have been times where doing such would have caused me great fear, for my past isn’t as angelic as some may think. Do I regret some of the things I have done? NOT. A. BIT. For those experiences have helped to shape who I am; however, I am not my experiences, for there is a huge difference between the two. That will be a whole other blog entry (or two, three, or even ten).

Training for the position starts on Thursday, not sure the hours that I will work or exactly what the job will entail (from my understanding, helping customers load their merchandise into their vehicles and cart wrangling), but it’s a job that pays decent. And for that, I am truly fortunate.

In Dog I Trust

Yes, you read that right, I did not make a mistake, for in dog I do trust. Specifically, one dog in particular…a black and tan muscle-bound dog with a curly tail and perky ears named Peggy Sue. Sure, I do have another dog named Troy whom I love and adore, but Peggy Sue holds a special place in my heart. Don’t worry, she’s fine, a perfect specimen of physical health, well, aside from a cherry eye that she’s had for years that the vet says isn’t really a problem, as nothing is scratching or irritating her eye.

She and I found each other after I returned to the San Francisco Bay Area after being stationed in Northern Alaska for a year. While there, I took care of the two station dogs, Nomad and Nook. I bathed, fed, disciplined and even shared my twin size bed with Nomad (also known as Nomer) who was a large Rottweiler while Nook preferred to sleep under my bed. I was able to request a kiddie pool to be flown up on our monthly supply flight via C-130, along with some oatmeal dog shampoo, which was useful to bathe them both, as during the summer they enjoyed chasing, killing and rolling around in the carcasses of what are known as whistle pigs (close relatives of gophers). I became so attached to those two dogs that it was difficult to leave when my tour was over and when Nook, who was an arthritic and quite elderly wolf mix was found to have wandered off and passed away, one of the Chiefs who had arrived shortly before I left called and let me know of her passing.

Anyways, getting back to my dear Peggy Sue…when I returned to California, I felt a void in my life as I was without a pet for the first time in a while. Prior to going up to Alaska, I had a cat named Buddha (he had quite a tummy on him) that I had to rehome, as I could only bring 1,000-lbs of belongings and no animals were allowed, as it was isolated duty (80 miles north of Nome). I specifically sought out to find a rental that permitted dogs and saved up enough for the pet security deposit prior to even considering finding one, for I didn’t want to become attached and not be responsible enough, having to leave heartbroken. I didn’t want to “buy” a dog, as in the past, I prefer to rescue pets. Many of the ones I have had in the past were rescued, Shakespeare my cat was found as a weak kitten with conjunctivitis on the Shakespeare golf course in Napa, CA, the aforementioned Buddha was a drugstore kitten in a box and a cat named Tilly had been handed down from my Aunt when she had to move.

I sought out to find a dog that seemed to call out to me, and that’s precisely what I found when I logged onto the Hopalong website http://hopalong.org/ and saw a picture of a very scared and skinny dog named Peggy Sue. I contacted the rescue foundation and was able to meet with her foster mom in the Oakland hills. I had come prepared, with cookies in hand to lure her into liking me. She has quite a sad story, which includes being dropped off at the pound in the chute used to dispose of road kill and other dead animals…she was clearly not dead, but rather scared and abused. Someone had clipped her ears, so they now stand straight up. I often wonder what she would look like with natural ears. Long story short, I took her home that night and have only spent a couple nights without her since that day, roughly seven years ago.

Sure, she has her issues, one of which is being quite protective of me and a dislike of strangers. It took a couple of years for her not to cringe when I brought in the newspaper, for I think she was often hit with one in the past. But I love her, for our bond is one that still brings a tear to my eye when I try to imagine my life without her. She has seen me through some of the hardest parts in my life, some things that people never have to experience in their lifetimes, let alone at the age which I had.

This is where the “In Dog I Trust” comes into play. The year 2008 was a pretty rough one for me, and I believe that it sort of woke up some mental illnesses that may have been lying dormant, just below the surface. The year prior, my grandpa had been diagnosed with colon cancer, gone through chemo and a battery of treatments, which caused him to deteriorate into a thin shell of a man that I had known growing up. I ended up holding his hand as he took his last breath, feeling his hand go cold as his heart had stopped beating. He wasn’t really coherent, but I have a feeling he knew I was there. He had wanted to pass at home, the one in which he had built many years ago.

Less than two months after my grandpa passed, my fiancé also passed away (I shall write about that at a later time). This is where Peggy Sue comes to the rescue. A depression had settled over me, much like the fog that can usually be found in the Bay Area. I had considered taking my own life, as it was just quite a bit of grief for anyone to go through…almost too much loss for me to manage. There were days where just getting out of bed seemed to be difficult, but Peggy Sue and Troy had to be walked and I was the only one around to do the job. They had to be fed, and again, I was the only one able to do the job.

I still battle with my dark thoughts on a regular basis, but the idea of leaving my dogs behind keeps me here. My mom has mentioned in the past that if anything were to happen to me, she would be more than happy to take Troy, as he is such the lover, truly desires to be around people. Peggy Sue on the other hand, would more than likely have to be put down due to her “issues.” And that is why I am still here…I love her so much that it would be quite unfair and selfish of me to take my own life, only to have her suffer as well. And while that may not make sense to anyone else, it makes sense to me…and keeps me fighting another day.

Peggy Sue and I, battling against depression and suicide…