I started rehab. No, not for my intimate relationship with alcohol, but for an old shoulder injury. The doctor twisted my arm in every which way, pushed it and pulled it then came up with one conclusion:
“You are not strong enough to hold yourself together.”
You have no idea.
She was referring to the muscles in my shoulder and back, which weakened when I broke my collarbone a year ago and could no longer hold my arm in the correct place. Of course, there was more complicated medical jargon and a plastic replica shoulder involved, but those words stood out.
In the past month I have learned the meaning of loss: First a friend, then a job and now a pet. Almost strategically spaced, so by the time I clawed myself out of a hole a grief another tragedy threw me back in.
I am not strong enough to hold myself together (a month of silence, tears and drinking until I forgot the pain proved that), but I am strong enough to push myself forward.
Wow it has been a while, I am sorry readers, but trust me I have a good reason for my absence. Read on and enjoy!
I sat in the lobby of the Tribune Tower for a while before I was called up to the offices of Redeye (which was good because I had just walked at least a mile from the train station, my feet were blistered and I was sweaty). I met with the editor who contacted me about my freelance application, the editor that turned my summer around with one e-mail, the editor who read my samples and liked them enough to call me in for a meeting. I also met with the weekend and entertainment editor of Metromix.
The three of us sat in a drab conference room with white walls, a standard office table and chairs. Someone joked that it looked like a doctors office and I politely chuckled. The interview started as most do: tell us about yourself, explain the work you did here and here, what do you enjoy about our publication, etc. I recited the usual answers, occasionally stumbling over my words. I continued on about my passion for writing, my qualifications as an editor and my appreciation of the Redeye tone. Somewhere in my slurry of wannabe-intelligent responses, I must have said something right.
Before I even sat down for this meeting, I had one of those feelings that my fate was already decided, one of those feeling that you don’t want to admit to yourself for fear of jinxing your opportunity. For once though, I was right and was offered a contract to freelance for Chicago Metromix and Redeye. Along with the contract my editor gave me one of the greatest gifts a writer could ask for: he complimented my creativity! The offer came with one stipulation: I had to live in Chicago.
July was supposed to bring new beginnings. It would mark the start my fabulous internship at Men’s Health, while my younger sister moved into her apartment in Chicago and began culinary school. Things don’t always work out the way we plan…
I was inspired by Ashley Scoria’s post about celebrating Father’s Day without a father. We all have out skeletons in the closet. We would be boring and bland without the scars that define us, without the obstacles that carve the path to who we are today. I share the following part of my life with hesitation. It is something few know about me, for one reason: There is nothing worse than the look of pity on someone’s face. Disappointment, anger, pride etc. are useful emotions because they are productive. People can learn from mistakes and be motivated by triumphs. Pity, on the other hand, is a waste of sad, misunderstood glances. The Lehigh University Blog Tribe has become a special community. During the 90 posts in 90 days challenge we depend on each other’s stories, wait for a Tweets about new posts, and miss each other when we disappear.
The reason this picture adorns the top of my blog as well hangs above my bed is because of my sister Brittany Rose
So #LUBlogTribe, this is my skeleton.
I, like my fellow 90 in 90 blog challenger Liz Martinez, cannot tell you why I have been particularly smiley lately. Let’s just say, good things are on the horizon. When I asked the world for breadcrumbs a few days ago, it gave me a whole friekin’ slice of bread (I would say loaf, but this is me we are talking about and good things come in small packages). Since lists apprear to be the format of choice for today’s posts – as intoduced by Mike Ojo – I will follow.
1. Finishing re-watching the entire series of Grey’s Anotomy could not come at a better time, because tomorrow I am meeting my editor at The Rundown. I will be interning for their Chicago website.
2. There is an income in my future. Unfortunately, that income will depend on how cheerily I can ask “Would you like another diet Pepsi, sir?”
3. In a week I have a meeting in the building I have been dreaming about entering ever since I declared my journalism major.
4. It is a good thing I never unpacked after college, because the boxes may be returning to the car soon.
5 . I am finally getting a haircut, which is good because I am starting to look like a cave-woman.
I will have more information soon, I promise, but for now thank you to anyone who has helped put this smile on my face and told me not to give up on my dreams.
My best friend Allison posted this on my Facebook wall (my best friend who will be leaving me in a few weeks to study in Turkey and then move with her boyfriend to San Francisco for graduate school at Stanford). It would be funny if it wasn't so true.
I need to move out of my house. Not “it would be nice to move out,” NO, I NEED to move out of my house. There’s one problem, I am completely broke. I have no job, and will soon be drowning in student loans demanding payback. Graduation is supposed to mark the moment when your life begins, so how come I have been more useless in the past month than my entire 22 years of life? I’ve been looking for jobs, full-time writing or editing jobs and part-time hostess and waitress jobs, even unpaid internship (you will be hearing more about that later this week). Most of my efforts fall on deaf ears, and I wonder if being ignored is worse than being rejected.