A Dilemma We All Face Unless We Marry Rich

We all experience the ongoing mayhem in our brains that is induced by the question: "What am I going to do with my life?" The question itself sounds simple enough, but not only is this a question of money; it's a question that society deems necessary to answer as soon as possible. Also, there is a new development that not many people consider, but makes answering said question all the more difficult.

"What am I going to do with my life that will pay rent and will make me happy?"

It's easy to spout out answers when you're young because happiness is an everyday occurrence when you're innocent and don't have to pay any bills. When you're young, you think about occupations that sound fun at the time, and hang onto them until you get bored with the idea of being a fire truck or a police dog. You move onto more standard jobs, like being a doctor or a teacher. Then, when you are old enough to realize that just picking something because it sounds cool isn't practical, and you are forced to really consider the job description that best suits you as a person, as well as your wallet- well- it's not fun anymore.



I am twenty-one-years-old and have a degree in nothing. I started this blog with a haughty post describing my ambitions as an English major, and yet here I am: no degree, no job, no fulfillment.

Don't get me wrong, I am on cloud nine being engaged to Mr. Right, I really am, but I was raised with a sense of independence that is so embedded in my brain that it's hard to let go because it's a part of who I am. It whispers to me late in the night when I'm contemplating my credit card bill, making it hard to sleep. It summons a crippling guilt whenever Michael pays for the groceries, or buys me the pretty dress I couldn't keep my eyes off of. It punches me right in my lady gut when I see my high school graduation photo hanging slumped to one side over my Mom's desk. I see the ambition so clearly in my 17-year-old eyes, and I feel like I've failed that girl.

Here is my frantic timeline:

Elementary School
Music Teacher

Middle School
Archaeologist
Author
Comic artist

High School
Zoologist
English teacher

University
English Teacher
Author

Drop Out

Author
Nurse
Bar Owner
Real estate Agent
Web Designer
Comic Store Owner
Etsy Store Owner
House Wife
Secretary
...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUGGHHHH!

This battle has been going on for years now, because honestly, I can't find a single interest of mine that alone defines me. I love to write, create, help people, feel good at the end of the day, interact, and would one day like to have a big family. I like to be in charge of myself and work at a pace that fits me. How am I supposed to fit all of these aspects of my personality into one field?!

Well, one day, I found myself doing what I usually do when I grow bored of my surroundings: I rearranged furniture and organized the shelves until I felt like I was living somewhere else for a while.

"That looks really good." Michael said, examining the room.

"You always say that," I responded. I don't deserve the man.

"No really, I think I like this the best. I like the empty wine bottles and glasses on the shelf over the fireplace like that, and the book shelf looks more organized now."

Conversations like this happen often and lead into further conversations about the use of space, color, energy and utility. I can look through interior design magazines for hours, and Mike doesn't even mind when I drag his attention to a particular arrangement and talk about projects I'd like to do around the house and little tricks I've seen pinned on Pinterest that I can't get out of my mind. I could spend the rest of my life residing within the walls of Ikea.

Interior design has been a hobby of mine since my Mom introduced to me the prospect of changing my room every few years for a new, fresh beginning.

That's how I feel when I buy a vase for the side table, or rearrange picture frames, or look at color schemes online: fresh. It's always been an escape mechanism of mine for when the world outside of my home seems too overwhelming; I take charge of the miniature world that is my apartment. After a bad day, all I have to do is move the wine rack to a different side of the bar and fluff up the pillows, and I suddenly find myself ready to conquer cities. It makes me feel inspired and alive. It's a hobby that completely relies on my creativity to thrive.

Since then, I've been seriously considering this field of study for when I return to school. It incorporates my love of color, design, creativity, and may someday even help people. As for the writing? I smell a side blog project possibility.

J-Roll's Departing Gift: A Fresh Start

It's been a long time... and I'm sorry to have left everyone behind as I made that journey everyone takes to find themselves. This year was my time to do that. To all of my dedicated readers that stood by me as I laughed, cried and ranted, thank you. It would be incredible if I could somehow repay you guys for giving me what you did earlier this year. I sincerely mean that I love you and still keep up with your blogs when time is allowed.

I'm in a good place. Michael and I are finally living together and have been for six months now. We are very much in love and are very happy. Finally, right?

It took moving in with him to discover what I wanted outside of wanting to be close to him. It was eye opening.

I swore off this blog for a variety of reasons, and those of you who are close to me understood the situation and continued to encourage my writing and my blogging. I will say though that this blog has served its purpose for me, and that is why I have to leave it how it is: a memoir of what life was like being thousands of miles away from the person I loved. It helped me cope when I was in dire need of coping. It helped me laugh when I wanted to cry. It helped me give clarity to confusing situations. It reawakened my passion for writing and led me to a community of writers and bloggers that I hope to remain a part of for a long time.

I am happy to announce that I now have a new project: Mike and I started a blog together! As you may know, we both met through our writing, so it only makes sense to continue to do so while together. We both are really embracing it, and I think this may be a permanent part of our lives.

If you are interested in checking out my new blog, I recommend reading the introductory post first before you commit. It's not for everyone, but it is a humor blog about a new rising culture. Introducing The Couch Dwellers! It's kind of nerdy guys.

Again, thanks to everyone who followed me, believed in me, and listened to what I had to say. You were the glue that held me together. Hopefully you'll stick around for the happy parts.

This is J-Roll, signing off.

Let's hope someone says yes, and soon

Remember how in my last post I made the word "excited" my bitch? Well, that was because I was genuinely excited about my mom's daycare. Y'see, I didn't think it would be difficult to get people to invest in the business because my thoughts fell specifically on my grandfather and my uncles, all of whom make excellent money. What I didn't think about was that they all tend to keep it to themselves, which is sad, because my mom didn't exactly have the best childhood, so the least they could do is make up for all of the shit they put her through as a child and help her achieve her dream as an adult.

Of course, they don't and won't see it from her perspective. I can't imagine what it must be like to be abandoned over and over and over again by your family. I've heard a plethora of horror stories from my mom and aunt about how they were treated when growing up. My mom moved away from home when she was sixteen-years-old, because she couldn't stand to live under the same roof as my grandfather anymore. That's really young guys. I moved out to go to school when I just turned eighteen, which is a ripe age in my opinion. The mentality gap between sixteen and eighteen is huge. You can learn a lot about the world in two years, but I'd imagine that my mom had been fantasizing about moving out since she hit the double digits, so I don't blame her for packing her bags so early.

Grandpa didn't seem to mind. He was ready with the paint buckets the moment she walked out of the door.

From my perspective, it is really hard picturing this loving grandfather as the person who torments my mom. Ever since I was born, I've loved him and have been loved in returned. He nurtured me, cared for me, and always made sure to give me a hug and kiss before every goodbye. But when I found out his true, hateful nature, I never viewed him the same again.

People don't completely change. I've learned that the hard way.

Back to the point. On Easter my mom was preparing herself to approach my grandfather in hopes that he would take an interest in the business that she has always wanted. She brought it up gently, mentioning how amazing the building was and that she would love for him to check it out if he had the time. But immediately, without second thought, the topic was dismissed. He deliberately changed the subject to show just how disinterested he was in helping her. When she turned to my grandmother, she shrugged and told her that my grandfather doesn't like getting involved in family's financial affairs. My aunt, who had witnessed what had happened, was not surprised. No one was. Not even my mom.

But later that night, when everyone had left and we were cleaning up, Mom seemed sluggish and had a hard time smiling. I immediately knew what was wrong and I'm sure I made it worse with my open rants about Grandpa, which I suddenly regret now. In my defense, watching the woman who birthed me's dreams slowly begin to deteriorate because of the man that made her life a living hell years ago just tore me apart. I was furious at my grandfather, who only uses his money to update his electronics and lets the rest sit in his bank account until grandma goes on one of her huge shopping sprees, which is usually like every week. It's selfish, just selfish. (Or maybe I'm being selfish. It is HIS money, but come ON). Oh, and I'm sure he'll expect Father's Day to be a big event that revolves around him. He's pretty needy on his birthday too. It's sad.

I'm glad I live an hour away from he who used to be my neighbor, because I don't know if I could hold my tongue around that man. But my mom, over time, seems to be more and more content with his answer.

"It's okay," she reassured. "When the zombie apocalypse happens, he'll be running to my door, and the first thing I am going to say is, 'So you need me now?'"

Oh Mom. I really hope someone helps you. I'd hate to have a heap of dead family members at our door when zombies inhabit the earth.

A degree shouldn't trump happiness

Holy frig I've got so much to tell you, but my brain is being manhandled by the sound of plastic wheels against tiled floor accessorized with the wails of screaming children. A closed door cannot contain the madness. I haven't resorted to anything extreme just yet, but I assume that it will happen shortly. How my mother runs an in-house daycare is beyond me. How I have managed to keep my sanity since I moved in in January is also beyond me (apparently delusion is hereditary). You do not know what it is like to wake up to five screaming children at 7:00 on a Friday every week. Okay maybe you do. Thank the heavens she finally found the perfect building to start her daycare in.

...Let's hope I don't jinx it by posting the potential this building has on the internet. The web has the power to make or break you by harnessing the power of shit cloud, so I am really taking a chance on this one to tell you the details. You're welcome.

The other day, me and the parental units went to take a tour of an old firehouse down the highway that was up for lease. The first image that came to mind was a crowd of two year olds falling down the fire pole, so I thought the effort was doomed at the start, but I kept quiet. No reason to spoil it over the idea of dead babies... they are my mother's dreams guys. MY MOTHER'S DREAMS.

Gaping hole in the floor not suitable for children, or anyone really.

My fears were silenced when we saw the building. It was perfect, and I couldn't help but start visualizing the flow of children from one room to the other, me behind the desk, raking in the doe, looking all professional and shit. (I see a Mac desktop and more screaming children in my future!) Madre was even more excited. She was practically shaking with happiness, but Dad had warned her on the trip there not to scream for fear she would ruin his chances at negotiating prices. The man has mad haggling skills, I can't deny it. So the three of us toured, dreamed, and kept our outward expression to a minimum until we were safely in the car. Then the top of the truck blew off from the mushroom cloud of pent up elation being released.

"Jess! You and me, together! We're going to do this!" she said.

"DUH!"

...Just one problem ladies: University. (And wasn't I just complaining about noisy children?)

Alright. You got me. But that is why I am here, explaining this to you, because this dilemma was driving me up the wall. Let me ask you a question: "What would you do if you discovered the perfect job with the perfect salary and the perfect boss, but you'd only be hired on if taking on a nine to five shift everyday, but you are already a full time student (which you hate being with a fiery passion)?

Wouldn't most choose their education?

I must clarify something. To those of you who aren't aware, I am an English major with a Creative Writing emphasis, which makes me destined for teacherhood, a place I'd prefer to avoid going to. I'd rather freelance, blog, and do my own thing writing-wise, but that does not exactly bring in money (neither does teaching, but that is a dilemma all on its own). Hence the name of this blog.

I digress.

Let's consider the next stage of this frustration. Let's say I quit going to school and work for Mom. Michael is going to move here next month. If anything, I'd want to move in with him if school wasn't holding me back! So would it make sense to quit school and choose to work in a daycare instead of starting my life with Michael? What is a girl to do? I have been programmed to believe that attending college is my only gateway to success and opportunity, things I'd love to obtain... without a diploma. School has become this redundant chore that I find no joy in and that I've come to resent, and over time it has occurred to me that wasting years of my life trying to obtain a degree that is virtually useless to me in the long run is a huge a waste of time, especially if it does not make me happy.

Basically, I do not enjoy being a full time student with little options and little cash. So I approached my mom later about what it is that I am supposed to do, fearing the anticipated "no" and the expected cold shoulder. Surprisingly, the discussion went pretty well, and we both agreed that my best option at the moment is to invest my time in what could potentially be a family franchise. I could always continue with school later, if it suits my fancy. After she left the room, I felt like I could actually, for once, breathe.

Since that discussion, I have been dancing on cloud nine. I am happy. I've been working on standard things for the daycare, I have been buying things for Michael and my apartment on the beach, and I've been physically healthier due to the stress being lifted from my situation. Time to take care of the important things now: my health, my happiness, and my family...

...and my bank account. Never again will I have to make a box of cereal last me a week!

Little pieces of bad news can have huge consequences

When I first figured out what it was that I wanted to do with my life, I knew that there was a chance that someday I would be putting all of my effort into a project only to discover that someone managed to get the same idea out into the world before I could. But nothing can prepare a writer for such a disappointment, especially when they thought that their idea was one hundred percent original.

I found that out the hard way today when a friend of mine asked about my musical and revealed to me that what I thought to be a unique idea was actually the opposite.

I guess that I am going to have to look at the hours that I put into the musical as a method of warming up for a bigger project in the future, something even greater than this first attempt. But I can't help but feel an ache in my chest whenever I think about how anxious I was to get the musical finished. All of the deadlines in my schedule book are useless now I guess. No use continuing with something that will get me nowhere.

Once I finish the short story due in my creative writing class this Wednesday and midterms have passed, I'll focus on one of my other projects during Spring Break. Or I'll just read a good book. I haven't done that in a while.

This really sucks. But hey, life goes on.

Vampires DON'T sparkle

The closer I get to finishing this musical, the closer I get to the reality of whether or not it is going to take me places. Sometimes I find myself awake at night because of insecurities that eat away at me until I settle on the idea of giving up and getting a different, realistic hobby. Like... um...

Okay. So I'm not really good at anything else. I've been told that I can sing, but that is just as unrealistic as convincing myself that I can make it in this world with my ideas alone. But they are really good ideas. At least I think they are, until those insecurities creep up on me again and try to convince me that I am wasting my time and should just settle on something easier, like a steady paying job. But that's no fun. I don't mind being a starving artist. I don't care about how much money I pocket from these projects. I just want to have my ideas and stories out in the world for people to enjoy. I cannot express to you enough how much of a struggle it is for me to keep all of these ideas and stories in my head. Eventually I am going to run out of room because everything seems to have the potential to be inspiration for a story. But sometimes insecurities outweigh inspiration.

Recently I found out that Michael's Mom thinks that my writing is mediocre, nothing special. Along with my previous demons, those words played in repetitions in my mind and weighed down on my shoulders as I continued to push myself to work on these projects. The more they beat on my confidence, the more it showed in my content. I was discouraged, and even contemplated giving up on my blog. I had let the devil on my shoulder win, which makes me think about all of the writers with potential out there who let their demons take hold of them. How many books weren't published because some writer stopped before finishing? How many poems? How many works of art have I not seen because someone's demons silenced their creativity?

That's when the angel on my shoulder stepped in. She called these insecurities "vampires." They'd suck away my confidence and leave me bled dry of what made me, well, me.

Thank you Bloggess.

Since listening to this song, I've really made progress on the musical. The vampires still lurk outside of my door, but I'm well equipped with garlic and crucifixes. I assume they won't be returning to haunt me anytime soon. Die Vampire Die!

So I've come to one conclusion. Vampires DO NOT sparkle. YOU do when you overcome them.

Bliss before the storm

I often think back on the moment I decided that I would transfer schools to be closer to Michael. That whole week, there had been this proposal for me to move to Alaska weighing down on my shoulders and I had spent the entirety of that week identifying the pros and cons of said proposal. I had told Michael that I couldn't do it and I named off every excuse in the book with ease. But then I would return to the subject the very next day because it had never truly been put to rest in my mind. The idea persistently poked and prodded at me, even when I thought that I had finally made up my mind. The reason that it bothered me so much to say no was because it was actually possible for me to go.

It just not practical, realistic or a smart choice to make.

Day Two: When I'm thirty, I plan to be awesome

Day Two of Super Awesome Challenge: Where you'd like to be in ten years.

I might find this the easiest to answer though it may not be the easiest to achieve. Of course I would like to be married and have children by the time I hit thirty. If anything I believe I was born to be a Mom. But I have a restless spirit and imagination, and have always strived to become a better writer. I am currently working on a novel and a musical, both of which I'd like to be out in the world by then. I am currently in the mindset, established by a pep talk from Michael, that I should go big or go home. As a writer, I owe it to myself to expand my storytelling to different genres and forms. Screenplay has always interested me, and music is another passion of mine.

I guess what I am trying to say is, family is somewhat of a given, but really pursuing dreams many dub unrealistic is going to lead me to where I'd like to be in ten years: a well known writer, known for my diversity.

Other tidbits I would like to achieve by the age of thirty: getting my Masters in English with an emphasis in creative writing, visiting Ireland, and maybe, just maybe white river rafting rrrrrapid thingy.

Yes, yes, and yes.

Making progress, one step at a time

I have been relentlessly stalking blogs all day long. I still have no clue what I want to write about today.

I have no follow up statement at this time.

( 2 hours later )

So I have a few enterprises that I have in store for the rest of the week. I've been searching for a project other than my book for a while. I've hit a brick wall with that. So being my creative and fabulously productive self, I have decided that if I can't dedicate time to my book, I will devote it to my blog instead.

As you can see if you have been following my posts for more than a month now, my page has changed form almost every week. I just couldn't bring myself to settle on a look. (That's why I don't have any tattoos.) So I've finally settled on this current display until something better travels my way. Lord knows that I can't work my way around Photoshop. I managed to do everything in paint. My mad html/css skills were left behind in high school. But still, it captures what I wanted to express: the thin line between childhood and adulthood. I'm still lingering restlessly in between. I am considered an adult, but no one takes me seriously.

And voila! Epic banner that represents just that.

Onto more or less serious matters, a friend of mine who knows her way around the blog-o-sphere advised me to spread the word about my blog in a variety of ways; ways that will not be shared here as there were far too many ridiculous ones that I won't consider unless desperate. (I refuse to print out my URL on thousands of sheets of paper and spread them across campus. Never will I resort to that.)

Okay, I came up with that one in a moment of doubt. Don't judge me.

I just have this intense yearning to get started. I want to be in that comfortable place as a writer. (Does that place even exist?) Reality tells me that that won't happen until way later. That is considering, of course, that my blog takes off in the direction that I want it to, that I finish that ten novels that I've started, and that I can actually pull off doing this as a professional.

Oh Lord. No wonder no one takes me seriously.

Oh, how I dream big

I have way too many ideas for my own good.

Lately I have been brainstorming new projects to start once this book has been finished and I get so excited by them that I start developing these ideas without continuing off of something that has already been started. There is now a hefty collection of word documents on my desktop and I am starting to think that I am being unrealistic if I believed that all of these book ideas were going to be finished any time soon. Then there is the fear that if I don't continue with all of these ideas as fast as I can that someone will think of the same thing and take the glory away from me.

I am starting to annoy myself. I'm like a hoarder of book ideas. It is starting to get ugly.

At the end of the day I have all of these outlines with suitable titles and I think to myself, "was I productive today?" I haven't even finished one book. I'm even working on a screenplay. A freaking screenplay! And not just any screenplay, but a musical. There is nothing wrong with having aspirations, but this is just ridiculous.

Back to working on my many projects.

Reviving the past to put it to rest

Writing a book about yourself can be easy if done right. Everything is from your perspective, so it is simple to stay consistent with your main character because the main character is you. The difficult part, which I discovered today, is writing about the darker times in which life was not so friendly. The moment you put it on paper, every time you proofread, you relive it.

It’s the past. You are supposed to learn, let go, and move on. But when you write it out, it become further ingrained, and you are forced to think about it more. When it’s written out, it’s available to anyone willing to read it. It makes it so permanent and because of that it will be impossible to forget those memories. Maybe when my story is out in the world, hopefully mass produced, my readers will be able to experience it all with me. Maybe then, when I read my own words, I won't feel so alone.

But isn't that the point? Sharing your experiences with others so people can relate to them? I hope that I am doing a favor to some by reliving everything all over again. Then it will be worth it. Then I can let go.

My Name is Jessica, and I'm an English Major

So apparently as an English major I have three options: teach, clue into the warning signs and change majors, or live paycheck to paycheck waiting tables until the day I die (tragic, yes, but us English majors are subconsciously devoted to over-exaggerated Shakespearean conclusions). You are condemned the moment you meet with an adviser and say that you want to major in English. Their generalized response: "Oh, you want to teach then?"

Oh, Hell no. Words cannot describe how limited I felt right then. It is unnerving how one assumption can immediately lead to a girl doubting her dreams. Why isn't "write a best seller" an option? People view getting published as some unreachable dream, under the same categorization as becoming a famous actress.

Little do these people know (yes, Miss. Stick-up-her-ass adviser. I am talking to you too) there are more options for us out there. To be one of us, you have to be a dreamer, believe it or not. And us dreamers do not limit ourselves to such mediocre, colorless, mainstream options that were created to hold us back!

Maybe I'll teach when I'm burnt out on writing the best sellers mentioned above. Until then, I'm sticking to what I want.

Welcome to my Blog.