Crehabit’s Weblog

Oh, I can blame So You Think You Can Dance (OMG, Will looked sooooo HOT without a shirt!) and I can blame MySoju.com (endless archives of Korean, Japanese, Taiwanese, and HK drama and movies … and they won’t stop adding more!) and I can blame manga and Stephenie Meyer and Rock Band and Guitar Hero and whatever mind-numbing and brilliant (and not-so-brilliant) form of entertainment that was made for my greedy, addiction-prone consumption. But at the end of the day, I cannot escape the fact that I have a recurring, chronic case of Writer’s Block and Artist’s Block and clogged up creative arteries. I am a pro at soaking up other people’s genius. I dream big dreams of the novels I’ll write, the action-packed romantic manga I’ll craft, the funky and emotionally honest paintings I’ll create, etc., etc. But when it comes down to taking action, I’m a lazy ass. And more importantly, I’m a scaredy cat.

Yeah, it’s the same old story. I create and dream in intense spurts … and then there’s you–Writer’s Block. And every time we’re face to face, it takes so much energy to work through the fear and talk through my doubts and get past the laziness and force myself to do the things I need to do. And every time I tell myself I’m committed, I’m serious, it’s not enough. What does it take to make the commitment? I don’t know. I’m tired. I need a shower. I have work early tomorrow. I’m a no-talent dreamer anyhow. But if it makes me feel better about myself, shouldn’t I do it? What’s wrong with me? Wait, I’m not supposed to beat myself up. It shows bad self-help form.

Aiya, I’m driving myself nutso!

If you had held on just a little longer, would you have enjoyed the fame and public recognition of your artistic genius? Today, even little school children can instantly recognize a Van Gogh painting!

To think that you were only 7 years older than I am today when you walked out into that wheatfield (perhaps a field that you had depicted many a time in your paintings) and shot yourself in the chest … oh, but that wasn’t the end. No, you dragged yourself home and died two whole f—ing days later! What the f—? I can’t even imagine those final hours or even the moments leading up to that self-directed barrel of destruction and despair.

I am close to tears thinking of each time you failed at a new career. What hopes and expectations you must have held … and then reluctantly relinquished into the ether of disappointment and disillusion. I can relate. I’ve done a fair amount of job hopping myself. And I understand the frustration of peddling other people’s art, but lacking the confidence to champion your own. But you took the plunge. With limited resources and no formal training, you just did it. And how you did it! To think that something two-dimensional could emit such energy, emotion, and extreme … honesty.

Yeah, it always comes back to that, doesn’t it? It’s honesty that sucks me in every time. And the only way you knew how to express what you felt was in your paintings and drawings and tons of letters. So I’m writing you a letter, a letter conveying my honest, whole-hearted, absolute respect for your work and your struggle on the verge of sanity and creative compulsion. I want to thank you for not giving up on your art, even though you gave up on yourself in the end. Your work and your life inspire me to be more honest and more daring in my own life. You may have often been lonely and isolated from others while you were alive, but you have touched my heart deeply, and I sincerely hope to keep your passion alive in my own art.

Love,

me

At what point in my life am I supposed to know what my calling is? I’ve figured out a lot of things I don’t like to do and things I do like to do, but it’s so hard to find a way to get to do most of the things I like, while avoiding the things I don’t like, in one job … or even one lifetime. Time always seems to be ticking along, pointing out what’s wrong with the choices I’ve made and the dreams I’ve traded for a false sense of security. I’m on the brink of thirty and I think I’m prime for a butt-kickin’ into gear, cause my soul’s tickin’ off the opportunities wasted and the victories untasted.

I love the idea of choice, but I don’t like deciding. I’m just biding my time, penning my rhymes, crafting a crime of chronic career conundrums. And the Corporate King, he flings scraps my way, taunting me with a 401K and modest copay. I may be in his good graces today, but who knows what tomorrow may bring?

Oh Career Gods, I know it’s a necessary process and believe me, I’m milking it for every ounce of personal growth possible. And I’m utterly thankfully I still have a job … for now. But how do I proceed from here where the path seems mostly unclear?

Sincerely,

me

It was a bit odd to meet so many of you in the flesh. Most of the time, even my writing doesn’t seem real to me, but somehow, being a part of this workshop, seeing my fellow undeniables perform, struggling to keep up my end of the regular writing commitment … I’m almost able to claim/admit that I’m a writer. I love being inspired by all of you, hearing your stories, relating to your experiences, and most of all, feeling as though I’m not alone in my compulsion to write and rant and relate and record everything.

Yes, I write and draw and paint and craft, but I’ve never really considered myself to be a Writer or an Artist. Those terms are reserved for the real, talented, published, recognized, accomplished few. I am just a hobbyist, an amateur, a poser … But being a part of The Undeniables allowed me to stop and think, “Who gives a crap whether the stuff I create is any good?” The fact that I let myself be creative, can share it with you, and have access to all this incredible writing by all of you is what really matters.

So I really wanted to thank Edren and Erik for starting this up. Without you, I don’t know when or if I’d have started writing again. And I want to thank each and every one of the members for sharing your novels, poetry, and/or letters. I haven’t had a chance to read everything or link all of you to my blogroll yet, because I just can’t keep up with our growing numbers and your prolific writing, but all of you rock! I am so excited about what we’re doing and how it’s affecting my priorities and sanity.

THANK YOU! CAM ON! MERCI! DOMO ARIGATO! GRACIAS! THANK YOU TO THE INFINITE POWER!

dear diary,

just wanted to gush about how CLEAN my house is! usually, there are only about 2 functional rooms with the rest of the house in transition (a.k.a. junkyard, pig sty, accumulated crap overflowing the joint). about once or twice a year, my hubby–bless his adorable, a.d.d.-addled soul–comes up with a brilliant plan for the reorganization of the living space. he watches hdtv religiously. don’t laugh, i know you’re addicted to that stuff too! so we’re all excited and start moving stuff around … and then we don’t ever finish. i’d rather do fun stuff on the weekends (the only time i get to see my hubby) than home improvement, heavy labor, tedious unfun stuff, so i don’t really protest when hubby loses interest in whatever master floorplan he’s concocted at the moment. and the house remains in perpetual disarray.

anyhow, to make a long story short, i threw a baby shower for my sister-in-law on saturday and spent two whole days scrubbing, sweeping, vacuuming, tidying, moving, and generally making spotless the entire 1,400-square-foot abode. aaah … the satisfaction, the pride, the utter bliss of coming home to a clean house … except now it doesn’t feel like my house and i feel this compulsion to wipe up every spot and crumb on the kitchen counter, pick up every misplaced item, rearrange every misaligned piece of furniture. i feel even crazier than i did when the house was a mess … and then the little voice inside my head starts asking, “so how long is this going to last? how many days or weeks before we’re back to pig sty comfort?” and what do i really prefer?

oh, too much thinking makes my head hurt. maybe the j-meister can come over again and we can beat guitar hero, synchronizing our star power rock outs and hanging out at the endlessly entertaining ikea. you gotta love cheap, swedish home furnishings. rock on geek nation! (the name of our nerdy girl band.)

Was there ever a time without You beside me, whispering why I should not, could not, ought not to … to do the things I never dared, but always cared to do? You were my mother’s voice, crooning lullabies of sacrifice and submission, purging me of selfishness and sedition. I wouldn’t recognize Love without You beside her to guide her and guard her against me. Along with my squinty, single-lidded eyes, my hypothetical non-children and never-children will inherit You–You who are written in my genes and racing through my veins, running from potential pains inflicted. I am addicted to the excuses expended to explain why I should not, could not, ought not to … to ask for what I want, what I need, what I feed upon for simple soul sustenance. Guilt, thou art the altar upon which I’ve offered up my bleeding dreams, before which I’ve prostrated my pleading heart. And now I start to wonder at how I might live without You, how I might give of myself despite You, how I might conceive of a way of being and and a way of seeing that retracts your privilege and extracts your power. In my direst hour, I bid you adieu, dear Guilt. From time to time, our paths may cross, and I’m sure to feel your loss as my constant companion and closest confidant. But I’m sure it’s what I want, and I hope you will respect my wishes. — Sincerely, me.

Where have you been? I’ve missed your enthusiasm for all things creative and therapeutic and self-reflective. I find myself falling into well-worn habits and the customary complacency that comes with my humdrum daily life, as I gaily go about my business. Is this how the half life happens? I pick up pen or keyboard or brush or whatever tool can tempt my trembling heart to hand the reigns and growing pains to you. I’m not taking sense, I’m making dense the meaning and the madness of my muddled, sleepless self. So keep in touch and keep me posted and keep your promise to keep the passion and the poetry and prose flowing and keep me going so I can’t forget the feeling of my fingertips on fire with words wrestled from the furthest phantoms of my addled, agitated, agonized defective brain. Gotta go. I’ll write more soon. — Sincerely, me

-----Original Message-----
From: Employee S [mailto:S@CompanyA.com]
Sent: Monday, April 14, 2008 4:07 PM
To: Office
Subject: Chicken Gone Missing

Hello everyone,

I'm sure many of you have seen the box of samples that was left in
our break room upstairs. Today, one of the representatives came to
pick up the box and noticed a missing item: the talking/dancing
chicken.

If anyone knows the whereabouts of Mr. Chicken, please kindly return
him. Or if any of you were interested in purchasing him, there is an
order form you can fill out in the break room.

Regards,

Employee S
Company A
XXXX Industry Drive
Workville, CA XXXXX
Tel XXX/XXX-XXXX ext. XX
Fax XXX/XXX-XXX
http://www.CompanyA.com


On 4/14/08 4:18 PM, "Mr.HR" <HR@CompanyA.com> wrote:

Dear All,

FYI The reps are with Company B.  That company is also Mothership
owned.

Regards,

Mr. HR
Company A
XXXX Industry Drive
Workville, CA XXXXX
Tel XXX/XXX-XXXX ext. XX
Fax XXX/XXX-XXX
http://www.CompanyA.com


On 4/14/08 4:22 PM, "Employee S" <S@CompanyA.com> wrote:

Thanks for the clarification, Mr. HR. I became the default
messenger because I happen to sit across from the break room,
but I was a little murky on all the particulars.

And the saga of the missing chicken continues ...


On 4/14/08 6:19 PM, "Mr.HR" <HR@CompanyA.com> wrote:

Thank you Employee S. I appreciate your efforts. Becoming in
charge on this situation due to your proximity to the crime
scene is unfortunate.

Thanks again.

Mr. HR
Company A
XXXX Industry Drive
Workville, CA XXXXX
Tel XXX/XXX-XXXX ext. XX
Fax XXX/XXX-XXX
http://www.CompanyA.com

Humble Applicant

54321 Desperate Way

Suburbia, CA 90X0X

PlsHyrMe@yahoo.com

April 11, 2008

Mr. C

Corporate, Inc.

1 Imperial Ln.

Fortuneville, USA

….

Dear Mr.C:

I would like to apply for the Fool position at Corporate, Inc. that I learned of through monster.com. With nearly 30 years of experience in idealism and self-delusion, I feel that I am a highly qualified candidate.

I attended the prestigious University of Lofty Ideals, where I received a priceless liberal education. I acquired extensive skills in the art of critical thinking … Though were I to think–critically, that is–of my rather critical circumstances, I might conclude that critical thinking isn’t a particularly marketable skill. I might have gone further had I exercised a bit of practical thinking. And by “practical,” I mean that my goals and aspirations could have embodied a more … shall we say … lucrative bent. But no, I am firmly entrenched in my passion for writing, editing, art, and education–the realm of the overeducated and underpaid. I’m not even that educated, with only one degree under my belt. I have friends in there for the long haul, registered for a lifetime of academic servitude. But that’s neither here nor there.

Oh, and have I mentioned my excellent customer service skills? I am involuntarily perky, positive, and pleasant. In the face of disgruntled clients, customers, and callers alike, my smile rings true and my eagerness to assist never wanes. Unfortunately, I am not overly fond of the general public. But guess what? My company has been downsized and to keep my job, I must answer phones. Fielding phone calls has got to be the most thankless job. I can handle face-to-face interaction because you get a little warning with body language and facial expressions. But when that phone rings, you pick up blind. On the other end could be an irate parent demanding to know why their senioritis-plagued student who dropped a required course 2nd semester is having her admissions revoked. Or could it be that eccentric author who’s trying to pitch a “novel” idea for the hundredth time and won’t take no for an answer?

But it’s not just the phone thing. I could lose my job at any time. The evil corporate mothership, not unlike Corporate, Inc., that owns my company can do away with my department and cancel more of my projects on a whim, as has occurred several times before, mind you. And then where will I be? Ah, yes. That leaves me surfing monster.com and careerbuilder.com, desperate to find another job, hoping that this time, yes, this time, it will be the dream job that combines all my skills and interests and offers job security.

Once again, I would like to emphasize my unique qualities that would make me a perfect fit for this job. At this critical point in my career, I could decide to try a new profession, one that has job openings everywhere and provides a much higher salary. But no, I am fiercely determined to cling to my hopeless idealism and idiotic belief that I might once again find a job that I love, a job that I can keep. So, I ask you this, who else would make a better Fool?

Attached is my resume and I look forward to speaking with you regarding my qualifications for this position.

Sincerely,

Humble Applicant No. 41,108