So the job hunt continues but is picking up steam. Went on my first interview at an agency a couple weeks ago. Great impression, but they have no money until May to hire someone. We'll see what comes of that but I know that if they had the money now they'd hire me. So that's a good feeling. Another opportunity on Overland Park came about when my counselor basically recommended me for a Copywriter job at an agency. Just so happens her friend is the CD. It's nice to have someone vouch for you before you even ask them to. Waiting for things to get scheduled there.
In the meantime the move nears completion. Everything will be out tomorrow. Feels strange but as I've mentioned, necessary. Thankfully I have a lot of friends who volunteered to help me out. Their compensation? Beer and pizza, naturally.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Transition
February, albeit the shortest month of the year has by far been the longest month of my life. At the moment my whole world is on fire. Things have turned out no where near to how they were supposed to. This is a time of total transition for me. Actually, to start with it's a bit of a regression, but only good things came come of it. And you, Internet, are going to be right by my in this period. Consider this post an announcement of the current theme of this blog: Patrick getting his shit back together.
To get up to speed here's a rundown of what's transpired this month:
- separated from the wife after we decided that it's better for me not to move to Chicago with her
- lost (well, actually gave up) the apartment we shared for a year and made our home
- found out some disturbing news about our relationship only after she'd left
- moving in with my parents for support and honestly to save money
- speaking of money, I'm still looking for work
So, that's about where I am now. The wife's gone. The cat's gone. The apartment's gone.
Feelings of abandonment are harder to shake than I thought. Even though I'm not living alone I still feel alone. Left behind is perhaps more accurate. I had an idea of what life was going to be like once this week, the last week of February 2009, arrived. I'd be unpacking my things in a nice little apartment near Wrigley Field. I'd be eager to explore and take on a whole new city. Be on my own with my new family and was ready for that responsibility. But she wasn't. And I understand why she wasn't. But seeing her leave, even after weeks of preparing for it, made everything real. Packing her things with her and crying over photos of us together with her were easier to do because at least she was still there. Still near me. Cool as her feelings for me may be her warm body was still there for me to cradle and be cradled in. Once she drove away nothing remained in me or our home but an echo bouncing off of empty walls. When we married I gave her my heart and therefore it left with her. I'll get it back. I'll fill it again. But for now I'm chasing an echo of the life I thought I had.
To get up to speed here's a rundown of what's transpired this month:
- separated from the wife after we decided that it's better for me not to move to Chicago with her
- lost (well, actually gave up) the apartment we shared for a year and made our home
- found out some disturbing news about our relationship only after she'd left
- moving in with my parents for support and honestly to save money
- speaking of money, I'm still looking for work
So, that's about where I am now. The wife's gone. The cat's gone. The apartment's gone.
Feelings of abandonment are harder to shake than I thought. Even though I'm not living alone I still feel alone. Left behind is perhaps more accurate. I had an idea of what life was going to be like once this week, the last week of February 2009, arrived. I'd be unpacking my things in a nice little apartment near Wrigley Field. I'd be eager to explore and take on a whole new city. Be on my own with my new family and was ready for that responsibility. But she wasn't. And I understand why she wasn't. But seeing her leave, even after weeks of preparing for it, made everything real. Packing her things with her and crying over photos of us together with her were easier to do because at least she was still there. Still near me. Cool as her feelings for me may be her warm body was still there for me to cradle and be cradled in. Once she drove away nothing remained in me or our home but an echo bouncing off of empty walls. When we married I gave her my heart and therefore it left with her. I'll get it back. I'll fill it again. But for now I'm chasing an echo of the life I thought I had.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
So scattered and lost, I want to touch the other side
I believe it's universal in life that once things get really, really bad that every sad or moving song is directed toward your own life. Hence the title of this post, poached from Maps of the Problematique by Muse. In the past week in my abundance of free time I've come across about a dozen new songs that continually loop through my head and iTunes. Honestly each one, when you read the lyrics, seems pretty sad. I don't think I enjoy these songs because I'm trying to throw myself a pity party. I'm beyond that point now, I think. I hope. No, I think these songs get to me because they describe how I feel rather than making me feel that way.
You know that feeling when you're down and a song comes on like Boyz to Men's End of the Road and you just sit down and make this noise? Well what I'm talking about is the opposite -- when a song comes on and someone way more talented than you is able to poetically describe the pain you both feel. I need that right now because it feels like my situation is so unique that I'm alone. I've lost so much that no one must know how I feel. Not true, Debby Downer. Everyone has problems; problems just like mine.
I've wanted to post about music for a while now. I find it fascinating that we not only created it, but rely so much on it. Sure, other animals have their music (see: birds) but all it is is a mating call. We use music for much more than sex, outside of night clubs, anyway. How did our ancestors know that stretching the skin of some poor animal they just ate for dinner (very health-conscious, by the way, removing the skin) and turning it into a drum would result in music? Sure, it probably started as noise. But I think the truly remarkable thing that we humans posses is rhythm (even we white people). Beats. Timing. Cadence. The elements of music that make us sway, bob our heads, jump and --especially when drugs were involved -- transcend. There's something about music that touches every single person in some way, from the ceremonial drum beats around campfires of centuries past to the strum of acoustic guitars or the bow across the strings of a violin today. I for one find comfort in knowing that there's a place I can escape to, and in some cases there are people who have been where I am and through their music transcended. That gives me hope. I'm climbing a mountain right now and every little boost I can get is much, much appreciated.
You know that feeling when you're down and a song comes on like Boyz to Men's End of the Road and you just sit down and make this noise? Well what I'm talking about is the opposite -- when a song comes on and someone way more talented than you is able to poetically describe the pain you both feel. I need that right now because it feels like my situation is so unique that I'm alone. I've lost so much that no one must know how I feel. Not true, Debby Downer. Everyone has problems; problems just like mine.
I've wanted to post about music for a while now. I find it fascinating that we not only created it, but rely so much on it. Sure, other animals have their music (see: birds) but all it is is a mating call. We use music for much more than sex, outside of night clubs, anyway. How did our ancestors know that stretching the skin of some poor animal they just ate for dinner (very health-conscious, by the way, removing the skin) and turning it into a drum would result in music? Sure, it probably started as noise. But I think the truly remarkable thing that we humans posses is rhythm (even we white people). Beats. Timing. Cadence. The elements of music that make us sway, bob our heads, jump and --especially when drugs were involved -- transcend. There's something about music that touches every single person in some way, from the ceremonial drum beats around campfires of centuries past to the strum of acoustic guitars or the bow across the strings of a violin today. I for one find comfort in knowing that there's a place I can escape to, and in some cases there are people who have been where I am and through their music transcended. That gives me hope. I'm climbing a mountain right now and every little boost I can get is much, much appreciated.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Seriously?
I don't know what this is, but classy it is not. Pouring an entire bottle of wine into one watermelon-sized glass does not emit a high level of sophistication. To me it says "I'm an alcoholic and I'm okay with everyone knowing it."
And what a great gift for Valentine's Day. Nothing says eternal love like giving your girlfriend a huge glass reservoir for booze.
Love conquers all...well, all but liver failure.
Notice that the ad says "if you're staying in for Valentine's Day." So maybe this is directed toward those numerous sad men that will be home on February 14th just like it's any other Saturday: watching reruns of King of Queens on channel 8 and downing a bottle of wine or four. And why not do it with a glass so massive you need to use both hands to drink out of it?
Truly classy.
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