From T-shirts to couch pillows –the tangible in my life screams of the past. Good, bad, happy and sad. “Things” I have acquired and kept year after year, move after move resurface and conjurs up emotions in me I cannot describe.
Birthday cards, college essays, my couch, my coffee table –that ugly sweater I will never throw away or ever wear in public. Everything I own has no monetary value, yet the magnitude of its value is held in my heart and soul.
Some will say, “It’s just stuff.” But I’ve moved enough in my life where the “stuff” I have kept, I must have kept for a reason. It reminds me of who I was, who I am, who I can be and who I want to be.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Adventures of Unemployment
April 22, 2011
My name is Charis Wallace. Yes, Charis. The "h" is silent. It is like Paris but with a "c." If I had a dollar for every time I had to say that in the past 26 years I would never need to be employed again.
I am as enagmatic as my name and I am starting this little journal/memoir to spin a devastating change to my life in to something. What exactly? I don't know.
It is 2011 and I have grown up knowing that employment is a good and necessary thing to have ... to well ... state the obvious, live. I have been fortunate to work in a number of different vocations in this life and this is how I define employment. I do something someone wants me to do and they pay me. Simple.
So, I have been being paid for the past 14 years to do various tasks that people and companies have paid me to do. I delivered newspapers, babysat, cashiered at a grocery store, stocked grocery stores, sauteed vegetables in a Yacht Club kitchen, waited tables, tended bar, sold condoms, took photos of condoms for a Web site, sold student loans, Answered phones, stuffed tubes with bananas, ordered takeout for blue men, sold tickets for blue men, marketed Medicare and more. I learned at a young age that employment gave me money and that gave me freedom. I was never imprisoned, but for some reason I grew up having a thirst for freedom and independence so I always had this thing we call employment. Doing things-doing anything and being paid money-money. Everyone needs it. Everyone wants it. Yet I hate it!
With all the money I have "earned," with the myriad of jobs I have done, I can't say too much positive about my financial stablility. One would think that an individual who worked so much from such a young age would have learned how to manage money and balance a friggin check book. That is not the case for this newly unemployed twenty something girl. My credit sucks, my debt is mountainous and a savings account doesn't exist. Not even a piggy bank. Ooops. I must have been absent the day they taught money management in high school.
I don't want to dwell on where the money went cause I don't even want to think about it. Rent, bills, college, Way too many clothes. That will do it. Okay, I am getting off track. So, back to employment and my definition and my life. In sum, I have been doing THINGS for OTHER people for the majority of my life. What makes me happy? What do I like? What do I want to do?
Don't worry, this isn't going to turn in to some existentialistic search for self. Just making a point. I have never put myself or my wants first. So I lost my job 2 days ago. By the way, I love how they say you "lost," your job, like it's next to that twenty in your winter coat pocket and you will surprisingly find it next December. Anyways, I have no job, we'll get in to that later.
My name is Charis Wallace. Yes, Charis. The "h" is silent. It is like Paris but with a "c." If I had a dollar for every time I had to say that in the past 26 years I would never need to be employed again.
I am as enagmatic as my name and I am starting this little journal/memoir to spin a devastating change to my life in to something. What exactly? I don't know.
It is 2011 and I have grown up knowing that employment is a good and necessary thing to have ... to well ... state the obvious, live. I have been fortunate to work in a number of different vocations in this life and this is how I define employment. I do something someone wants me to do and they pay me. Simple.
So, I have been being paid for the past 14 years to do various tasks that people and companies have paid me to do. I delivered newspapers, babysat, cashiered at a grocery store, stocked grocery stores, sauteed vegetables in a Yacht Club kitchen, waited tables, tended bar, sold condoms, took photos of condoms for a Web site, sold student loans, Answered phones, stuffed tubes with bananas, ordered takeout for blue men, sold tickets for blue men, marketed Medicare and more. I learned at a young age that employment gave me money and that gave me freedom. I was never imprisoned, but for some reason I grew up having a thirst for freedom and independence so I always had this thing we call employment. Doing things-doing anything and being paid money-money. Everyone needs it. Everyone wants it. Yet I hate it!
With all the money I have "earned," with the myriad of jobs I have done, I can't say too much positive about my financial stablility. One would think that an individual who worked so much from such a young age would have learned how to manage money and balance a friggin check book. That is not the case for this newly unemployed twenty something girl. My credit sucks, my debt is mountainous and a savings account doesn't exist. Not even a piggy bank. Ooops. I must have been absent the day they taught money management in high school.
I don't want to dwell on where the money went cause I don't even want to think about it. Rent, bills, college, Way too many clothes. That will do it. Okay, I am getting off track. So, back to employment and my definition and my life. In sum, I have been doing THINGS for OTHER people for the majority of my life. What makes me happy? What do I like? What do I want to do?
Don't worry, this isn't going to turn in to some existentialistic search for self. Just making a point. I have never put myself or my wants first. So I lost my job 2 days ago. By the way, I love how they say you "lost," your job, like it's next to that twenty in your winter coat pocket and you will surprisingly find it next December. Anyways, I have no job, we'll get in to that later.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
June 24th
Everything yearned for a story and my life needed fiction. Reality can be too hard. It felt like there was a boulder on my chest. I couldn't breathe -couldn't move.
My aunt put a photo of my uncle Scott on top of her as the wind whipped right through me, but managed to tangle my curly hair. We all stood around her. Some in silence, while others chatted quietly.
I couldn't even get a glimpse of her pearly white hair or her beautiful smile. All that was there was an urn in the ground surrounded by flowers.
Amazing Grace started playing in the background and I finally saw her. Strong and smiling, with her dark pools of eyes looking at me as they always did. Comforting me. Loving me. Letting me know she was okay.
My high heels sank in to the soft ground below me. I looked around at the others. I saw faces wet with tears and faces bright with smiles. Were we grieving or were we celebrating? What was I supposed to feel? Not knowing what to do, I grabbed my mother and held her tight but wore no emotion on my face. I was blank and numb.
Right then, at that very moment, I looked up and saw my 14 month old nephew. As if inebriated, he stumbled toward me (as he had only been walking for a few weeks then.) As he got closer to me, he reached out his arms. How did HE know that is what I needed when I didn't even know? I picked him up, held him close, and with all his strength he hugged me right back.
My aunt put a photo of my uncle Scott on top of her as the wind whipped right through me, but managed to tangle my curly hair. We all stood around her. Some in silence, while others chatted quietly.
I couldn't even get a glimpse of her pearly white hair or her beautiful smile. All that was there was an urn in the ground surrounded by flowers.
Amazing Grace started playing in the background and I finally saw her. Strong and smiling, with her dark pools of eyes looking at me as they always did. Comforting me. Loving me. Letting me know she was okay.
My high heels sank in to the soft ground below me. I looked around at the others. I saw faces wet with tears and faces bright with smiles. Were we grieving or were we celebrating? What was I supposed to feel? Not knowing what to do, I grabbed my mother and held her tight but wore no emotion on my face. I was blank and numb.
Right then, at that very moment, I looked up and saw my 14 month old nephew. As if inebriated, he stumbled toward me (as he had only been walking for a few weeks then.) As he got closer to me, he reached out his arms. How did HE know that is what I needed when I didn't even know? I picked him up, held him close, and with all his strength he hugged me right back.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
The haunting
Some people swore that the house was haunted. The other people knew better. Some people looked in to windows and saw cobwebs and demons. The other people looked and glimpsed at flower buds growing from the corners of the walls –as they saw past those cobwebs.
Some people looked at the house and would swear that it was empty emanating death and darkness. The others would tell you it was bountiful and full of life and could hear the chandeliers chiming.
The other people couldn’t identify with the some people and the some people thought that the other people were crazy. Both groups wondered how they were ever a one people.
So much had happened in that house. The good things were painted over by the bad things like the cloud hides the sun. It seemed as though the other people could see through the paint and could glimpse in to the good things that had happened in the house. Or maybe it was blind faith.
The separation of the some people and the other people was not instantaneous, as not much is. It slowly deteriorated as they lived in the house together. Things changed though. Nothing lasts forever. When the two groups detached, it sunk friendships and destroyed families.
To be continued.
Some people looked at the house and would swear that it was empty emanating death and darkness. The others would tell you it was bountiful and full of life and could hear the chandeliers chiming.
The other people couldn’t identify with the some people and the some people thought that the other people were crazy. Both groups wondered how they were ever a one people.
So much had happened in that house. The good things were painted over by the bad things like the cloud hides the sun. It seemed as though the other people could see through the paint and could glimpse in to the good things that had happened in the house. Or maybe it was blind faith.
The separation of the some people and the other people was not instantaneous, as not much is. It slowly deteriorated as they lived in the house together. Things changed though. Nothing lasts forever. When the two groups detached, it sunk friendships and destroyed families.
To be continued.
The Lake
My head was pounding from the ripples in the water. The water was loud even though the wind was weak. My fingers were numb and shaky. I smiled at the bird that perched himself on the rock beside me.
I did good. My dad would be proud I thought. I was a good son.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw my knee bouncing uncontrollably as a nervous anxious person would do. “Stop it,” I told myself out loud.
My right ear started ringing and my left eye twitched. I hit myself on the forehead and yelled, “Stop! Stop it now.”
The bird flew away.
I looked down at my fingers. My fingernails were dirty with blood. I picked up a twig from the ground and started cleaning them. I became calm. No more twitching. No more ringing. The dirt from the twig started to replace the blood from underneath my nails.
I looked out at the river in front of me. The sun was starting to come up. It was time for me to leave the burial site. I did my job well. After all, he killed my brother and retribution is my glory. My dad will be proud.
I did good. My dad would be proud I thought. I was a good son.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw my knee bouncing uncontrollably as a nervous anxious person would do. “Stop it,” I told myself out loud.
My right ear started ringing and my left eye twitched. I hit myself on the forehead and yelled, “Stop! Stop it now.”
The bird flew away.
I looked down at my fingers. My fingernails were dirty with blood. I picked up a twig from the ground and started cleaning them. I became calm. No more twitching. No more ringing. The dirt from the twig started to replace the blood from underneath my nails.
I looked out at the river in front of me. The sun was starting to come up. It was time for me to leave the burial site. I did my job well. After all, he killed my brother and retribution is my glory. My dad will be proud.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Bruises
She wanted to fly. She wanted to feel the wind on her face, the clouds at her fingertips and heaven at her toes. Sadly she was not in the air, but rather, she was sinking in to her bed. She dragged her fingernails across the mattress where the fitted sheet had come undone. Rolling on to her back, she noticed milky looking paint chipping off of the ceiling as she envisioned candescent snow dancing over her. She heard him coming.
He brought her coffee in bed and leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead. Forcing a smile -she slowly sat up accepting his offer. Ben placed himself on the edge of their bed. Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she met his stare and then whipped her head away as if shaking off a pesky mosquito. Fixated on the beige wall now, Amy muttered a "Thanks," lacking any tone or feeling in her voice.
The room was loud with their thoughts as they sat in silence. Amy shuttered spilling coffee on the comforter as Ben reached for her empty hand. "Crap, sorry," she exhaled. Ben slowly grabbed her mug like he was negotiating with someone who gribbed a gun. He placed it on the night stand and stared down at his lap. No words could come out. He conjured something up and whispered, "we'll get through this."
Tossing her head from the wall, she met his eyes. His once beautiful green eyes were now sad and dull-lacking their usual spark. She commanded her arm to reach out for him, but all she could place it on was his shirt cuff. She started fiddling with the ivory button on it and decided to lie. She grabbed both his hands, placed them in hers and replied, "I know, I love you."
With an apprehensive smile, Ben squeezed her hands tight, pecked her on the cheek and retreated from his seat on the bed. He left the room without looking back. Amy pulled the blankets over her head.
She knew she couldn't trick herself in to forgiving him again. There were too many nails in that coffin and the finality of it all killed her. Or would he kill her? Where would she go? What would she do? She felt a coolness behind her left knee and remembered. The only way she could leave was this way.
Jumping out of bed, almost falling down from the slippery hardwood, she grabbed the gun from underneath the covers. Instead of going after him immediately she caught herself in the mirror. She looked thin and weak with her most recent bruise taking occupation under her left eye. She stood there staring until her reflection became distorted and all that was left were blurry shapes and colors. She knew what she had to do to escape. She knew what she had to do to fly.
He brought her coffee in bed and leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead. Forcing a smile -she slowly sat up accepting his offer. Ben placed himself on the edge of their bed. Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she met his stare and then whipped her head away as if shaking off a pesky mosquito. Fixated on the beige wall now, Amy muttered a "Thanks," lacking any tone or feeling in her voice.
The room was loud with their thoughts as they sat in silence. Amy shuttered spilling coffee on the comforter as Ben reached for her empty hand. "Crap, sorry," she exhaled. Ben slowly grabbed her mug like he was negotiating with someone who gribbed a gun. He placed it on the night stand and stared down at his lap. No words could come out. He conjured something up and whispered, "we'll get through this."
Tossing her head from the wall, she met his eyes. His once beautiful green eyes were now sad and dull-lacking their usual spark. She commanded her arm to reach out for him, but all she could place it on was his shirt cuff. She started fiddling with the ivory button on it and decided to lie. She grabbed both his hands, placed them in hers and replied, "I know, I love you."
With an apprehensive smile, Ben squeezed her hands tight, pecked her on the cheek and retreated from his seat on the bed. He left the room without looking back. Amy pulled the blankets over her head.
She knew she couldn't trick herself in to forgiving him again. There were too many nails in that coffin and the finality of it all killed her. Or would he kill her? Where would she go? What would she do? She felt a coolness behind her left knee and remembered. The only way she could leave was this way.
Jumping out of bed, almost falling down from the slippery hardwood, she grabbed the gun from underneath the covers. Instead of going after him immediately she caught herself in the mirror. She looked thin and weak with her most recent bruise taking occupation under her left eye. She stood there staring until her reflection became distorted and all that was left were blurry shapes and colors. She knew what she had to do to escape. She knew what she had to do to fly.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
1-800-Mattress
doesn't know how to spell.
I was watching the news this morning in my sleepy stupor, and their commercial came on. Their cheesy jingle started to play, and the girl sang in the stupid jingle tune, "1-800-M-A-T-T-R-E-S." Um, hello. Why would I buy a mattress from a place that is not compliant with the english language. It it spelt correctly on the screen, but not in the jingle, and it bothered me so much that here I am writing about it. I'd rather buy my mattress from Sleepy's because in their commercials they jump on beds, and I enjoy a company that condones jumping on beds.
I was watching the news this morning in my sleepy stupor, and their commercial came on. Their cheesy jingle started to play, and the girl sang in the stupid jingle tune, "1-800-M-A-T-T-R-E-S." Um, hello. Why would I buy a mattress from a place that is not compliant with the english language. It it spelt correctly on the screen, but not in the jingle, and it bothered me so much that here I am writing about it. I'd rather buy my mattress from Sleepy's because in their commercials they jump on beds, and I enjoy a company that condones jumping on beds.
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