Woodstock was absolutely amazing... I really never wanted to come back to NYC. I'm so obsessed with that house that if it should ever go on the market, I will sell a kidney to put a down payment on it. I wish that I could convince its current owner to let me stay free of charge for the remainder of Summer and renovate it by hand for no cost- she would just have to pay for materials and my labor would be free of charge. It has an awesome layout and awesome architecture, but It could use a few improvements in the way of a kitchen renovation and some new tiles in the bathrooms.
View from the Tower... so fucking awesome.
My sexy legs: a combination of bug bites, and bruises incurred from dancing like a stripper... don't ask. You should see the cigarette burn on my arm and the road rash I got from itching the bug bites on my back... I am so disgustingly beat up right now it is comical.
It was a real slap in the face today returning to a city with streets that smell like dead rat, human shit, and piles of garbage festering in the 85 degree humidity. I miss the smell of fresh cut hay and the scent of the woods. I miss the silence at night as opposed to the sounds of sirens I hear even now as I type this, and the fucking sound of construction across the street every morning at 7am. I miss waking up to birds singing and looking out the windows of the bedroom I stayed in to see mountains and trees. I don't know why I live here sometimes... I really don't know what I'm doing here.
I can't even put into words how much fun I have every time I am there- I mean it helps that I go with my awesome boyfriend and crazy-awesome friends, but like, shit... I am still having fun even when I drink to the point of throwing up. I think I still find the perfect balance of partying and chilling. I wish my entire life could be like that always. I wish I could occasionally just do things at home to make money like customized festival costumes and writing novels. The rest of my life would be spent actually living and enjoying all that it has to offer.
The stairs leading down to a stone patio on a hill... I definitely failed to take more pictures of how beautiful the garden and actual house were. Oh well, I have airbnb.com for that :p
Summertime is not meant to be spent amongst concrete buildings in an ugly, filthy city with polluted air... it's meant to be spent running around barefoot in a garden. It's meant to be spent BBQ-ing with friends on a deck overlooking the woods- it is meant to be spent sitting in a hot-tub under the stars with a bottle of Prossecco. I want to wake up every day and sit in a hot tub with a mimosa. I want to have the luxury of moseying on downtown to the local pub for an afternoon drink on the patio with friends. I want to cook meals for my friends and family every weekend and see everyone have fun. I hate that reality here consists of working my ass off for what oftentimes seems like a means to no end. Will things ever get better? They have to, right?! Right???
I wouldn't be so depressed right now if work didn't keep getting worse and worse. I sincerely feel as if the best days of my life are slipping by sometimes because this is the youngest, healthiest, and most alive I will ever feel. I hate that all of my energy and time is wasted on a job that doesn't even provide me with a disposable income to actually do things and explore the world. I hate that I don't even have two consecutive days in a row off now so that I have some sort of semi-weekend type deal. I used to at least have some fucking consistency in my work schedule. I mean, because I work retail I accepted the fact long ago that I will work most weekends and holidays. However, despite the fact that we have more managers than we have had in the past year and 8 months that I've been working at this job, we have more fucked schedules than ever before as the direct result of power-trips and micro-managing.
For a while, we had a team of 7 managers... SEVEN. Even when we had only seven managers, everyone had a more consistent schedule and one which they were happy with. We now have SIXTEEN (16) managers, and no one is happy with their schedule. It makes no sense either, since we all have different wants and needs in terms of days off. For example, most people would love to have off Friday and/or Saturdays... I will work closing shifts every goddamn Friday and Saturday as long as I can have off Sunday since my boyfriend and the majority of my friends work those nights. It is absolutely pointless for me to be off on a Friday night, because all of the people I want to hang out with are working so I will spend it alone. Even if I get out at 10pm I can still go do something as long as I close again the following day. Other people love to have their days off at separate points of the week because it breaks the week up for them. I personally cannot stand having my days off separate. Unless I have two consecutive days in a row, I feel like it's not an actual break. I get nothing done, I don't feel at all rested, and I just feel fucked-over. Next week, I don't have a SINGLE DAY OFF with my boyfriend. I am off on Wednesday and Friday, neither of which is he off. Two other managers would love Friday off and have offered to trade their Monday off for my Friday off, however, even though we used to trade shifts all the time with no problem, apparently we can no longer do so... it makes no fucking sense. It's like they literally want us to be miserable and hate our jobs and our lives. It wouldn't be so bad if work wasn't 45 hours of my fucking life every week. It wouldn't even be so bad if I made enough money to make up for how dicked around I am. I am not sure how much longer I can hold my shit together while I search for a better job. I am looking at serving and hostessing jobs just because I can't continue to work under these conditions. It is absolutely uncalled for.
I guess I will try to peace together my mental sanity for the sake of everyone in my life. I almost cried multiple times at work today it was so mentally torturous to be in that dark fucking dungeon of a stockroom and that awful sales floor with the crap music that makes me want to end my life by jumping from the second pier and the smell of cologne polluting my fragile lungs as it leaks from the scent system on our ceiling. If there is a God (and I believe there is), I truly hope he hears my pleas for help. I'm definitely doing all I can to GTFO. I don't know what else to do... if I did, I would surely do it.
