Excuse me if anything I write seems simple or childish. I’m only asking to be excused because, despite this being my blog, I can tell when I just want to verbally bang my little five year old fists and make a mental fit about things.
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I’m not really interested in money necessarily. The monetary value of items: yes. The actual pieces of green/multi colored paper?: no. One thing I’m afraid to admit to my parents (more or less my dad) is that I wouldn’t mind being a deputy level Coroner/Medical Examiner. Sure, if your a Chief you run a lot more things AND you bring home a bigger check. In my eyes, I’d still be doing/working with something I know I would enjoy no matter what position I took in that field. Something that I could wake up in the morning and say: ‘Ah. . .I really like what I do’. I have my handful of dream jobs too. If I could live in a small house in Michigan making a living off of my creativity and actually do it everyday knowing I wouldn’t necessarily get tired of it and could do it for the rest of my life, I would. . .if I knew I’d be able to REALLY take care of myself and make a difference somehow, some way. Also, if I knew that I could eat and breathe Prisma colored pencils, ink, and lead for the rest of my life, I’d do it too, but I know that I have more interests than just art and I really want to get into something that has a challenge attached to it. Something that will always hold my interest. To actually work with a creation that’s not mine: the human body.
The reason I bring this up is because I feel like as I get older it’s become . . .not more obvious, but kind of crippling. I’ve had very much exposure to the costs of things, my dad liked to remind me of it everyday, from my violin case to the light bill, my dad would never let me forget the cost of anything. It was good in a way where I valued things a lot more. . .especially when they were turned off. It was bad when I felt like I couldn’t ask for money for school or orchestra because I was too worried about the cost of lights, and water, and food. It gave me a mindset that money was not something we had much of and I needed to respect that and work with it on some level. Not to say I never crossed that boundary and extremely pissed off my parents (dad) and had to kind of be verbally slapped in the face for making whatever comment I made, but, after awhile, I know not to go anywhere near it. I ran into an issue where I nearly wasn’t able to pay tuition for school this semester because my family was moving and my dad didn’t map out money well. I almost had to fucking transfer and I was pissed and upset and frustrated on the inside, but I knew better. If my roommate and my best friend didn’t convince me to take things into my own hands, I would’ve done what my dad told me and transferred because I couldn’t get angry or upset about it if there was no other option. I couldn’t yell at my dad because it was about money that wasn’t there and getting angry about an issue I already knew might become present, despite my dad telling me not to worry about it and to NOT GET A JOB AND FOCUS ON SCHOOL, I felt like there would have to be some type of financial mess up that would have to be resolved, I just assumed it wouldn’t be so big and that it would be relatively small and easily taken care of. . . .and it wasn’t and I had to dig myself out of a seemingly big hole. Once I found out what I needed to do, it was easier, but it took a few things here and there to really pick myself out of it. The important part in that situation is that, despite being pissed at the fact that I nearly had to rush to fill out an application for another college that I didn’t even know would take me, I didn’t once put any anger towards my dad. I didn’t get mad, at one point I told him that it was okay and that I would transfer, but I couldn’t stand leaving somewhere I had finally settled into. I couldn’t go through trying to get acclimated again, it would be too much. It would’ve also meant being transferred my first year out of school for the 3rd time in my life. First year of middle school: transferred. First year of highschool: transferred. All the transfers I had SUCKED. I didn’t want my first year of college to be like that, especially when I was at a point where I was doing so well.. Maybe my second year, if money really got tight, but not my first year. . .
I’ll always know for whatever thing that doesn’t get paid right away or something that’s left, that there’s a REASON. I’m just in school and I can tell when things financially aren’t great because, clearly, it effects me in a more direct way. I know my dad told me not to worry about it because he felt like he’d be able to take care of it and he wanted me to feel secure because he knew I was having trouble adjusting and that it would be kind of terrible to hear. I didn’t necessarily want to hear it on my birthday . . .but I’m glad he let me know. I just know that I’m going to HAVE to manage school and a job. I’m going to make a way so that I don’t have to depend on my dad completely, because he has so much that he has to do on his own. He doesn’t have the amount of support he needs because of all the things he manages. He’s like a man with 3 giant boulders on his back, the stress of it is going to kill him. . .literally. I know because he practically takes fucking pills for it. You may ask where my mom is in all of this, but my mom’s part is a different story entirely. Bottom line is I have to figure it out and there’s certain group of people *points to best friend* that believe I can do it when I feel like I’m not that strong. The only thing driving me is the fact that my dad CAN’T do it on his own and that I have to do it.
I looked at the estimate for my books for next semester and ALL I could think was ‘If only I could sell one of my eyes or toes or half my tongue or something on the black market, I would be able to pay for my books’ I’d sell my boob or something if I could. . .I mean it. If it meant I could just finish this year with something, I would. I’m partially joking. . .I’d only sell something I don’t need like one of the toes in between my my big toe and my pinky toe. . . .but I can only pray that I can get the money to do it from somewhere because my dad doesn’t have it right now and I don’t have it because . . .of things that were not in my control whatsoever, which is why I want to rant about this a bit. Once again, I’m not really a money person and I hate it when it kind of makes me feel some type of emotion because it’s a fucking object and the only reason it matters is because it’s attached to many of the things I need that. . .aren’t coming easy to get. I know things will work themselves out, I’m merely frustrated because everything kind of lacks control and I want some stability for more than five seconds. I just wanted to rant. Release some frustration held in for the last couple of months.