Confessions, changes, and goodbyes

Societal wisdom seems to dictate and encourage young people to settle down and marry after college. I can recall professors, friends, and family to give such advice repeatedly. For whatever reason, I never listened nor fully understood the pertinence of doing so, especially as a woman, until recently.

My dream in college was to ride the train of academia all the way to the top and become a Dr. of something. Research, write, lecture and do general scholarly stuff – that was the plan. That started to become difficult when love, marriage, and the maternal instinct kicked in.

At first it seemed entirely feasible to accomplish in tandem. My first husband was in college with me and had the same plan of obtaining a Doctoral degree in Psychology, the daughter field of Philosophy. So, dreams of sitting in arm chairs with a glass of fine wine in our study against the backdrop of a crackling fireplace filled our heads. We talked about that study, what we wanted it filled with. How we wanted a room for exotic animals for studying purposes. There was that connection of two scholars.

But there were many problems.

We were married and living in his parents basement along with his grandmother, aunt, uncle, brother, and two god-children. This was not how I pictured married life to be. Quickly, fighting ensued. I was getting the baby itch: he was adamant against doing so until entire financial and career security, I was set in my ways that I wanted a family and wanted it now. We didn’t have our own place to live, and neither of us wanted to live like that but neither could fathom nor obtain a job that could come close to affording such a thing while full-time students.

As a Philosophy student, I was also very rapidly changing my personal philosophies and finding my niche in the field. The more I studied, the more who I was before college came to change. What started as a Christian wife, became an Atheist wife shaking the very foundations of the marriage. I started living out my new morals and philosophies the more they became integrated into my core being and mind.

Needless to say, it went down in flames.

Fast-forward through the parts I’ve already blogged about (falling apart, debt to the college preventing me from finishing my education, re-marrying…)

And here I am at a similar place.

My debt is freed, my last course is completed, and my Bachelors of Philosophy is on its way. The divide that was there before has reared its ugly head and I came to a point recently when I had to chose. My philosophies and studies were not complete, and more changes occurred. The baby itch returned in even fuller force (the woman’s clock ticking away) and I have maintained an apartment and successful, albeit entry-level, job for quite a few years now. Academia and scholarship was not fitting into the model I currently had at all. From the pragmatic, not book-ish husband, to the accumulation of factors that secure me tightly to where I am, and all the way to my thesis revolving around universal doubt and how a polyamourous society frees the female self.

Do I chase my academia, uproot all I’ve built, live in polyamory and ethical skepticism? The change is too abrupt, too destructive, too painful.

When one chooses love, marriage, family, the paradigm shifts. There is a reason many a philosopher and social activist lived the independent life.

There is a reason why it is admonished to young people to settle down after their studies. The dreams shift, they must. Especially when they are exclusive and variant from their partners.

For the time being, I have chosen love and family. For the time being, this stings. Before my studies I dreamed of being a mother and living the simple life. I would work, sure, but I would thrive most in the simplicity of familial happiness and love. I had lost his dream for some time, and it has been combating the alternate dream for my attention in the background but while returning to school was not an option, it lost by default.

The pursuit of Philosophy and academia must be bid farewell. Who I am in it, is no longer who I am now. She has tried to remain, but has only caused pain and raged to uproot me from all I know and have become.

A new day is dawning. Whether the old dream will resurface, or will crash in flash, only time will tell. One must die and fall to the ground for another to rise and give birth to new life.


Work hard play hard

A mantra to live for.

Except when work is too slow to work hard enough. Every server’s had that day. Sometimes they stay and just plain get jaded into just standing around and not working (how often can you clean every thing ?). So, another thing happens, you get that rare and magical offer “you can go home if you want.”

The “If you want” ends up ringing in my head and eating away at my conscious as I drive. Regret. Guilt. The clearing thought of “oh my god my manager’s going to get the impression that I don’t want to work and that I’m that one person they can always call off on slow days! Stupid stupid stupid!”

Can’t turn back.

So what’s the message? It’s not a #serverproblems post.

Work hard, play hard. If you can’t work as hard as you wish you could play hard, and turn it into work.

As I continued driving further away, my mind soared at this and jotted down topics and scenes and characters to write about. The Hobby Lobby fiasco anyone? Next time maybe.

For now, a penny for your thoughts or whatever it’s worth to you?

Money the root of evil


It’s an old adage that we know best from the Christian scriptures: Money is the root of all evil. Doubtful, that it truly is the single root of all evil…. However something in it does ring true.

I’ve been busting my ass the past few weeks pulling twelve hour work days, hustling two jobs. Loving one, hating the other and ending my day unhappy. The bills don’t stop coming. Knock out one, another pops up. My medical bills alone from the last hospital stay quickly brought me into a downward jaded spiral of seeing nothing but green. Nothing has been enough for me.

Finally. Here I am writing again. Just the act of typing and engaging my mind brings me more joy than I’ve had in weeks.

Why? Because money isn’t everything. It buys stuff, and can buy a lot of happiness, sure. But for me, it’s not my life purpose. It’s a means to an end. If it becomes my purpose, it will never be enough, as it hasn’t these past weeks.

How silly.

But that’s me. What are your thoughts? Worked hard, so screw the penny… Want a nickel for em? 😉

Playing Your Hand

bad hand

Before typing this thought, I need to give respectful credit of where I read my best example of this metaphor:
whose book I reviewed here:
and whose said book you can purchase here:

Now that that is done.

The metaphor is a brilliant one, and something I often forget. Life is, at times, truly like a Poker game in that you are given but one hand. There is no trading, and who knows if you’ll get another round? Only the dealer knows (and who the hell is s/he? You don’t know the dealer. No one does. Just this ominous neutral party who throws you cards at random. Run with THAT metaphor however you see fit).

So, you’re handed a shit hand. Gonna sit and whine about it or do something with it? Yeah, you could bluff and fight and scrape your way through. And yeah, you could put all in and lose all. But facts are, you have a shit hand. It’s your choice if you want to shoot for the win or sit back and take your loss.

This has been the fuel of my personal thoughts and meditations. The life I was born into did not give me much to go on. If anything, it fucked me up pretty bad. Yeah, my folks did the best they could but I don’t blame them. I blame no one. I can’t, what good would it do? Whining and hiding this reality has gotten me nowhere. I haven’t been able to progress anywhere in my life until I accepted the facts and did what I could with it. I have to work with what I have.

Luckily, the fact that the converse of what I am trying to do is a reality is quite an encouragement: people with perfect hands lose as well. People born into stability, connections, recognition, and the like… they lose the game too. T

So with the facts lined up, it’s quite obvious that the hand isn’t to blame. It’s the one playing them.

But hell, what do you think? Am I wrong? Too hopeful? Is the metaphor too much of a stretch or does it fit?



(P.S. If someone can advise me as to why the “link” option on posts is not working on my WordPress… that would be lovely)

Atheists’s should kill themselves

kill yourself

I was partaking in a discussion on abortion when I realized I was arguing with individuals with set religious biases. It seemed necessary to clear the air concerning my own biases, so I set about explaining my perspective as an Atheist, and my view on abortion and life upon the assumption that there is no God.

The above image is a screenshot from a particular Christian I was opposing due to her constantly using “God said…” as the premise for her arguments.

I wasn’t mad at her. The truth is I have said similar things to individuals in an argument when I was a Christian. Many people still don’t believe that individuals can be so indoctrinated into their religion to really believe and say such things, but I can personally attest to it as true from having been one spewing it, and now the one to receive it on multiple occasions. It can be difficult for someone so in depth in the belief that there is a deity who loves and lives in commune with them personally, that there is any life outside of such a relationship. It becomes more than a crutch or a drug, it becomes everything and the whole universe shatters around them at the prospect of it not being real.

Thoughts? How would you have reacted? Can you understand it, or is it simply too bizarre?