Monthly Archives: August 2012

Childhood home sadness and work’s gone wild!

I have prepared myself all summer for the inevitable changeover for my job. See, this big, global company bought out the much smaller company I work for and we’ve been tentatively fed delicious morsels of “what’s gonna happen!” all year round. Now, we’re starting to get into the nitty-gritty, which means a lot of last minute adjustments and a lack of sleep. This also means my want to rant about such things is high, but the logical nature of how much people will want to read me bitching makes me face the fact that I’d do better to not write about it just yet. 

That complicated sentence means this: I’m busy with work crap, so I’m sorry I’m not writing massively witty posts and being cool and stuff.


Instead of being cool and stuff, I’ve spent my time at the un-cool job, and trying to fit my family and their events into that. So, Sunday, I spent the day celebrating my cousin’s daughter’s 1st birthday with all the family. This was great times, as always. The trip home? Not so much.

I grew up in the middle of nowhere. I lived next to cows. No, really. I did. I frequently tell people that. I moo-ed to them. They moo-ed back. They would rush the fence between my yard and my great-uncles and demand fresh cut grass with their moos. I would comply. And, moo back. I love animals. What else can I say?

I loved where I grew up. I know my father put a ton of work into that place. I loved the yard. We didn’t have quite an acre, but I loved it. I used to hit baseballs, softballs, golfballs out of it. I remember running after my dog in it. Over the years we had a garden, a boat (fun thing that it was), swings, and free space to roam in it. One of my favorite things to do after school was to spend some time just wandering the small yard, thinking. I’d walk around the little pines,  talking to myself (cause we all do that–just admit it).  I’d spend so much time just loving being free with myself.

After we remodeled, I always thought the place was so big. It was open, new, fresh. It was fun. I would spend my days off from school with a radio blaring, maybe playing a cd, and dancing around my living room because there was no-one to watch me be a fool. I loved looking out the kitchen window over our sink and watching the birds feed at the bird feeders. I loved everything about that place. 

My parents separated when I was 17. I hadn’t graduated high school yet. I was in my senior year. My mom moved out; I tried to deal with it. I had people running their mouth about me this year of my life, and basically ruined the entire experience of high school for me.  It took me a good four years to deal with the break-up of my family.  

Due to this break-up and a bunch of other stuff, the house I spent 18 years of my life in was ripped from me. My dad moved away.I lived with my mom in the college town I went to school in. Who knows who took over it? The few times I made it down to the town post my dad moving out didn’t show much degradation to the property.

Then, I went by it Sunday. Okay, look. I’ll admit. This is probably one of the most honest of the journal entries you’d ever get  from me. I’m nostalgic. To a fault. And, driving by my childhood home? It was as if someone stabbed me. I wish I could say that’s an exaggeration. But, it’s not.

I don’t know how many other people suffer what I did this weekend. I know things don’t stay the same. That’s a fact of life. I know stupid people do stupid things. But, I drove by this home that helped formed me, the home that still comes to me in my dreams and represents, probably, the most stable of places for me, and see a condemned notice hung on a window facing off the patio that hosted the majority of my graduation party? I lost it. I’m still losing it, and I’m mad. I’m not just sad. I’m mad. Why take a house to destroy it? Why do that? Why do people turn a property that, to be honest, wasn’t amazing, but was a pretty good piece to have and turn it to shit? It looked like a jungle ate it? Damnit, that was my house!?

I got over it a little bit, like I always do. I realize extending energy into feeling sad over that isn’t healthy. But, to be honest, to look at it just made me look at my life and family. My family broke up. I still have good relationships with people, but it broke up. This home we created as a home? It’s now broken up too. I feel bad for it. It’s a good plot of land. It was a good house. It raised a family. It saw the extension of a family. So many of the memories and experiences that formulated the person even typing these letters came from what happened there. And to see it like that?

I wish I had money. I wish I had won the damn lottery. I would buy that place. Not because it’s awesome/amazing/great investment. But, because, damn it all, it’s my home. The only damn one I think I’ll have. 


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Posted by on 08/22/2012 in Uncategorized


Olympics and other things…

…Or what Lauren spends massive time watching instead of writing.

I love the Olympics. I love what it represents. I love watching athletes doing things I have neither energy or will to do. Even with goofy faces, I enjoy the Olympian physique.  I’m the Olympics fan of normality.

I haven’t had much of an inkling to write since my last post. A lot of that has to do with the crazy nature of what is called my day job. The other part is the segments of life I spend awake, I spend watching the Olympics.

I also cry a lot. This has nothing to do with hormones but mostly because I seem to only show feelings of sadness to others in the forms of tears during commercials about Olympic athletes, actual performances of Olympic athletes, showcases of famous composers who write super famous music that makes me cry not because the music is super famous, but because I love music, and animals rescued from abuse. The last is the worst. How many different commercials must torture me??

I’m a sap. Okay. I said it. I love a good story. I love the heart-wrenching story. I love the concept of true love, and   cuddles for animals, and watching other peoples’ dreams come true.I love seeing people be happy.

I’m also a sarcastic bitch. I generally insult people to show I somehow like them, and I call some of the most favorite I encounter at my job: Pains in my ass.

Some might ask: Which is the truth?

Does that question have to be asked?

I am what I am. I don’t try to pretend because, while I can act, I prefer not to. I spent much of my young adulthood pretending. I spent so much damn time wondering what people thought of me that I forgot to be me. Does that mean I’m mean? No. I just try to be honest. I try to be true. I don’t believe in lying to someone because the lie makes them feel better.

In a lot of ways, the Olympics are things I relate to. I’m a writer. I don’t always write as much as I want to. Okay, let’s have the truth: I write no where NEAR what I want to. I spend a majority of my energy thinking about a goal, desiring it, setting it as the end result. But, the damn effort? That’s work and I already have a day job. But, in some cases, these athletes who put out so much once every 4 years, also have a day job. Some do other things besides train. Some make training their job. Some are moms. Wives.  If they can juggle their lives and compete on an international stage with everyone watching, what does that make me?

Watching the Olympics has inspired me, but not in the way I thought it might. Do I still want to write? Hell yes. Do I still think I need to spend more time “training”? Sure. But, nowadays, a huge part of the Olympics is pursuing a dream. Yes, part of my dream is writing. However, that’s not all.  I’m more than what I do. I have a dream more than writing.

If there’s anything anyone should ever take from ANY Olympics, it’s this: BE WHO YOU WANT TO BE. If that’s in that Gold category, so be it. If that’s just “I’m hella glad to be here.” Same thing.  But, damn, be who you want to be. There’s no one else out there to choose it for you. So, why the hell are you letting them?

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Posted by on 08/01/2012 in Uncategorized


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