Nurse Sean (dot) com

I’ve heard of sessions with a psychiatrist where the patient has run out of things to say, so they will just sit there staring at each other for the whole hour. Thats how I’ve been feeling with this journal lately. I open it up, and nine out of ten times we just stare at each other. Then I close it and go to bed. The rest of the time I just force myself to write. I miss having endless amounts of things to say.

So, I’m getting sicker everyday. Each day I don’t think my cold will get worse. Then it does. It doesn’t help that I’m still doing university and working six days a week. Its hard for your body to stay healthy. At least I have a fever, and I’m sweating like a pig. My immune system is there for me. It can only get better.

I was upset at work today, because Adrian and Lucy went to Starbucks head office to have a meeting about Christmas products. I of course wasn’t invited, which I found quite insulting. Apparently I’m not a manager any more, and its no longer important for me to go to these things. Well…at least that’s what my irrational mind is saying. It took a couple of deep breaths and a slap on the face to get back in touch with reality. Still, this isn’t the first time I’ve been made to feel like the least important of our leadership team.

I haven’t studied at all in the last week, and its really pissing me off, because I don’t want to lose my A average in Sociology. So, I MUST start studying like mad and learn everything. I want to prove to me, and my parents and anyone who ever thought that I couldn’t do it, that I can get an A. Its just been so hard. Even after giving up my trumpet part, I’m dead exhausted. I have no energy, I’m sliding towards the depressed side. I need to rid myself of this sickness and thrust myself back into that frenzied rush of energy I had for all of September. Second wind, where are you?

Of course, my money situation is making me a little depressed wich is in turn draining me of energy. I knew this would happen, but I’ve hit rock bottom. I have nothing at all. If I wanted underarm deoderant tomorrow, I’d be out of luck. Don’t worry, I’ve got lots. I’ve got no food, I can’t buy new clothes, I have to pray I don’t use the gas in my truck up before my next paycheck. I’m officially poor.

I told my mother though. I want to be poor. I need to see it so that I stop depending on the luxuries I insist on. I need to find bottom, so I can rise above it. I told my mother, “I remember you told me a story that when you were my age, a fun night out was a bottle of coke, the tv, and a couple friends. My fun night out costs me a hundred dollars. I need to stop that or I’ll never pay my bills. I need to make myself broke in order to finaly stop spending.” So far its working. I’ve made myself broke. I’ve learned my lesson. If I hadn’t bought that dvd, I could have bought myself cough medicine today. Lesson learnt.

Its about time I starting growing up financialy, not just emotionaly.

Its late, however yesterday I “won” some Christmas blend coffee at work, so I absolutely HAD to try it out. Its my duty. I have to know what all our coffees taste like. I need to describe them to my customers. Actually, I just wanted a coffee high.

So here I sit listening to “One Night in Bangkok” and forcing myself to write in my journal. I really don’t have anything deep to say. Which is fine, whenever I do it never turns out the way I’d like it too. It sounds so much better in my mind.

Work has been fine the last couple days. Not a lot to report there, but I must say things have been much better lately. We have a new girl named Savannah. She’s quite amazing and a quick learner. I can tell she’s going to be very good. She’s kind of fun because she’s morman and can’t drink coffee…and works at a coffee shop. I love her to death so far, but REALLY, I see love of coffee as a pretty important prerequisite for working at a Starbucks. Oh well.

School is…well…school. I got a B- on an test I worked my ass off for. That was kind of depressing. I have this eerie problem of completely forgetting how stressful and difficult school is each time I go back. I refuse to quit this time. I’ve become a much different person over the last year or so. I’m not so much into giving up anymore. I think that came mostly from recognizing that I am a quitter. This is my way of proving that I can overcome that habit.

A blanket of snow hit Calgary last night. Snow is always fun…the first time. It only seems to get worse from then on. Its crazy how the first snow always seems to solidify the feeling that Hallowe’en is a few days away. I can feel the creepyness of the spirits floating through the air. Well…I love the creepyness…whatever it happens to be. Ok, not creepyness. Its a mystic aura that surrounds the newly darkened landsape. There…that sounds more poetic.

After all, I want to sound more poetic. This isn’t a good example. Hell…its coffee induced rambling. I love these. Its almost as though I’m giddy to the core of my spirit. For no real reason, but coffee. So I just chant my thoughts through my fingers on the typewriter.

Well, if you call these thoughts. Actually, I suppose that if I’m thinking them, their thoughts. A thought needs no purpose to be a though. Needs no meaning just so it can be expressed.

I should shut up. I’m annoying even myself with this absurdity.

Work - good
school - ok
sex life - LOL
love life - gave up

Goodbye for now

Its incredible how much I admire reading previous entries of mine. I read the previous entry I wrote and giggle at the grammar mistakes, and marvel at my depth, and wonder if anyone really ever truly understands what I’m saying. I wish I would write more journal entries, instead of leaving gaping time gaps. For one thing, I have amazing thoughts every day that I feel need to be written down. For another, I want to giggle, marvel, and wonder at myself more often.

I began writing my religious studies paper yesterday. I read aloud the first paragraph and laughed, because I realized that I was writing it in a similar style to that of my journal. I honestly don’t think this is a negative concequence of my journal. In fact I believe my writing skills have increased exponentialy. Mostly just the flow of my writing…the flow and the essence of what I’m expressing. Perhaps you disagree and think my writing is shit. Well, that’s for you to see in my writing. I see improvement.

Anyways, I didn’t start this journal to express my feeling on writing this journal. Mostly I started it to practice puting some of the incredible deep thoughts I own into words. I don’t think I’m fully doing this well yet, but if I keep on working at it, perhaps one day. I’m still talking about writing this journal…I’ll stop.

Its been an alright couple of weeks. My previous energy level peaked a couple weeks ago after the end of “Cabaret”. I immediately picked up my trumpet and began to practice the lead trumpet part for “Gypsy”. I was in heaven. I’ve been ignoring my inner musical nature for five years now, dreaming of it repeatedly. I always dream that I’m playing in my highschool band again and I’m with all my friends and we’re happy. I’ve never been happier. I’m playing music again. And then I realize in my dream that I can’t go back to highschool and I switch to a new dream. No, I can’t go back to highschool. I can however make music again. So I practiced for an hour or two every day until my lips hurt and the pain of my wisdom teeth forced me to shove ice cubes in my mouth. However, my mother finaly mentioned the performance schedule to me. I couldn’t do it, it was too much. I didn’t have the time. When I was in highschool, my dream was to play professionaly for the orchestras in musicals. Perhaps this dream will come true another time.

I’m loving school too much. I love being there, and being in class. I love writing tests, and reading my text books and arguin over whether or not Marx’s views on religion were absolutely negative. I loved seeing my first A’s ever on the two tests I wrote. I love being a nervous wreck over a test I have tomorrow that I’m not ready for. I dreamed once…I still do, that I would have my PhD one day. I wanted to get up in front of a hundred people and teach them. I wanted to have the word doctor in front of my name. Not just because is gave me status, but because I could finaly justify myself withing my family. As the baby of the family, I’m always thought of as the “Not so smart one”. I’m naiive, crazy, ridiculous, dumb. I want to walk in that door and proclaim that I’m more educated than any of them ever will be, and to treat me with respect! I dream…mostly for myself though, family conflict aside. I want that as a career. I want to be in the newspaper described as “the leading expert on….”. I think I’d be happy. I’ve always loved the idea of sitting in a little office scattered with hundreds of reference books, thrusting my knowledge and theory on an unsuspecting public. I want to mark papers. I want to live the university life forever. I have no funds though. I already have massive student loans that I wasted away. I was a horrible student who fucked up is entire university career by skipping the majority of classes. The sad thing is…now that I’m good enough, its too late. Nobody cares about what I may discover as a professor. My thoughts will go unheard forever.

Except for here. This place where my writing skills will forever improve, and perhaps I will learn to describe the emotion of making music…and this will be enough.