I haven’t written anything on here for a while, which I’m sure is the usual for many “bloggers.” As much as I love writing, I haven’t been motivated at all to write about anything. My brain has given me only a handful of ideas (both for this blog and just for my creative writing in general), and I haven’t been able to put any of those thoughts into words.
A lot has changed a year, as I suppose it normally does. In April of last year, my grandmother passed away. She was a month shy of being 95 years old. Oddly enough, the year before, my great-grandmother also passed away at the age of 94. While they were both somewhat sick, it all came down to “old age,” as they say. While I never knew my grandmother as much as I would have liked to, I still think of her often. I think about the relationship I could have had with her if things had been different. And although my mother doesn’t speak of it much, I can tell her mother’s death still pains her. Though we had gone to New York to see my grandmother about six months before, too much time had passed and my mother feels as though she never got to say goodbye. So, the closer the anniversary of her death gets, the more I worry about my mom. As terrible as it sounds, I’m able to forget my grandmother is gone every so often because I never saw her much. But I know the same can’t be said for my mom.
Also, last year while we were in New York for my grandmother’s funeral, my dad called — he wasn’t able to go to the funeral, he had to stay in Texas to work — and told us he had been fired from his job. This was another huge hit to the family. My dad has always been the provider of the house. He has always had the highest paying job, despite never attending college. He’s one of the best at what he does, and yet, the owner of the company still decided to fire him so he could put his son in my dad’s position. Nepotism at its finest.
Since I hadn’t been working for a year and a half, I figured the least I could do was find a job to pay for my own expenses, if nothing else. At the end of May, I’d interviewed for a job, and a week later, I had my first bank job. (Italics are necessary because a job at a bank always felt more important than any other part-time entry-level job I’d had.) I’ve now been a teller for nine months, and I don’t hate it, which is pretty cool. After a week of training, they offered me the full-time position which has been a big help. I like most of the people on most days, and while I’m not the absolute best at the job, they haven’t made it sound like they’re going to fire me, so I’m doing alright. The only thing is, I am not going to be working here for the rest of my life because this bank doesn’t exist in the general Northeastern part of the United States and that is where I’d like to live my best life. But until my mother gets better — she is still on the list to get a kidney transplant — I’ll be living in the Rio Grande Valley, helping her out, and working at this bank on the side.
My father has since had three or four jobs, I can’t remember anymore to be honest, and he’s hated all of them. The jobs he wants, employers say he’s too experienced for, and the other jobs just don’t pay him enough to get by. Mind you, I have offered to help him pay the electricity bill or the water bill or the cable bill but he always says no. That’s where I get my stubbornness from, I guess.
All of this, among other things I won’t add in because they’re not as important and will only make this post longer, are the reasons why I haven’t been motivated to write at all, whatsoever. But this is me attempting to start something, even if it’s just talking about myself (sorry not sorry). I guess we’ll see how it goes!
Sidenote: I just realized the only reason I listed as to why I won’t be working at the bank forever is because I won’t be in the area anymore. I didn’t say it was because working at a bank isn’t my dream, which is upsetting. I’d like it to be known that a part of me would still very much enjoy working at a publishing company and writing books on the side.
Searching for Serotonin 