For the last two months I have been working on my brand new blog: Confessions of a Cart Jockey. I have stopped and started many blogs over the years but so far this is the one that I have been most consistent with. There are a couple of reasons for this. I have my own laptop now and Wi-Fi so I don't have to make huge concessions in my schedule to be somewhere at a certain time of the day in order to update and maintain a blog. Two, I have an actual purpose for my blog as opposed to just posting whatever random crap flies into my head. At the age of 31 I am a retail cart jockey. Most people are probably decent enough to not worry themselves over the direction my life has taken to lead to this point. After all, there is a woman my age at the same store who is the manager. What choices did she make in her life that were better than mine? Who cares? I have bills to pay now and this is what I'm qualified to do. Confessions of a Cart Jockey is my personal exorcism first and foremost. A self guided therapy designed to help me communicate the events in my day to day life and the feelings they may trigger. For the readers, I want them to take a look at ever single carriage gatherer, or garbage collector, or any person working in any position that you might take for granted and actually ask yourself, "Hmm. I wonder if there's more to him or her than their job?"
So, Thursday my leg began throbbing. It's a pain that's been coming and going for a while. Sometimes it hurt to put weight on it and when I moved it around some, the pain would go away so I chalked it up to muscle stiffness and ignored it until this past Thursday when it just wouldn't not go away. I hesitated to go to the emergency room, because I didn't want the pain to go away and to be considered a hypochondriac or worse, a malingerer since I lived at the Shelter. (To those of you whose first instinct is to say, "Well it's illegal for them to", just stop right there. Being legal or "right" doesn't play into someone's actions. You know that.) But, after I showed the shelter nurse my leg, she saw the redness and swelling and insisted I go to the emergency room. So lo and behold, the diagnosis was cellulitis. And on the first day they perscribed me some oral antibiotics, which the shelter nurse was kind enough to help me with the co-pay for. (It was that Thursday evening and I wouldn't have money until Friday, when I went for the testing at MIT. The doctor insisted I needed to get on the meds as soon as possible or I wouldn't get better.) Anyhow, Friday when I got back from Boston, it was too late in the evening. The emergency room line was too long and I didn't feel like waiting hours, so I went back the next morning. And the doctor on staff this time around took a look at the leg and said that it wasn't clearning up as fast as he'd have liked it. So he had me admitted to the hospital. Fun. I lasted about seven hours into the day. For the record. I've never been happy sitting on my ass all day, just watching TV. And when I got to the ninth floor where the patient rooms were, that was all there was to do. Watch tv in my room, or watch TV in the patient lounge. Mind you, I've been to the Salem Hospital's psychiatric ward. There were books, magazines, and games with small sharp plastic pieces all in a locked floor where people who thought they were prisoners of President Obama but I can't find so much as a posted wall copy of Patient's Rights on the wall of the supposedly "sane" ward just two floors up. The point is that after a few hours of watching a James Bond Marathon, I began going a little stir crazy. I asked if I could get outside for some air, but the nurse on duty insisted I wait for the doctor. Fine. I waited. Finally Doctor Shamylan (yeah, he was Indian, yes M. Night Shamylan is Indian, no I am not comparing the two because I am racist. Hear me out.) gets around to seeing me. And his treatment plan is to give me a series of antibiotics intravenously of the course of two days in addition to my oral medications to see if that cleared it up. Only in the same conversation he said he didn't know how long it would take. Then he gave me a another length of time. Then I asked if I could go out for some fresh air and he looked at me like I asked for a bottle Don Perion and a plate of grapes. Then he told me it was against hospital policy and that it "wasn't his fault" because I could not leave the building without an aid or a nurse. I'll tell you why that was bull**** in a moment. Everytime I asked him a new question he'd throw me a different plot twist that had little of anything to do with with what he just told me and ended up leaving me more confused and wondering why I would spend my money to partake in his work. Much like Night Shamylan of late. So there. I finally got sick of the mindgames and the being stuck inside and just signed the AMA. (Against Medical Advice) On my way out of the fourth floor exit, I see not one, but two patients hanging around outside. Both were wearing bathrobes, one in a wheel chair and the other standing with an IV bag dangling from the little pole he was pushing around. Not one nurse or aid to be found, not even in the lobby of the exit. And this was an exit facing the parking lot that opened out onto Highland Avenue, so not very secure at all if someone wanted to orchestrate some kind of escape/kidnapping. So, after a few hours, I had some fresh air. Calmed down a bit and I went back to the emergency room. I explained to the doctor that I basically panicked because the doctor couldn't seem to give me a straight story. And that I wasn't comfortable staying in the hospital anymore because of it. We worked out a plan where I would just come in for a couple of days as an outpatient for an IV. So far it's clearing up at least, but honestly that Saturday could have gone better. I don't even feel like going into all of the details about the evening visit, but let me just tell you the conclusion I came to finally. Every doctor is going to give you a different opinion. Every doctor thinks he or she is the King **** when it comes to their medical opinion. My problem was getting too caught up in the different opinions and thinking, "Why can't they keep the story straight?" When it comes right down to it, you have to trust your own instincts. Go with the doctor's opinion that's most convenient for you and document everything he says because if he's wrong it's his ass on the line. .
So, I particpated in a brain study yesterday, which took me into the bowels of one of the most prestigious universities in the country. Thus proving my point that the only way I could ever get into MIT is if I were a test subject there. It was just pen and paper testing yesterday, which I got paid for. But if I get invited back to do the rest of it I could get some cool pictures of my brain from the MRI and up to four hundred dollars. Thinking of trying to turn my brain into a T-shirt concept. But I digress.
I don't want to get too descriptive about where this post comes from, as it might give someone the wrong idea. But, the root of this issue has been a thorn in my side all my life really. One thing my mother always tried to beat into my skull (and when she wasn't using her hands, her constant nagging voice was just as painful) is that broad generalizations make you sound arrogant. Mind you, with her, there was no middle ground. Generalizations were wrong. Period. I feel I'm a bit more liberal in my thinking. There's nothing wrong with feeling like you were the first or only person to do something. Sure, more people than Alexander Graham Bell had a hand int he creation of the telephone, but he got to the patent office first. Columbus didn't discover America and he didn't discover that the world was round, but in Kindergarten he gets the credit for both. So, from a very young age, the idea that only one person has ever done anything significant is embedded into our psyche until we are taught the idea of a big picture. That the unvierse is not so black and white and that X does not in fact mark the spot. When we're a little older and capable of seeing the big picture, yes, generalizations can be a little arrogant. But if it's earned, I say go for it. When Broad Generalizations get my goat, it's usually because someone has made a baseless assumption based on...well, nothing. Nothing except their own apparent bias. People in employment agencies who refuse to show me a job listing because I don't drive, and by their assumption people who don't drive are clearly incapable of getting anywhere that is not on the bus line, for example. It just irritates me when people make such black and white judgments. Not thinking for five seconds that maybe, just maybe, people are not card board cutouts and that just because you personally do not think a certain way, doesn't mean that other people might not. They do the same thing when reading other people's stories. Take Sonny from A Series of Unfortunate Events for example. I've only seen the movie, but the books follow the same principal that the baby, Sonny, speaks in baby language. We, the reader, and the brother and sister understand her perfectly but everyone else doesn't. Some have criticized this as being unbelievable, or unrealistic. Again, a generalization by people who assume rather than having or presenting any basis for their reasoning. On the other hand, anyone who has lived with a baby long enough knows that while a baby may be speaking gobbeldigook, the people closes to her will understand what she wants. The author (who does not look like Jude Law, btw) simply took that concept and expanded on it. And it's a children's series at any rate. So if it's acceptable that a bunch of eleven year olds can go to a school where they learn how to turn their pets into goblets but not reading, writing and math, then Sonny and her siblings being Chewbaca and Han Solo is all right with me. But then, I don't live with a constant case of tunnel vision.
It's time for me to write them down. I have a whole plot realized that could blossom to something more. Now I just have to shut up and write it out. Shouldn't be hard.
This is a respond to the funkybassmannik's post in the Why Did You Waste That On Fanfiction thread. Please note that my responses, presented below, are my opinion and nothing more. The Droids are arguably important to the story. But since the story itself is wholly inconsistent, you can hardly call toy advertisements integral to the story. They were comic relief. Dune didn't need cheap tricks and cute characters to advance the story. *cough*Jake Lloyd*cough*. Arguably the Dark Side of the Force is as consuming and addictive as a drug. Like the spice it mutates and changes the user and has lasting consequences on people who abuse it. As to being born with the Force, that is another inconsistency, especially if you consider the prequels as being a part of the whole story. At one point the Force was presented to us as a practice of the mind and body. Shrugging off dependancy on technology and superficiality to allow your psychological and spiritual growth to guide your actions. This gave you power over weaker minds and allowed you to push beyond physical limitations like size and distance. Anyone who was "strong with the Force" could be trained in the art of wielding it. The prequels came along and suddenly the Force was something you could wield if you had a high Midichlorian count. That kind of cheapens the spiritual side of things when you learn that the source of your power is essentially a blood disease. Of course Paul Atreidies is also a Christ-like figure, but we're basically told from the beginning that the Bene Gesserit sisterhood was trying to bring him about for years. So it's no surprise to us that Paul is the Quizat Hederach because that's what they painted him as from the beginning. Vader's story got rewritten entirely so that he was basically Jesus. Luke went from kissing his sister like married man who hasn't seen his wife in years to being her twin brother. Greedo shot first. Jabba was human then he was an alien. At least when Baron Vladimir Harkonnen went from being an ordanary jerk to a floating blob, we were told that he messed with the Bene Gesserit and that's what landed him there. George pulled a bait-and-switch with Jabba and continues to maintain that it was his intention the whole time. There's nothing wrong with retconning of course. But have some decency and don't try to tell me that the duck you sold me was a swan the whole time. Moving on. Female characters of Dune who were as, if not more, influential to the plot of Dune than Padme and Leia: Lady Jessica gave birth to Paul against her Order's instructions. She basically risked her life so that a man she loved could have a son who may or may ot have been the Supreme Being. The Bene Gesserit Order is an entire order of powerful women and have a heavy influence on the events of both the prequels and the original Dune series. Their Reverend Mothers carry the memories of all past Reverend mothers going back thousands upon thousands of years. The Voice is arguably a skill that can be compared to the Jedi Mindtricks, pushing weakminded individuals into doing the user's bidding. Aliah, also had a pretty huge part to play in the overall universe of the series and became a victim of her own circumstances in the end. Princess Leia had her moments. But at no point on screen does her potential as a Jedi ever get developed. Oh, and she has to be rescued. Lady Jessica at least gets to knock around a Fremen warrior or two, and with the cooperation of her son, she gets her would be rapist to basically get himself killed. Padme may have arguably had a larger role than Leia. But her character went from a strong willed leader to a co-dependant, victim of spousal abuse. Sorry if I'm not that impressed by a woman who sets the gender back a few thousand years. (This is not a criticism to Natalie Portman, whom I happen to think is a talented actress.) At least when Aliah was finally killed, it was pretty much because she was a power hungry dictator in the end who had to be put down. It was without a doubt the primary objective in the first film. But in the earliest incarnation of Star Wars, a sequel had not yet been greenlit. So as far as original audiences were concerned, there was no second Death Star, Han most definitely shot first, and Darth Vader was a Dark Jedi Warrior who killed Luke's real father, another Jedi entirely. Return of the Jedi was full of even more of your McGuffins, as the Droids were joined by the adorable Ewoks who spawned two even less consistent sequels, an animated series, and another line of toys. Also, it essentially retconned the story we were originally told in Star Wars "Episode IV". I have one more point to address before I get down of the soap box. The alien species of the original Star Wars trilogy are basically background noise and comic relief. Chewie is the pilot that gave Solo the clear shot of Vader, (Which Solo wasted on a flanking pilot) and didn't recieve a medal for his part in the destruction of the Death Star. Yoda is relegated to mentor figure status and dies in the third act. And inspite of the Mon Calamari (We get it, they look like squids, real cute George) and the presence of Lando's co-pilot, the props still go to the human characters for saving the day. And in the prequels, the only Jedi that remain are three humans and the aformentioned Yoda. So what that tells me is that they could have saved millions of dollars in CGI and Puppets just to have a few Star Trek make-up artists come in and whip up a couple "alien yet somehow shockingly human looking" characters to be used as cannon fodder. Dune eliminated the pretense and kept the focus on humans as a race. I see no fault with that because at least I'm not feeling sorry for Chewbacca for getting shafted in the recognition department.
From December 13th, 2003 Yup, Friday wasn't bad for a change. I've actually gotten to looking forward too Fridays now, mostly because of the chess club at the middle school. Last week I'd lost a Yu-Gi-Oh duel against one of the seventh graders, (Mr. Flight lets us play it at around 2:45) and this week I owed him a soda. As we were walking down to the soda machines he told me that one of his aspirations was to work in a video game company. I love it when the kids tell me their dreams because it's as if I've been given a chance to see what the future holds. I told him of some of the best colleges I know of that have computer graphics technology, but I also told him the best chance he'll have of getting into the business, is if he gets most of his computer education in high school. I also suggested he might take up Japanese, since some of the biggest gaming companies are Japanese based. Whatever it is these kids want to do with their lives, I'm always honored to have a chance to encourage them. And even in the early teen years they do need encouragement, otherwise they begin to believe it's all for nothing. Anywho, I'll tell everyone about the open mic reading a little later, since the librarian closes the computers in about ten minutes for her lunch hour.
Before now I don't think I could have ever appreciated the Chronicles of Narnia in film form. Queen of the Damned and the Harry Potter movies taught me not to nit pick at every little deviation from the book. Because when you do that, you fail to enjoy the true work of the director. And yet, if the director has any respect for the source material, he tries to show something of the author in the movie. I went to see The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe with guns blazing. This was my childhood story, something I have loved and adored since I first saw the BBC miniseres, and I was ready to defend it to the death if it was in anyway scarred or maimed. But to my surprise, Andrew Adamson actually did a job beyond any word I could find for it. For instance, the scene where Aslan goes to sacrifice himself on the stone table, in place of Edmund, every moment in the scene was captured perfectly. From the merciless bantering and baiting of the demons and goblins right down to the White Witch tormenting a bound and gagged Aslan. Then, when Lucy and Susan are mourning over his body, the field mice come to undo his bonds. This was one scene I was so sure they would leave out, and yet they did it perfectly. Tt was as if Adamson really wanted this movie to be a tribute to C.S. Lewis' great work, and he actually understood that this tiny little detail (among others) was the way to do it. Then there were the actors. The guy they got to play Mr. Tumnus was absolutely amazing, and he had the character down perfectly. And what great cast would be complete with out the Liam "Qui-Gon Jinn" Neeson as the voice of Aslan. But to be more specific, I have to focus on the kids who played the Pevensies. Every moment I expected the same amateurish mistakes that the Harry Potter Trio were making all throughout the first two movies. Instead we get four very decent child actors that not only fit their parts perfetly, but seemed to take on the heart and souls of the Pevensie children. From Peter slaying Maugrim (voiced by the very talented Michael Madsen I might add), to Susan and Lucy crying over Aslan's vulnerable and lifeless corpse, to Edmund redeeming himself by destroying the source of the White Witch's power, those kids took the weight of this movie on their shoulders and carried it like seasoned veterans. I'm sorry, but Mad Magazine has it right by saying that Daniel Radcliffe will always be remembered as the boy wizard. Those kids will be getting roles long after the Harry Potter children are retired from a life of fantasy/sci-fi conventions. To put this in more simple words, thank you Mr. Adamson. Thank you very much.
The city of Salem has a problem with the homeless shelter. Well, guess what Town of Salem, we don't like being homeless. The shop owners don't like "mall rats" hanging out in the mall. Those same shop owners hold seances and "cleansing rituals" for celebrities who make the slightest offensive remark towards "warlocks". Tell me it wasn't for publicity and try to keep a straight face as you do it. And the thing is, yes, there are people who are just lazy. They know they're getting three free meals a day and that if they played their cards right they were going to get a bed that they wouldn't lose. So long as they pretended to fill out a job application every day, no one is going to kick them out. Then there's the mentally ill who have no other place to go because those homes got shut down ages go. You can't exactly kick them to the curb, can you? But what about the rest of us who are struggling? I saw a family in the shelter yesterday who had stopped by for dinner. It made me so depressed and angry. The parents probably weren't much older than me, maybe mid thirties. But the kids were four and three, the same age as my nieces. These people were struggling and they just needed to feed their kids. Some of the residents who are "permanent fixtures", the people I mentioned up top, wouldn't give up their seats until a staff member had to coerce them. And I can't tell you how many times I've willingly surrendered my seat to an elderly woman, just because the "cliques" in the shelter have to act like high schoolers. (And some of them have the mentality of high school teens, but I digress) The point is, while the rest of you (general population, not anyone specifically) look down on those of us who are struggling, you fail to realize one thing. People like me are here because while I could have been making thousands of dollars this Halloween by doing tarot readings without a lisence, I decided that following the rules was best. So I've been waiting a year and in the meantime, my bosses at Staples decided to play with words and throw some people under the train tracks, myself included. So my only legitimate means of supporting myself was gone, and for three months I struggled to find a job. But, who gives a rat's ass about me? My family, sure, but they're in Vermont. And no, I don't feel like trudging back to Vermont to become a burden to them. The going gets tough, the tough gets running back to their mothers? Is that how you make it in this world, by allowing people to kick you in the ribs and get away with it? Hell no. I came to this revelation when I saw a hawk kill a pigeon recently. The weak little prey bird's neck was crushed between the hawk's claws as the hawk looked at me, almost daring me to try to take what it had earned. The point is, I have earned the right to live in Salem. I will do what I came here to do and if I do leave, it will not be because a bunch of money grubbing publicty mongers drove me out with pitchforks and torches. If you want to be a bunch of overstuffed pigeons and get in my way as I try to carve my niche, well just remember, I'm the hawk. So, inspiration struck me yesterday, when I found a monthly newsletter in the college library. I'd seen it before in the lobby of the hospital cafeteria. It's one of those free one page rags with a bunch of nonsensical crap written there. I'm doing some reaserch today about how to get a newsletter up and running. I want to have it mass produced so I can have a wide distribution. The newsletter will be geared entirely towards people who are either homeless and trying to find a job and home, or people who are just struggling financially where homelessness may be the end result. Advertisers will be able to pay for space in the newsletter, which helps local business. And the demographic I mentioned, which is probably a lot bigger than you can imagine, will have the opportunity to submit articles, poetry, and information that is important to them. For this they will get paid a set amount, which will be a plus for them because not only will people hear what they have to say, but they will have a little cash for whatever they happen to need. We could post job ads, the shelters and soup kitchens can submit mealtimes and other announcements. In the long run, it would serve a very large niche market while keeping people aware that yes, we are homeless. But we're human beings who have a voice and deserve to be treated as such. I'm tired of people lumping entire groups into a category. I'm tired of shelter staff who think they are above it all, and think they can get away with abusing their power just because they were having a bad day. I'm tired of potential employers turning us away at the gate because we fell on hard times and, stupid us, we decided to be human beings who need a place to eat and sleep. So, in anticipation of some minor chance of success, I have decided to call the newsletter The Morlock's Voice. It's a reference to HG Wells, The Time Machine, wherein an evolutionary divide of the upper and lower classes leads to two distinct species. The Eloi, who are basically beautiful cattle that eat, sleep and reproduce. And the Morlocks, who still work underground, but also farm and harvest the Eloi for food. I really don't think that's so far off. Quite a few people in that shelter have jobs that are pretty menial, but serve the higher purpose of making the world of the "wealthy" a better and more efficient place to live. And eventually, people are going to become so dependant on us, that the natural course of action will be to act surprise as we approach them with sheering knives and dinner forks. Okay, maybe that's a logical extreme. But the metaphor is there. Thoughts and comments are appreciated. I have some experience working on newsletters and I have shadowed editors before. But any advice and support you may have would be invaluable.
Every so often, someone will tell me a story. It's usually a stranger than fiction gem that they probably didn't think was so fantastic at the time it happened to them. For example, someone once told me about their experiences on someone's Ostrich farm. Well, they posted the thing on a forum and I thought, what a waste of a story. You should have written that thing up, polished it, and found a magazine to publish that in. Because I find stories like that really fascinating. Because even though it didn't happen to me, I realize it could happen and that somehow broadens my horizons. And it's not like the person who told me the story desperately needs my approval or attention. They were just telling me about something that happened in their lives. An example that leads me to this blog is this. I was working at Rite Aid ages ago and this customer tells me a story about how his cat liked to drink beer straight from the mug. And I thought, what a typical cat behavior. I could see in my mind, this cat leaning over the arm of the chair, just lapping up the beer like there's nothing unusual about it. So I told the customer, "You know, you really need to get a video of that and put it on Youtube. If that thing doesn't land a million hits I'd be surprised." Later on I thought, well, what am I doing? If someone saw a painting of that they'd think it was funny and cool. So of course, later that weekend, I did a painting of a cat drinking beer, just as I described it. Some kid watched me, (because I liked to take my paint supplies to the park when the weather was nice) and laughed. Just the reaction I wanted. Alas, that painting has gone into limbo. (IE, the owner of the establishment where it was hanging insisted it "disappeared") But the point still remains, it was a good story and I jumped on the chance to profit from it, at least in spirit. (Though financially profiting would have been great too.) I guess my question is this. If someone tells you a story like that and they don't have the sense to try to turn it into something big, is it right for you and I to take advantege of it? It's not technically plagiarism, because again, they didn't write it down. All they did was tell me the story. What do you think?
Somehow, his apartment wasn't what I imagined it would be. A deep cavern perhaps, maybe a solid floor, surrounded by a voidless mist like in the older Star Trek eipisodes. Instead, I was surprised to find myself standing in the third floor apartment of an old Victorian-style Maine house. "Would you care for anything to drink?" He called from the kitchen. "Coffee, soda, wine?" "Coffee's fine." I answered, feeling eerily calm given the events of this evening. "Cream and sugar?" "Yes please." There were two bedrooms, both empty. And the only furniture in the living area was a fouton sofa at one end, and a collapsable dinner table flanked by two folding chairs in the dining area. The little kitchenette was where he spent last half hour silently getting dinner ready as I looked around, trying not to seem too nosey. He emerged from the kitchenette carrying two mugs. One was a black souvenir mug with MAINE in big slowly faiding white letters,and the other was plane blank white mug. He handed me the MAINE mug. Judging from the rather Spartan quality of the apartment, my guess was that these were the only mugs he owned. "Do you spend a lot of time here?" I asked, curious. "Sometimes," he said, taking a glance around the apartment. A few inches taller than me and probably in his early thirties, his face was smooth and clean shaven. Thin, but fairly well nourished, his black t-shirt covered a rather lanky body. Not that I was into body builders, but consdering what I knew about him I guess I was expecting something more, godly. A mischievous grin broke across his cherubic face, and I wondered if he could hear my thoughts. "I can't," he assured me. "Hear your thoughts that is." Well that was ironic. Off my confused look he chuckled. "You're not the first person I've met under these circumstances. Believe me, the question comes up quite a bit." "I guess it would." Though my mouth wasn't dry, I couldn't get my nerves to calm down. It's not like I was totally here against my will. But I couldn't quite shake the rather unusual way that I had met him. "What should I call you?" He seemed to think about it as he took a sip of his coffee. Finally, he looked at me and said, "Dan." "Dan?" The name seemed so...mundane. I blushed at how disappointed I must have sounded, but I couldn't help but ask, "Just Dan?" He nodded. "What would you rather have to explain to your parents later on? That you met the Grim Reaper or that you were having dinner with Dan?"
All right, I don't want to turn this into a debate, but I'm going to go ahead and alienate myself here. I actually happened to like Twilight. I think the books were well written and the movies were excellently done. I like the idea of the vampires in this series because they are original. The diamond skin thin has never been done before. It makes me think that their origins are reptillian as certain species of reptile do have scales that glisten when they sweat. The only problem I have with the Twilight Saga is that it is marketed as teen romance. Bella, Edward, and Jacob do not have a healthy relationship. And that is my problem because there are a lot of impressionable teenaged girls who are seeing Edward trash Bella's car because he thinks she's unsafe in it and thinking, "Wow, I hope my boyfriend dominates my life like that."
Don't congratulate me. That always seems to jinx me. But I do want to declare that I have a job interview coming up and it's for a store that I love to browse through as much as I enjoy occasionally buying things from. I know the stock there and I'm great at selling things. Two wonderful combinations. So wish me luck, just don't utter the phrase "congratulations", please.
I do get tired of people judging me. Yes I am homeless at the moment. At one point I did own a laptop, but it was a laptop I purchased when I was in my own apartment and had a better financial situation. I would have spent the three hundred dollars on it if I had bills to pay, or if groceries were an issue. It's dead now and I've been using the library computers for my dose of the Internet. The job office is patently useless for helping people actually find a jobs, so the library and college nearby are both great resources for helping in my job hunt. My writing is a way to cope with some of the stresses I've been dealing with. So I frankly don't see where it is anyone else's business or right to decide what I am and am not entitled to. This isn't a response to anything anyone said here. But it is a rant at what someone said to me on another website. It's something I have to get off my chest and lo and behold, here it is.