So, having just graduated from college, I am now working at a beer/cigarette convenience store and a pizza place. Am I successful? Yes.
While my ultimate goal is to go to the University of Texas in Austin and get my MA (maybe PhD) in Arabic, I have no problem making just enough money to survive and pay off my modest debts. Why? Because I finally have time to read some goddamn books.
Both of my jobs consist of me sitting at a counter, handling money and answering a phone once in a while. The rest of my time is blissfully free. While I don't have money to maintain the lifestyle that I had gotten so accustomed to during my undergraduate university years, I also didn't really like that lifestyle anyway. I now divide my time between work, hanging out with people, and reading and studying Arabic and a little German. No more fake news articles to translate, no more journal entries that start and end with, "I did homework," and no more GECs. I finally feel like I'm living life how it's most often lived. Working, subsisting, creating, recreating... on my own terms.
So I'm more than happy to make single digits an hour, because I know that in a year I'll be preparing to move and to undertake the most difficult period of my academic career. As for now, I'm not ready to leave Columbus yet. I have unfinished projects and people I'm not done hanging out with yet.
Am I Insecure?
Ever since I was attacked while riding my bike home from the library during finals week of my last quarter of undergraduate school, I have been having recurring nightmares about social insecurity. Usually I don't remember my dreams or nightmares at all. I've come to the conclusion that I feel like the attack was just an accident, because I was severely concussed and don't remember anything in between riding my bike twenty feet ahead of where I was shoved into a van and kicked and punched in the head to waking up bloody with a bunch of people gawking. The girl who saw the whole thing, when asked for a description, could only describe them as three black teenagers (very helpful description..). They will never be found.
The police said that the attack was one of a string of gang initiations, so at least I got some kids some gang protection. The scariest thing is that it was all more or less random violence for no reason. They didn't take my nice bike, anything in my bag, or rifle through my pockets for cash. They just kicked the shit out of me. The least scary thing is that I don't consciously feel any less secure than I did before simply because I don't remember any of it. It just feels like an accident, and accidents happen. I've been in plenty of accidents. I'm not afraid to go the same route at the same time in the same way. But as much as I ignore that there was distinct malice behind the act, I have to accept that of course there was. Being unconscious doesn't mean I can't imagine what it must have looked like: me being pushed into a parked van, slamming into the ground unconscious and limp, and being kicked and punched in the head until my ear looked like "a starfish" (doctor's description of the damage). Seeing that happen to anyone would horrify and sicken me, and imagining it happening to myself (because it did) makes me feel angry, helpless, and scared. The most visceral feeling I had was the morning after when I had come home from the ER, seeing my bag covered in blood. I refuse to clean it off.
And at the very least, I'm now determined to always wear a helmet and make everyone else wear one. Mine did me no good sitting in my room--at the very least I wouldn't have gotten a concussion, fallen to the ground like a rag doll, and lain there while I was hit.
I'm really thankful for the support of all my friends. Y'all came and visited me and supported me--talked to me about it. The giant card was great (though kind of confusing).
Lastly, I refuse to be afraid to ride my bike at night, and I refuse to be afraid of black people. I've been harassed by far too many white morons who have no reason to do so (I'm implying that these kids who attacked me are probably fucking poor and scared not to join a gang) to let one instance of gang-related violence turn me into a racist, and I'm sick of people saying racist shit when they ask me what happened and ask dumb questions about it.
Don't beat up people, y'all.
The police said that the attack was one of a string of gang initiations, so at least I got some kids some gang protection. The scariest thing is that it was all more or less random violence for no reason. They didn't take my nice bike, anything in my bag, or rifle through my pockets for cash. They just kicked the shit out of me. The least scary thing is that I don't consciously feel any less secure than I did before simply because I don't remember any of it. It just feels like an accident, and accidents happen. I've been in plenty of accidents. I'm not afraid to go the same route at the same time in the same way. But as much as I ignore that there was distinct malice behind the act, I have to accept that of course there was. Being unconscious doesn't mean I can't imagine what it must have looked like: me being pushed into a parked van, slamming into the ground unconscious and limp, and being kicked and punched in the head until my ear looked like "a starfish" (doctor's description of the damage). Seeing that happen to anyone would horrify and sicken me, and imagining it happening to myself (because it did) makes me feel angry, helpless, and scared. The most visceral feeling I had was the morning after when I had come home from the ER, seeing my bag covered in blood. I refuse to clean it off.
And at the very least, I'm now determined to always wear a helmet and make everyone else wear one. Mine did me no good sitting in my room--at the very least I wouldn't have gotten a concussion, fallen to the ground like a rag doll, and lain there while I was hit.
I'm really thankful for the support of all my friends. Y'all came and visited me and supported me--talked to me about it. The giant card was great (though kind of confusing).
Lastly, I refuse to be afraid to ride my bike at night, and I refuse to be afraid of black people. I've been harassed by far too many white morons who have no reason to do so (I'm implying that these kids who attacked me are probably fucking poor and scared not to join a gang) to let one instance of gang-related violence turn me into a racist, and I'm sick of people saying racist shit when they ask me what happened and ask dumb questions about it.
Don't beat up people, y'all.
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