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You are reading the life, times, and general musings of Jenna Tollerson. I am a web developer and consultant living in downtown Athens, Georgia, USA. [read more]
Each year, we at the house take an intimate look at the last 12 months, in a frighteningly frank way. This is to keep things honest, despite anything else that may have been written. This year it seems more important that ever, because we haven't been checking in as much.
As always, if you think you may be offended by cursing, graphic sexuality, talk about death, destructive relationships, or substance abuse, among other topics, turn away now. Have some kittens.
In addition, if you feel that such talk might ruin your holiday, save the read until after the new year.
And now, on with the show. Read More »
Last night I had a dream that I was in a neighborhood, with streets and sidewalks, but all the places where the houses should be were just paved over with asphalt, covered in a layer of fallen leaves. There were large beautiful trees everywhere that created a hazy canopy over it all, with beams of light sneaking through in all the right places.
Every few dozen trees or so had a white painted spiral staircase wrapped around it, but the stairs didn't appear to go anywhere. They were for show, or more likely leading to some hidden door. It was a magical place, but I had the impression that there was some darkness I was missing.
I heard something like a truck backing up (Beep! Beep! Beep!), and I turned around and saw one of the white painted spiral staircases being pushed up to an especially large tree by a giant fork lift covered in Georgia red clay.
And then I just started running down the sidewalk. I ran tirelessly. I could hear my breath, in and out. I could see my feet, clad suddenly in some surprisingly supportive New Balance sneakers that I do not own in real life, hitting this pavement with an almost perfect stride. I saw my calves, tan and lean. Those are not my calves in real life. No one would ever know because I would never be caught dead in shorts, but I can assure you they do not look like they did in the dream.
I was a runner. Not by choice, but by necessity. I got the feeling that as much as I was running towards something — and I was — what I was really doing was running away from something. I had been running in fits and starts for as long as I could remember, and at this moment I couldn't stop. Not for anything. My chest started to burn, but I concentrated on my breathing. I couldn't hear anything else, even though leaves crunched under my feet. Everything around me was completely silent. I watched the wind move through the trees above, and then somewhere in the far, far distant, I heard wind chimes.
The chorus of the Jackson 5's “I Want You Back” broke through all the silence. I kept running but dug into my pocket for my cell phone.
I fished it out and checked the caller ID. JJ was calling me. I stared at the ID as it rang, still running, not tripping all over my own feet, no doubt due to some divine intervention or more likely, dream logic. I couldn't answer, because I had to keep running.
I came to the crest of a hill, and the tree canopy opened up. I looked into the sun, and woke.
We do this every year. Frank, R-rated discussion of friends, drinking, sex, music, money, illness, politics, and many other subjects follow. If you are a sensitive, delicate flower, I suggest you go elsewhere. Particularly if you are over 50 (if you baby boomers proceed anyway, I'll bear no responsibility for possible heart attacks). Read More »
I had a chance to finally open up on Saturday. I cried. In fact, I sobbed uncontrollably. But before I could feel any kind of catharsis, I pulled myself back together. I have this intense desire to not burden anyone, so when I am in fact falling off the edge, it feels like no one sees it.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm sitting alone in the dark, crying.”
“Really? Why?”
“I hate my life and I wish I was dead.”
Things aren't like they used to be. My short year where I had a nice, middle-class living feels like a previous life. In that life when I was upset I would go out and get drunk, or buy myself some shiny thing, or treat myself to a dinner out. I know now that those were not much more than quick fixes, but now I can't even utilize a quick fix. Now I know that one night can't fix me. I feel totally damaged and worthless all of the time. It takes every ounce of everything I've got to get myself out of bed. And lately, sometimes even that simple act — the act of pulling myself upright and out of bed — is impossible. There are days when it hasn't happened. The strange thing about being self employed is you can give yourself the day off because you are feeling blue, but you can only do that for so long. I am broke, with overdue projects and no concrete prospects and this feeling of hopelessness permeating everything. I really don't want to go on.
But of course I will, because I don't have the balls to do anything drastic, positive or negative. I always worry about the things I might miss if I make any big decisions. It's why I don't lose the weight I want to lose, it's why I don't tell certain people just how I feel about them, it's why I don't leave Athens, it's why I don't move back in with my parents no matter how much money I'd save, it's why I haven't offed myself even though I've had the desire off and on consistently for the last ten years or so.
Even though I often feel like I don't have any deep relationships, I'd still miss these people. I'd miss the conversations, the dancing, the hugging, the getting high together, the getting drunk together, the high fives, watching people play pool, my nicknames, being loud, being quiet, watching movies, exchanging mixtapes, telling stories, and most of all, laughing.
These are the things that keep me going, when I think I've got nothing to live for.
Seeing the Indian for three weekends in a row; Etta James live in concert; the OK Go treadmill dance; the OK Go Million Ways dance, getting most or all of my news from the show with zefrank; questions and answers on Consumating; watching Goodfellas on a loop; arguing the merits of the new My Chemical Romance record with Neil and CB; driving from point A to point B without my car breaking down (2 out of the last 6 trips. Could be worse).
being addressed as doll, babe, blue eyes, sweeetheart, sweetie, and Jen-nahnahnah; watching some of my three very best friends talk for hours, even if it was all boxing, and therefore boring after many minutes; driving the Indian home in the warm mid-day sun, my finally clean car, staying up too late because you know you can sleep in, Terrapin Cream Ale
drunk IMs in the middle of the night, cape cods, dumb webcam stills, cute Grill waiters, totally being the girl who shows up at the Grill 2 times in less than 6 hours, calls from the Indian, seeing old friends, Sugarland, good company
The Indian's kid sister: “Did y'all mean to match?”
The Indian (nonchalantly): “No, she's just in my brain a lot.”
You are reading the life, times, and general musings of Jenna Tollerson. I am a web developer and consultant living in downtown Athens, Georgia, USA. [read more]
