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To tell you the truth, I hate writing for Demand Studios. I hate this blog. I hate this computer. I don’t know why I started this thing in the first place. I’m going to erase this blog once I’m done with this final goal of mine. Because I want a real job. I want a real life. You ever feel like you’re just waiting for your real life to begin? I feel that more than ever now, especially since I’m so close to the date of my departure to Mexico [Feb. 5th]. Still, despite my loathing of this company, I’ve made one final goal that I need to pursue, so I can have money to live on in Mexico.

$500 to be made in two weeks. Two final weeks of hell.

I hope to be rid of this online writing job for good, once I get my TEFL certification. I’m tired of living on my computer. I’m tired of staring at this damned screen rather than talk to people face-to-face. I’m tired of living in my fine yet lonely little bubble. I hate freelance. I hate odd jobs. I block people out of my life because of my fickleness. I can’t create bonds this way. I can’t make friends. I never stay in one place long enough to be real for anyone. This life sucks.

And I’m going to go there, yes, right now, because I’m doing something about it.

Being lost and wounded will swing you out of the mainstream and into your own private abode, a battleground for some, a limbo for others, until you learn to walk again, until you find some type of hope, and feel the warmth of the sun, and listen to your heart beat, and find out what your heart beats for. Find out what your heart beats for, and you’ll find the desire to live again. Follow your heart beats, to the end of the earth, because that’s what you’re living for now.

I had been personally tumbling in my own rabbit hole for quite some time. I’m a genuinely unique individual with problems that, for a long time, I hadn’t even known how to define.

That’s why I picked up this habit, this online writing job in the first place, because I still needed to earn some money, to save up for a dream, that I hadn’t even established yet. It takes a while to get yourself back on track. All the while, shelling out online writing productions on the most innate subjects, but it didn’t matter, because it was a job and at least this online writing doesn’t hurt anybody. There’s no costs, no fees, no pollution, but there’s a headache involved, there’s a pain in one’s ass, literally, as you’re sitting for these long periods of time, slowing pruning in your own desires of living a real life. Well, that’s how it was for me. But. Fuck this shit. Nobody reads this stuff. This stuff doesn’t matter. I’m a writer no matter what I do these days anyway.

At least I’ve taken time to hone down on my skills, heh.

The life of a writer is full of internal calamity I think. My mom’s been writing me emails about how I’m going to fail at this TEFL venture in Mexico. Wish her words weren’t so important to me, but these days, I don’t have many friends who know what I’m going through. I’ve managed to shun the rest of the world out of my life, here in this small mountain town where I’ve managed to forget a lot of my rampage from my past, and instead, work on  three books I’ve written right after graduation, about trying to figure out my life, being adopted and having nowhere to go.

In this rut I’ve let my life be swallowed by, I’ve completed some manuscripts. That’s better than turning into an alcoholic or party-going drug fiend hooked up on heroine. I think there’s worse things than being an introverted, disillusioned girl, of a person who was once vivacious early in life. But something changed, I changed, and I never knew how lost a person could become, in ones self even, to think suddenly, it’d be so impossible to live a life of happiness.

It’s strange, to think about my life. The story of my life had gone and eaten me up, really. My own history has plowed over my present and I feel so unsteady, so vacantly half-alive, after finding the jagged pieces of my life and installing them into a real thing, words that can be relived again and again. It’s such a sad thing to show to the world, my life story, so lonely, so cruelly independent, and it’s because I’m a product of my circumstances. We all are.

But then comes a turning point, that I honestly, am not familiar with. It’s when a person, intentionally decides to change the pattern of their own lives, and walk another path. Far away. Gone to Tahiti, be back never type of thing. And that’s me, throwing it to the winds, chucking my disheveled past into the urban streets of this Western society, that I’ve never really belonged in in the first place, my empty adoption, my half-assed friendships and the stranger of a life I’ve monstrously manufactured, and just leave it behind. It’s insane, but at this point, it’ll be the healthiest thing I could do.

And I know, I don’t know where I’m going. I know I barely know Spanish. I know I’m living in a foreign country and I won’t know anyone. But it’s better than this old life here. Any life is better than no life.

So many people, have these plans in life. But me, I wanted to write. I sat here, in the middle of the storms of this chaotic world, in the vortex of my own hurricane, and when I didn’t know what else to do, I let my fingers dance and it soothed me in such a way, that I found my own peace. I haven’t gone anywhere, with the writing, but at least it helped me figure out the fact, that I can’t let my small, provincial life end here. I still have my dreams. And I still have this damned beating heart and it beats, and I can’t stop it from still wanting to reach out, and not give up, even if it’s been wounded.

My dreams aren’t complete. They lie virtually undiscovered, saved in glass bottles upon bottles cast to the ocean, preserved in romantic thoughts of when I was a child. Somehow, those ideals, that become so silly and trifling as you become this “adult” in the world, have still been able to reach me, after all of these years. It seems these dreams might have defied its own physics, its own barriers of parables written in the sand. And I know this has nothing to do with my blog, but alas, it has everything to do with this hazard of a clothesline I created for myself, bearing my naked underwear to the public domain. But I haven’t been as open to anyone here or in real life.

So I’m conducting my own blog suicide I guess, at this point, where one old life dies and a new one begins. This is verbal diarrhea pasted for anyone to mock or leisurely zoom through without a care in the world. This blog is my failure to produce anything real in the world, as a virtual podium I stand on, screaming, “My name is Stephanie and nobody cares! I have over 200 articles published from Demand Studios and the writing is incredibly dull!” Not worth screaming about right? Not worth a blog at least. No, whatever blog I start on from here on out, will be outrageous.

Whatever I do from here on out, will be outrageous, because that’s the kind of life I want to lead.

Because I’m bent on a new subject and a new chapter in my life. I am destined to soul-search just a little bit more, and hop the great barrier of my own limitations, on my own. And this adventure isn’t gallant. It isn’t smooth nor luxurious, I don’t have iPads or iPods for that matter, or hip gadgets for explorers of the times, travel writers with a legion of writing to showcase their talents, or fuck, barely enough money for tamales. But you gotta start somewhere.

Babies aren’t born professionals. Middle-class life has its ups but people in this gray zone don’t get to play with breakfast on a silver platter. Basically, all I’m saying, is that I had to work somewhat hard, to be the screw-up I am. I’ve had the opportunity to attend a 4-year university and graduate with a BA in Science in Journalism. I got my foot in the door to success, but then I kept making bad choices, fickle attempts at what I thought would bring me to success. The problem was, nobody told me how to pursue a life of happiness, just as nobody taught me how to play music.

I couldn’t figure out, for the life of me, what the hell to do with myself. I worked. I studied. I apprenticed. I interned. I’ve some barely golden invitations to be something more, like an internship for Science Magazine, but I flagrantly shot that to hell, through avoiding emails, and instead, I chose to work a series of highly insipid part-time entry level jobs, and freelance work in companies, and hell, this was all hard work, I tell you what. It was hell.

But it was only because I was trying to find myself in all of this madness. Even in the middle-class, even with a college degree, even with a semi-charmed life where my parents are still married and have a college degree, and my dad’s earning a 6-figure salary, and they’re always there whenever I’m stuck in a ditch in the middle of a highway because I had incidentally decided to go on a random road trip to San Diego, choices in life will lead you to your destiny.

My choices in my life led me to this “Fickle Life of Freelance,” to this utmost and waste-of time blog, idly wading in the nexus of a gap in the Internet Matrix, tooling around with ideas, little goals, in-and-out of my life as a nomad, here in this small town, this small town that I’ve covertly named, “Mystic” in my books. I think, thank God I wasn’t rich, because during this odd point in my transitional life, I probably would have wasted thousands of dollars on my own. I can truly imagine the failed business attempts and shipwrecks I could have built like an empire.

God help the people that are lost in the world. I’ve now gained compassion and empathy for us all.

And there’s no faking what I’ve become. I’m a jagged piece sticking out from the grain, rough around the edges, but give me time, and a little more ocean, and maybe I’ll get smoothed over. Maybe someone will love me for who I am. Maybe my writing will mean something someday. Maybe I’ll figure out the nicks of this writing situation altogether.

And by God, I hate this blog. I would burn it if I could. Throw it into a bonfire, trip on acid, do anything to get me out of this damned rut. This is my rut. This is exactly my rut and at least I can define it now, so I can destroy it.

Life is an unsure and erratic place brimming of unfulfilled dreams. But that’s what keeps us all doing what we’re doing I guess. So God bless the past. Make us work for what we want. Recreate us into better people. And help us shape our own legacy, our own life story, that we can pass down from generation to generation, to raise the bar for the youth, and encourage them, that they can. Adventure is believing in yourself. And it all begins, with life anew.

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TEFL International

Signed up with TEFL International all online. The financial: $500 for deposit to secure position. Have $1,000 ready by end of month to credit to them so I can get picked up from the airport. $700 in bank for living expenses in Mexico.

Need enough to live off of before job placement.

The little stuff: Get official transcripts from university on Monday. Have local records printed out and ready. Have social security card, passport and birth certificate. Take care of library account–lost book.  Pack light stuff, clothes and accessories. Days are going by slow. Ready to leave. Just keeping on my own until the big day.DS

Demand Studios Writing: Can’t seem to find good writing assignments at Demand Studios. Will keep searching even though there’s nothing right now. This is all I have right now. Can’t wait ’till my life changes for good. No more hustling for money. I want a real job. With real people. That includes real responsibility and hope for the future.

“Plans” for the Future

So. It’s been a while. Again. Here’s the scoop. Was a waitress. Got sorta fired. Was a contracted representative for a health care insurance. Did my GRE exam. Was this close to volunteer in the Peace Corps. Signing up for TEFL International in-classroom course for a four-week training adventure in Mexico. Will be selling my stuff and backpacking soon. God speed. And God help my accidentally-prone habits while I’m out in boonies.

Trying to think of a freelance assignment that has to do with WWOOF and volunteering at sustainable projects in Mexico since I’ll be down there in two months or so. Thinking I’m nuts for doing this. Usually that’s during the time I’m waking up and I’m thinking I’m forgetting something. Then it hits me–my “plans” for my future, and it’s funny, because it feels lie I’m being responsible, at least with my dream, even thought it’s an irrational thing, to backpack and live in another country so spontaneously, but I realize, I might have been considering this for a while.

Gotten back to writing for Demand Studios and completed (4) articles today. I’ve got my dreams laid out in front of me. My mom asked, “Can’t you just stay in Mexico after that?” I’m thinking I will. I want to write but I don’t have any idea what I’ll write about when I’m visiting these places and Zipolite Beach. I’ve never actually travel written before. I don’t know if I’m cut out for it. But I’ll never know if I’m good if I don’t try.

A Cloudy Saturday

I wrote 3 articles today for a total of $45 earned. It took me 4 woppin’ hours. I guess that’s okay for now. I noticed my AP Style writing for SEO content’s a little garbled. I hope to do this faster. Like an Asian robot. Beep. Boop. Ding!

Couldn’t sleep last night. Ended up playing guitar until the late hours. Found some old songs I had written in my documents on my computer, and experimented on different ways of singing. Did a lot of fast finger picking, a little bit of harp-playing style, that gives the strings an atmospheric sound when played. It’s a fickle life for me. Always the fickle life.

Benq Laptop (Joybook 8100). Photographed by yours truly.

It’s hard trying to find a suitable job here in Flagstaff. I just moved, yet again, into a house this time, surrounded by woods and a little further out of the downtown scene. It’s a nice house,  like a cozy club-house cabin, equipped with a big screen television, games, kitchen stocked with food, a dog and plenty of books. It also has wireless connection.

My female roommate Rachel, 27, works at a brothel and does sex favors in Nevada for two weeks out of the months. She’s a Cancer–astrologically speaking, very social and has bright red hair that she’s spent thousands of dollars to maintain.  Rachel will be speaking at a very important convention in Vegas to BMSN and feminist supporters. The speech will be how it’s important to have psychic protection and energy shields for the dominatrices and lady hookers that are getting abused on a spiritual level.

I’ve had three part-time and absolutely insipid jobs since the last time I’ve written on here. I tried a hotel desk job position, a dry cleaners position and just recently a janitor’s position. I’ve quit each one–realizing I was miserable and getting paid less than what I’d be earning back in high school comparing how much I earn online writing for Demand Studios. And this is sorta me out of college and although the online world isn’t well, my dream job by any means, there’s a happy medium with online writing, and a certain peace of mind that comes with the writing itself.

I don’t have to wear any uniforms, or walk around cleaning toilets for 8 hours straight, just to earn a measly 50 dollars a day, when in that time, I could have earned at least $90, sitting on my ass in whatever garb I want. This is the only profession I can have at least a little pride in. Because it’s still writing after all.

Sometimes I wonder if I can do more with my writing than this. I dream of travel writing.

Holy cow my life is fickle. The fickle part is a person’s mind. It can be to some peeps. Today–I gathered writing assignments at Demand Studios and then I started a new nonprofit website of mine at: http://nmgc.yolasite.com It”s a nonprofit I started and then went aloof on -after everything failed miserably. It was almost humorous it was such a mess. Now I’ve changed the entire concepts though to make it so that I’m enjoying myself [documenting sustainable and humanistic efforts to make the world a better place] trying to earn funds for other nonprofit organizations.

You go through these patterns and circular habits that end up munching the rest of your life away. You blink. It’s 10 years down the road and you’ve found yourself at the same crossroads. Jump, that’s what you’re suppose to do in this situation. Because if you don’t, I’m sure you’ll stay at this place of limbo forever. Mine’s lasted 2 years. Two years debating.

Two years unsure.

Two years doing the same shit because I’m too afraid to take a real chance–away from my comfort zone. Demand Studios, I hope you will stay with me as I try to dig myself out of this rut. Only I can get myself out of this rut.

By Pengo

By Pengo

I woke up this morning with the thoughts of Asia on my mind, traveling, living life on a whim. There was this sudden drive in me, strong as a train, to get my Visa 2 application documents ready to mail to a recruiting agency. 

The criminal background check  was done at my local police department this mroning, where a man in a wheel chair talked about the white sandy beaches of Mexico and Belize. He wanted to know what I was doing there.

“I’m trying to get outta here,” I say. “My soul’s aching to travel and see places. I just have to do this.”

I want stabilty but  not in the way of settling; maybe that’s what has scared me into being on the go again. Having a place to live has not made me happy; all I do is pace at my house, and when I’m with my boyfriend, I’m gazing out the window telling myself, “this is what I want.”

Still, I woke up this morning and felt change take over.

There’s  really no fooling the spirit in me, this twinkling thing that’s got years of disobedience and adventure still left crackling and stewing, smiling with a hint of mischeif, knowing me, the real me and that I haven’t given up yet.

There’s a woman I knew, who worked as a bartender in my mountain town. Her body was found 2 days after being reported missing, lying under the snow, a mile-and-a-half away from her car. I started the outlines of a beginning investigative story. It’s  been construed by the articles already published on the day she was found. I’ve got an inkling that there’s some foul play amidst the crime scene. It’s still an open investigation.

I’ll be waiting for the public documents regarding her death, ’till then.

Back Writing Again

By Kaitoon

By Kaitoon

Life winds you up -spits you out- and lands you back to a working machine even in the midst of obscurity. People are winding in their own drama; my roommates are both in relationships that I view as slightly insane, but my own accounts are just as worthy of the label. Lately I’ve been spending time on my own in a mountain town where I’m forgetting the time.

I just keep forgetting why I’m living at all: to experience new things and live life as bold as possible, to follow my happiness. I want this. I want to be happy. I want to move forward not back.

I’ve written two articles this morning and I’m feeling a little better.