Contributor: Okey Fitz
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“I am a down to Earth girl. I know that money doesn’t grow on trees and that in order to have something in your life you need to work hard to get it. I know that you get a job and then get fired from it after twenty years of dedicating work. I know that people meet, fall in love, fall out of love and then meet someone else and everything starts all over again. I know that marriages fall apart and Happily Ever After is for five year olds. I know that people are born, grow, get old and die. They also poop, fart, burp and masturbate. No one is perfect. A lot of them try to be but fail. Because we are weak and we always have someone else to blame. We see sins of others but never notice our own. We go to Church and pray every day, calling ourselves Christians but then limit our children and judge everyone else who is different. I don’t ask God to make me a good person, I do everything possible to be one. I don’t like when people pretend to be my friends and then talk behind my back. I don’t need the appreciation of the whole world. I am who I am and I feel good about it. I am a realist. And reality comforts me because I am always ready for the worst”.
I sat back in my chair, holding onto the glass of Red I had in my hand. I took a sip, let it sit in my mouth for a few seconds and then swallowed it. I wish I was smoking. I bet the combination of wine and cigarettes feels great. Making your body relax to the point where the thoughts and emotions you never thought you had before are coming out and forming this magnificent circle and dancing, dancing, dancing. Oh, wait, no, it’s when you smoke weed. My bad. I sure do miss smoking weed sometimes. Having a pothead boyfriend had one advantage – I got to smoke whenever I wanted and for free. But I am glad I got rid of him. He wasn’t a good influence. He made me wear hills.
I looked at the computer screen where I just typed a short description of myself for this interview I am having on Thursday. I read it again, and then again. It is not how you write cover letters. I shouldn’t be sending that if I want to get the job, I thought. From my own experience, there are not a lot of people out there with any kind of humor. I am not even talking about a good one. I kind of like it, though. It is a perfect two hundred and thirty five word picture of real me. Most of the time, I try to be considerate because it is another downside of being a realist. I have to understand that I live in a society of approximately seven billion people and I need to be nice to get what I want. And in order to get this job I better write something like “I look forward to contribute my ability and experience in your company”.
“Tell them what they want to hear, smile and be nice” - I can still hear the voice of my mom. Poor Mother, she already gave up the idea of me getting married and having babies. “The last thing you owe me is to show that you can take care of yourself” – same voice again. I guess she is right. I am such a disappointment. I never did anything right, or at least not the way she wanted me to. Some of it because I did what I thought was right for me and some of it is to piss her off. Mostly, piss her off. Christian to the marrow of her bones, she was trying to make this ladylike brainless manikin of me for a future husband to “love, and care, and bring home money”. Not so fast, dear Mother. I think Jesus understood way before you did my real intentions. I wanted to write books, publish them, get famous and travel. But until my future bestsellers are published I need to feed myself, and pay rent, and afford gas. And that’s why I am about to write something sweet and wonderful for my employer so he can hire me.
I suddenly started feeling the positive energy coming through me. It felt very good and refreshing to have something to hope for. I got so excited I smacked my right hand palm against the desk, and my left hand shook and wine from the top of my glass got spilled on the keyboard. I said “shit” multiple times and tried to wipe it off with the tissues I usually keep on my desk but today they somehow traveled all the way to the nightstand beside my bed. So I pulled the bottom of my T-shirt and started cleaning the buttons one by one to catch as much liquid as I could. I stopped after five minutes and realized two things. First – I will have to buy a new keyboard and second – I accidentally hit the Enter button while flipping out about the spill. I felt this unexplainable shivering down my spine. It was the only interview I got out of fourteen applications I submitted for the past two months. I wanted to scream and cry. I wanted to break something. But the only thing I could do was to sit down and breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Oh well, I thought, at least I wrote “Sincerely yours”.
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I was born in Western Ukraine. Grew to love mountains and Ukrainian culture. Came to America in 2010 and slowly building my life here, secretly missing home. I have a wonderful ten month old daughter and a husband who is also my best friend:)
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“I am a down to Earth girl. I know that money doesn’t grow on trees and that in order to have something in your life you need to work hard to get it. I know that you get a job and then get fired from it after twenty years of dedicating work. I know that people meet, fall in love, fall out of love and then meet someone else and everything starts all over again. I know that marriages fall apart and Happily Ever After is for five year olds. I know that people are born, grow, get old and die. They also poop, fart, burp and masturbate. No one is perfect. A lot of them try to be but fail. Because we are weak and we always have someone else to blame. We see sins of others but never notice our own. We go to Church and pray every day, calling ourselves Christians but then limit our children and judge everyone else who is different. I don’t ask God to make me a good person, I do everything possible to be one. I don’t like when people pretend to be my friends and then talk behind my back. I don’t need the appreciation of the whole world. I am who I am and I feel good about it. I am a realist. And reality comforts me because I am always ready for the worst”.
I sat back in my chair, holding onto the glass of Red I had in my hand. I took a sip, let it sit in my mouth for a few seconds and then swallowed it. I wish I was smoking. I bet the combination of wine and cigarettes feels great. Making your body relax to the point where the thoughts and emotions you never thought you had before are coming out and forming this magnificent circle and dancing, dancing, dancing. Oh, wait, no, it’s when you smoke weed. My bad. I sure do miss smoking weed sometimes. Having a pothead boyfriend had one advantage – I got to smoke whenever I wanted and for free. But I am glad I got rid of him. He wasn’t a good influence. He made me wear hills.
I looked at the computer screen where I just typed a short description of myself for this interview I am having on Thursday. I read it again, and then again. It is not how you write cover letters. I shouldn’t be sending that if I want to get the job, I thought. From my own experience, there are not a lot of people out there with any kind of humor. I am not even talking about a good one. I kind of like it, though. It is a perfect two hundred and thirty five word picture of real me. Most of the time, I try to be considerate because it is another downside of being a realist. I have to understand that I live in a society of approximately seven billion people and I need to be nice to get what I want. And in order to get this job I better write something like “I look forward to contribute my ability and experience in your company”.
“Tell them what they want to hear, smile and be nice” - I can still hear the voice of my mom. Poor Mother, she already gave up the idea of me getting married and having babies. “The last thing you owe me is to show that you can take care of yourself” – same voice again. I guess she is right. I am such a disappointment. I never did anything right, or at least not the way she wanted me to. Some of it because I did what I thought was right for me and some of it is to piss her off. Mostly, piss her off. Christian to the marrow of her bones, she was trying to make this ladylike brainless manikin of me for a future husband to “love, and care, and bring home money”. Not so fast, dear Mother. I think Jesus understood way before you did my real intentions. I wanted to write books, publish them, get famous and travel. But until my future bestsellers are published I need to feed myself, and pay rent, and afford gas. And that’s why I am about to write something sweet and wonderful for my employer so he can hire me.
I suddenly started feeling the positive energy coming through me. It felt very good and refreshing to have something to hope for. I got so excited I smacked my right hand palm against the desk, and my left hand shook and wine from the top of my glass got spilled on the keyboard. I said “shit” multiple times and tried to wipe it off with the tissues I usually keep on my desk but today they somehow traveled all the way to the nightstand beside my bed. So I pulled the bottom of my T-shirt and started cleaning the buttons one by one to catch as much liquid as I could. I stopped after five minutes and realized two things. First – I will have to buy a new keyboard and second – I accidentally hit the Enter button while flipping out about the spill. I felt this unexplainable shivering down my spine. It was the only interview I got out of fourteen applications I submitted for the past two months. I wanted to scream and cry. I wanted to break something. But the only thing I could do was to sit down and breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Oh well, I thought, at least I wrote “Sincerely yours”.
- - -
I was born in Western Ukraine. Grew to love mountains and Ukrainian culture. Came to America in 2010 and slowly building my life here, secretly missing home. I have a wonderful ten month old daughter and a husband who is also my best friend:)
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Author:
Okey Fitz
