Monday, April 18, 2011
Eating Butterflies
I'm in a writing mood, and my Bing Bing is being a pain, and I DON'T want to go to work tomorrow.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Ambitious Girl - A True Tale
You know I never really considered myself an ambitious person, until someone actually pointed it out to me.
Of course, it was my mother. She, (my father more so but less often) has a knack for making me realize things about myself.
Apparently, I am ambitious.
How so?
Let's review, starting with the reasons why I never considered myself such a thing.
For one, you are most likely aware that young children want to be everything when they grow up: doctors, dentists, race car drivers, soldiers, astronauts, singers, actors, ect.
I was told from an early age that I was a very smart child, and select family members swore up and down that by age twelve, I had the mind of an adult.
I disagreed, insisted in fact, that I just tried harder than most, which in retrospect, is true. The majority of people are very lazy and don't apply themselves.
But in a sense, my relatives were correct about me.
For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a pilot.
I blame attendance at too many air shows and an utter obsession with the Blue Angels. I used to cry if I didn't get to go to the air show every year. I'm still upset about the one I missed in Chicago, and I'm twenty-one, folks.
Anyway, as much as I daydreamed about flying one of those miraculous planes (shoot, I'd take a helicopter) I was a sensible child. I knew that the chances of such a thing happening were ridiculously tiny.
So I went on in life, going through school, making odd friends, and so on.
In grade school, I developed an interest in writing. Ever since I could write, I've claimed that I would publish a book one day. I'm still determined to accomplish this goal, and have drafts for books I wrote when I was little still tucked away somewhere along...with fresher ones winking at me from my laptop.
In middle school, I developed an interest in drawing. I blame Alex. I haven't heard from her in ages, but she always was a good friend, and it's all her fault that I love art. <3
It is true that at most things that I attempt, I tend to excel. I'm not bragging. There are plenty of things I suck at, too. Like remembering things for long periods of time or doing most activities other than art that people think an artist should be good at.
I can't sew and I suck at fixing circuit cards.
I used to be terrified of driving.
I don't bloody care about my appearance, but long for *snorts* companionship. -insert blush here-
I'm still too stubborn to change. This is me. If no one can accept that, then they can kiss it and I'll stay happily single. My mother knows. She expects no grandkids from me. Not that she needs them.... My cousins are like rabbits. Babies everywhere.
And they're all broke too.
That's mean. Oops. No kidding, I ADORE my family, crazy cousins included.
Anywho, I learned so freaking quickly when I started drawing. I read books half the and I drew the rest, and I passed up people who had been drawing for years beyond me. Get that? I was still reading books, writing books, and teaching myself how to draw.
Oh, and weekends! Don't get me started on those. I played softball for seven years before I got to high school. I also tried a smidgen of other things like basketball and cheerleading. (blegh)
I also spent a lot of time with my family. We went camping, mud-bogging, riding four-wheelers, boat-riding, and attempting various water sports. Camp fires are still fun and in good taste. I love the stories. I still go home every year for Christmas parties.
Beyond family, my social pool is rather sad. I have a few close friends and a lot of "eh" acquaintances.
In high school I took a tennis class. I sucked at tennis, but it was fun. I was in a handful of clubs. I took a LOT of art classes, as many as I could. I was determined to have an artistic career beyond high school. I went to Savannah to participate in their Sidewalk Arts Festival. Won some stuff for a few years. Wrote books like a madwoman, because back then, free time wasn't a myth. I have 60,000 words drafts that are horribly written, but written, none-the-less.
I graduated High School, got a bunch of rewards and scholarships. I sat on that stage and laughed and smiled, because dammit - I worked for it.
The economy was shit, though. After graduating, getting a job was so freaking difficult. I finally landed one at a local pizza joint. Let me tell you, I do NOT turn my nose up at fast food jobs, but that place was hell. I felt out-of-place, overworked, and underpaid.
I quit after two months, an emotional wreck. I spent another handful of months drifting, and my parents got understandably impatient. I was job hunting, but nothing was turning up. I felt ashamed of myself. I was trying, but I still like it was my fault that nothing was working out.
Now get this, I was adamant about NOT joining the military. I didn't want to sell them my soul and service for four years. I didn't want to be owned. I loved my freedom. I'm an artist. We'd rather be broke and happy and starving than chained to anything.
However, one lonely day while perusing the internet, I saw that one presumably harmless little add for the Naval recruiting program. I mentioned offhandedly to my mother, and a month later we just happened to be walking past the recruiting office, and somehow or other, she managed to usher me inside.
Trust me, she didn't force me into it. *laughs* I had been thinking. I would not be the girl who lived with her parents forever. That's not me.
I think it was pretty much sealed when I took that practice ASVAB test, and I watched with part confusion, part amusement as the recruiter's brows shot up his forehead, and he snatched his Chief out of an important conversation to show him my score. There was a bit of excited whispering.
The following week I took the real test, scored pretty much the same thing, and barely avoided some greedy army recruiter's grasp as I left the building. Out of five other guys taking the test, I scored the second highest. One guy was a freaking genius, let me tell you. He got a damn 99 on his test. I got an 82. The average score for that test is like 13. I got an 82. The other guys with me couldn't score above 33.
I was put through MEPS once, then was one day kidnapped by my recruiter to run a PFA-esque thing. Seriously, I was annoyed when I had to usher out a mile and a half in under twenty minutes, dish out twenty push-ups and fifty or so sit-ups. I didn't know jack about physical fitness then.
That summer ended, and I found myself on a miserable plane-hopping adventure, which went from Jacksonville to Miami to Chicago. Boot camp was a miserable place, and very much a blur.
Suddenly, I found myself a junior sailor, living over a thousand miles from home. I hated Great Lakes with a passion, and I was stuck there for two years. I attended technical schools and kept my head down to avoid trouble. It was cold. I saw snow for the first time. I took in the sights, eventually made friends with the staff. In the end, I was coming off of six months on hold for orders working a night shift and painting huge murals in my barracks.
I was content working the ways I was, but on three hours a sleep a nights and catching Zs on the weekends. I was only sleeping and working and that sucked. I was there for blizzards, The Human Flag, several suicides, and an attempted murder.
Finally, I got orders to Japan.
My Chief was delighted to tell me about it. I was only thrown about the 2M work, because while it was COMMS like I wanted, it was the one job I had pointed out that I didn't want to do in that area. But whatever, I got JAPAN! I was thrilled.
Leave in October, leave for stand down, and then Norfolk.
Ooooh, Norfolk.
It was at about this time that I realized how much I'd changed since leaving home. I knew for a fact that I could live on my own. I was still an artist though, one who had made my mark in Great Lakes. I landed myself in a few papers, and there probably wasn't a Chief there who didn't know my name.
But anyway, Norfolk. It wouldn't have beens so bad there, hadn't a few things happened: One, as predicted, I sucked at 2M. While these butchy guys plowed easily through the course, I struggled, and somehow made it out alive. Two, I got stuck in a hotel, and my per diem got screwed up, meaning the bank snatched almost two thousand dollars from my bank account one glorious pay day. I had 86 dollars to my name and I was needed at least five hundred to make it to Japan.
Oh yeah, did I mention that my Dad got in a bad 4-wheeler accident? The last week of school? The most STRESSFUL week? Oh yeah, I was having a GREAT time. (note: sarcasm)
So here I am: broke, emotionally traumatized, and stressed over school.
I somehow finished up 2M, made a few phone calls, got a loan, and went home on emergency leave. Extended that leave by a few days by being a go between for two commands, speaking with people who were often ridiculously high ranking. I got to see my beloved Daddykins, then a new adventure began.
Borrowed some money from my Great Grandpa.
Two hours to Virginia on a plan from Florida. Spent the night. Got my crap the next day and flew two hours to Atlanta and two more to Detroit. Through the Detroit airport, I hauled ass to catch my flight to Tokyo.
My FOURTEEN hour flight to Tokyo. It never got dark. I couldn't sleep. It was AWFUL.
I made it to Tokyo - no one spoke English, I swear - somehow redirected my baggage and barely caught my flight to Naha in Okinawa. I passed out in the seat and don't really remember much about that flight.
In the middle of the night, I got to Oki, met my sponsor at the door, road to my barracks and couldn't get a lick of sleep.
I had to be at work the next day anyway. Woohoo! I worked for two days, sleeping after that first night, every chance I got for nearly a week, until I was caught up.
Now I'm settled in here, still learning things, but have gained the respect of my superiors. I work next to the flight line - getting to watch and hear planes launching and landing all day.
I'm getting my eyes fixed. I just advanced to Electronic's Technician 3rd Class Petty Officer. I'm taking the E-5 exams in September.
I'm putting in packets to be an Officer this year. Know why?
So I can become a pilot.
My command fully supports this. They seem to think I can pull it off.
So...ambitious?
I never really thought so before, but now I...
I still draw, I still write, I still work, I might be a pilot someday. My goals don't change, they just grow. I mean, really. Artist, author, pilot. Do those go hand-in-hand?
I'm always tired. I'm always working. I try harder than anyone, and I want so badly to succeed.
Two years ago, if you would have told me where I am today, would I have believed you?
No.
I would have called you crazy and possibly have you institutionalized. I might have also avoided you, for safety's sake.
What have YOU done?
Tell me.
I'm all ears.
Of course, it was my mother. She, (my father more so but less often) has a knack for making me realize things about myself.
Apparently, I am ambitious.
How so?
Let's review, starting with the reasons why I never considered myself such a thing.
For one, you are most likely aware that young children want to be everything when they grow up: doctors, dentists, race car drivers, soldiers, astronauts, singers, actors, ect.
I was told from an early age that I was a very smart child, and select family members swore up and down that by age twelve, I had the mind of an adult.
I disagreed, insisted in fact, that I just tried harder than most, which in retrospect, is true. The majority of people are very lazy and don't apply themselves.
But in a sense, my relatives were correct about me.
For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a pilot.
I blame attendance at too many air shows and an utter obsession with the Blue Angels. I used to cry if I didn't get to go to the air show every year. I'm still upset about the one I missed in Chicago, and I'm twenty-one, folks.
Anyway, as much as I daydreamed about flying one of those miraculous planes (shoot, I'd take a helicopter) I was a sensible child. I knew that the chances of such a thing happening were ridiculously tiny.
So I went on in life, going through school, making odd friends, and so on.
In grade school, I developed an interest in writing. Ever since I could write, I've claimed that I would publish a book one day. I'm still determined to accomplish this goal, and have drafts for books I wrote when I was little still tucked away somewhere along...with fresher ones winking at me from my laptop.
In middle school, I developed an interest in drawing. I blame Alex. I haven't heard from her in ages, but she always was a good friend, and it's all her fault that I love art. <3
It is true that at most things that I attempt, I tend to excel. I'm not bragging. There are plenty of things I suck at, too. Like remembering things for long periods of time or doing most activities other than art that people think an artist should be good at.
I can't sew and I suck at fixing circuit cards.
I used to be terrified of driving.
I don't bloody care about my appearance, but long for *snorts* companionship. -insert blush here-
I'm still too stubborn to change. This is me. If no one can accept that, then they can kiss it and I'll stay happily single. My mother knows. She expects no grandkids from me. Not that she needs them.... My cousins are like rabbits. Babies everywhere.
And they're all broke too.
That's mean. Oops. No kidding, I ADORE my family, crazy cousins included.
Anywho, I learned so freaking quickly when I started drawing. I read books half the and I drew the rest, and I passed up people who had been drawing for years beyond me. Get that? I was still reading books, writing books, and teaching myself how to draw.
Oh, and weekends! Don't get me started on those. I played softball for seven years before I got to high school. I also tried a smidgen of other things like basketball and cheerleading. (blegh)
I also spent a lot of time with my family. We went camping, mud-bogging, riding four-wheelers, boat-riding, and attempting various water sports. Camp fires are still fun and in good taste. I love the stories. I still go home every year for Christmas parties.
Beyond family, my social pool is rather sad. I have a few close friends and a lot of "eh" acquaintances.
In high school I took a tennis class. I sucked at tennis, but it was fun. I was in a handful of clubs. I took a LOT of art classes, as many as I could. I was determined to have an artistic career beyond high school. I went to Savannah to participate in their Sidewalk Arts Festival. Won some stuff for a few years. Wrote books like a madwoman, because back then, free time wasn't a myth. I have 60,000 words drafts that are horribly written, but written, none-the-less.
I graduated High School, got a bunch of rewards and scholarships. I sat on that stage and laughed and smiled, because dammit - I worked for it.
The economy was shit, though. After graduating, getting a job was so freaking difficult. I finally landed one at a local pizza joint. Let me tell you, I do NOT turn my nose up at fast food jobs, but that place was hell. I felt out-of-place, overworked, and underpaid.
I quit after two months, an emotional wreck. I spent another handful of months drifting, and my parents got understandably impatient. I was job hunting, but nothing was turning up. I felt ashamed of myself. I was trying, but I still like it was my fault that nothing was working out.
Now get this, I was adamant about NOT joining the military. I didn't want to sell them my soul and service for four years. I didn't want to be owned. I loved my freedom. I'm an artist. We'd rather be broke and happy and starving than chained to anything.
However, one lonely day while perusing the internet, I saw that one presumably harmless little add for the Naval recruiting program. I mentioned offhandedly to my mother, and a month later we just happened to be walking past the recruiting office, and somehow or other, she managed to usher me inside.
Trust me, she didn't force me into it. *laughs* I had been thinking. I would not be the girl who lived with her parents forever. That's not me.
I think it was pretty much sealed when I took that practice ASVAB test, and I watched with part confusion, part amusement as the recruiter's brows shot up his forehead, and he snatched his Chief out of an important conversation to show him my score. There was a bit of excited whispering.
The following week I took the real test, scored pretty much the same thing, and barely avoided some greedy army recruiter's grasp as I left the building. Out of five other guys taking the test, I scored the second highest. One guy was a freaking genius, let me tell you. He got a damn 99 on his test. I got an 82. The average score for that test is like 13. I got an 82. The other guys with me couldn't score above 33.
I was put through MEPS once, then was one day kidnapped by my recruiter to run a PFA-esque thing. Seriously, I was annoyed when I had to usher out a mile and a half in under twenty minutes, dish out twenty push-ups and fifty or so sit-ups. I didn't know jack about physical fitness then.
That summer ended, and I found myself on a miserable plane-hopping adventure, which went from Jacksonville to Miami to Chicago. Boot camp was a miserable place, and very much a blur.
Suddenly, I found myself a junior sailor, living over a thousand miles from home. I hated Great Lakes with a passion, and I was stuck there for two years. I attended technical schools and kept my head down to avoid trouble. It was cold. I saw snow for the first time. I took in the sights, eventually made friends with the staff. In the end, I was coming off of six months on hold for orders working a night shift and painting huge murals in my barracks.
I was content working the ways I was, but on three hours a sleep a nights and catching Zs on the weekends. I was only sleeping and working and that sucked. I was there for blizzards, The Human Flag, several suicides, and an attempted murder.
Finally, I got orders to Japan.
My Chief was delighted to tell me about it. I was only thrown about the 2M work, because while it was COMMS like I wanted, it was the one job I had pointed out that I didn't want to do in that area. But whatever, I got JAPAN! I was thrilled.
Leave in October, leave for stand down, and then Norfolk.
Ooooh, Norfolk.
It was at about this time that I realized how much I'd changed since leaving home. I knew for a fact that I could live on my own. I was still an artist though, one who had made my mark in Great Lakes. I landed myself in a few papers, and there probably wasn't a Chief there who didn't know my name.
But anyway, Norfolk. It wouldn't have beens so bad there, hadn't a few things happened: One, as predicted, I sucked at 2M. While these butchy guys plowed easily through the course, I struggled, and somehow made it out alive. Two, I got stuck in a hotel, and my per diem got screwed up, meaning the bank snatched almost two thousand dollars from my bank account one glorious pay day. I had 86 dollars to my name and I was needed at least five hundred to make it to Japan.
Oh yeah, did I mention that my Dad got in a bad 4-wheeler accident? The last week of school? The most STRESSFUL week? Oh yeah, I was having a GREAT time. (note: sarcasm)
So here I am: broke, emotionally traumatized, and stressed over school.
I somehow finished up 2M, made a few phone calls, got a loan, and went home on emergency leave. Extended that leave by a few days by being a go between for two commands, speaking with people who were often ridiculously high ranking. I got to see my beloved Daddykins, then a new adventure began.
Borrowed some money from my Great Grandpa.
Two hours to Virginia on a plan from Florida. Spent the night. Got my crap the next day and flew two hours to Atlanta and two more to Detroit. Through the Detroit airport, I hauled ass to catch my flight to Tokyo.
My FOURTEEN hour flight to Tokyo. It never got dark. I couldn't sleep. It was AWFUL.
I made it to Tokyo - no one spoke English, I swear - somehow redirected my baggage and barely caught my flight to Naha in Okinawa. I passed out in the seat and don't really remember much about that flight.
In the middle of the night, I got to Oki, met my sponsor at the door, road to my barracks and couldn't get a lick of sleep.
I had to be at work the next day anyway. Woohoo! I worked for two days, sleeping after that first night, every chance I got for nearly a week, until I was caught up.
Now I'm settled in here, still learning things, but have gained the respect of my superiors. I work next to the flight line - getting to watch and hear planes launching and landing all day.
I'm getting my eyes fixed. I just advanced to Electronic's Technician 3rd Class Petty Officer. I'm taking the E-5 exams in September.
I'm putting in packets to be an Officer this year. Know why?
So I can become a pilot.
My command fully supports this. They seem to think I can pull it off.
So...ambitious?
I never really thought so before, but now I...
I still draw, I still write, I still work, I might be a pilot someday. My goals don't change, they just grow. I mean, really. Artist, author, pilot. Do those go hand-in-hand?
I'm always tired. I'm always working. I try harder than anyone, and I want so badly to succeed.
Two years ago, if you would have told me where I am today, would I have believed you?
No.
I would have called you crazy and possibly have you institutionalized. I might have also avoided you, for safety's sake.
What have YOU done?
Tell me.
I'm all ears.
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