Workplace
Struggling passion
When I first saw this challenge, honestly I got a little bit upset. Why? Why would anyone get upset about the beautiful feeling of PASSION? Because most of the things I used to be passionate about has dimmed over time. I doubt I'll win anything because of that statement, but this is about the deep struggles with the passions in my life, the best ones I've had to change, let go and accept.
By CosmicAli5 years ago in Confessions
The anxiety that hides within
your feet may start to feel heavy but yet your body remains still. You may have your eyes closed yet you start to hear the sound of waves. Easy there your mind is now creating an alternate mind state. Take a deep breath keep your eyes closed. Pay attention to the way your breath feels when you inhale going the your nose ,the expansion of your chest then calmly pay attention to the way your body feels when you breathe out. Slowly feel the air as it fills your stomach.
By Amanda Ramos5 years ago in Confessions
My Week on Seinfeld
I write this memoir because people love Seinfeld. This is my bug’s eye view inside my one week on the show. First. Tragedy struck my life when my very active, much beloved grandmother had a massive stroke. I packed my suitcase and relocated to Laguna Beach to be nearby, when I got a call the same day. I had booked a week on Seinfeld. Something to do with Calvin Klein and Kramer…. I first said no. But my family had me call my agent back. “Are you insane? She (my grandmother) would murder you if she thought you turned down a television show for something as minor as a stroke.” They were right. My grandmother, a Christian Scientist, didn’t believe in illness. To her, none of this is real. It’s true, she would be angry if I didn’t take the offer. And thank God I made the call in time. My week on Seinfeld is one of the highlights in my life — I got away from the crazy people surrounding my grandmother’s stroke and threw myself at the kindness of strangers. I mean Jerry. The star of Seinfeld actually saved my sanity that particular week.
By Blaire Baron5 years ago in Confessions
Army Life
I can genuinely say I joined the Army to run away from home. I can say it was not for money, not for education. I already had those. All these years, I’ve grown nonetheless, though I still don’t have that thick skin. Went through more abuse than I can handle and rape. My anxiety is worse, depression off the roof. I’m more suicidal than I can imagine, even have about four therapists. My NCO Support channels only care about their numbers though, so they told me to wait till I get out to kill myself.
By Leslie Darling Bini5 years ago in Confessions
Worthy Exhaustion
Pulling an all-nighter upholstering a chair and forcing my scissors to cut through napped fabric has left me with man hands this morning. I hold both of my thumbs up side by side. The left has a perfect curve. I rub my finger down my right thumb, hitting a hard dip. Is this my bone? I feel my left thumb again and compare it to my right. Pinching the skin and pulling... it's just callus. Goodness, I was starting to think I permanently deformed my thumb. I've never taken the time to look at my hands before, but today they are aching something fierce. This must be coming from years of choosing the hard plastic all-purpose scissors that cost $12.99 instead of the $50 shears with the comfortable grip.
By Alicia Acosta5 years ago in Confessions
A marvelous money making day...
8JUN2021; 1915, TUE As I sit sipping this slightly expired, nonalcoholic rosé after a long day of wheeling and dealing, I'm inclined to believe that this one is an intriguing one to say the very least. If I hadn't lived it in the flesh...
By Nefarious Darrius5 years ago in Confessions
Tilt Kettle
Tilt Kettle Chef Smith Henry woke to the sound of his wristwatch alarm. The time read 2:52am. Perfect. He dressed quickly pulling his chef whites over his long limbs, covering his shaggy dark hair in his tall white paper hat and then left his hotel room to walk down the hall to the kitchen. He could smell the beef stock before he stepped on to the tiled floor. He turned on the lights, unlocked the office door, loaded three pens and two soup spoons into the pocket on his upper left arm, closed the door, grabbed the cart full of plastic pails he’d left by the door on his way out last night, then rolled to the tilt kettle.
By Whitney Sweet5 years ago in Confessions
My Drug Addicted Boss Once Tried to Teach Me Acting
I am not a particularly cocky person... At least, not anymore. Admittedly, I used to be a very cocky person. In my first summer away from college, having studied "the art of acting" for two whole semesters, I re-joined a summer stock program for the second year in a row. And let me tell you, I thought I was the shit. Turns out, I was just a piece of shit.
By Andrew Martin Dodson5 years ago in Confessions
Sunergy
I started working here in April 2018. I was hired as an inspection tech for $20/hourly. I thought this was great given my install and inspection experience. On day 1 I already found myself butting heads with my “supervisor” (not my hiring manager). This girl would add additional calls to my schedule with no knowledge or care of what jobs truly needed. She only demanded miracles out of me as she would say: “it HAS to be done today!”
By Blake Edward5 years ago in Confessions
My Inner Writer
I hate the word productive. It was the word my mom used to tell me she was disappointed in my choices. “I wasn’t using my time in a productive manner” or “You should learn to knit, because that would be more productive,” she would say. And so, I have a constant need to feel like I have spent my time wisely and a fear of wasting my time; fear of procrastinating or vegging out, yet I cringe and feel a visceral hatred when I think about being productive. Which is where creative writing, poetry, short stories, and epic DND campaigns, come into play. Writing allows my mind to be free, to wonder, and to create in a way that I feel is productive, without actively thinking I am trying to be so. I didn’t realize writing was such an outlet, until after graduating high school, then it stopped feeling like homework.
By Katherine MacKie5 years ago in Confessions
