Blog Post No. 500

     Wow. This is going to be the five hundredth post on here.

     A couple years ago I wrote a post about social media and honesty. Most of the time we only see the "good parts" version of the story, with all the other stuff taken out. Most of these posts on here have been the "good parts" version, because college was rough. And because since graduating, nothing has happened.

    While doing the farm chores this summer while Mom and Trevor were competitions I realized I have no farming talent or skills to speak of. Instead, I'm very experienced at keeping the laundry and dishes running, making sure the trash is taken out and the litter boxes are clean, that sort of thing.

     Spraying chicken manure off the back porch daily gets old pretty quick, but someone needs to do it.

     Furniture Row Racing is shutting down after this season due to lack of sponsorship, which isn't surprising, but it's still pretty sad. Makes me wonder a little bit how much longer NASCAR will be able to keep going, and if it's worth tagging along for the demise.
     When I looked at the Frontstretch staff page last week, I noticed my name was bumped up to "Staff Writer" from "Contributor" sometime recently. That's nice. They're a great group of people to work with, but would the effort expended be better spent elsewhere?

     I've made $7.33 so far in earnings this year, from contributing to Bam Smack Pow. I forgot to cash the check for my 2017 Fronstretch contributions before it went bad, and I've never been paid by RSU for producing the play in March. (Not a great way to inspire your alumni, that isn't.) Around October I should start getting payments from editing Dog O'Day, so that's a little bit more coming in. 
     I've sent out what feels like a lot of job applications this week, feeling kind of brave, though still mostly hopeless.

     All four cars are pretty much undrivable, with only the car we're borrowing from Melody's dad running reliably. This wouldn't matter all that much, since I can't drive, except that we live in the middle of nowhere, so I'm kind of stranded. That's really difficult. You aren't supposed to move back in with your parents after college.

     Severe cabin fever has settled into a permanent state. As part of a large-ish family, you're considered most of the time as a part of that unit, not as an individual.

     People at church mean well, but every week there's several questions of "Have you found a job yet?" And I'm like, "Not yet, but eventually something will come up." And there's too many memories to be able to focus - would you want to return weekly to your middle school, to your high school?
     My introverted brain is dying on the way back from having to try to make small talk, and not go into overdrive wondering how everyone is doing now, of those who used to be here. 
     I still believe, it's just...Idk. Mostly I've been going just because it gets me away from Dad for a couple hours.

     I simply cannot function whenever he's around. It's bad. All my energy goes into survival - I've written a grand total of one poem since graduation, and then with the play, that's been my total creative output since graduation.

     Haven't posted on Instagram since May, because I haven't done or seen anything worth capturing.

     Lots of people getting married this September, seems like. Is that normal?

     Susan's dog died last week, and the Coxes' dog was put to sleep this afternoon. They were both old and sick, but still...it's so hard.