How many people do you know wake up Monday through Friday at five am? How many people do you know wake up at five in the morning, drive two to two and a half hours to a school, pull a freezing cold cart out and load a about hundred pounds of cold heavy camera equipment into a hall that smells faintly of macaroni and excrement. How many people do you know do that only to be greeted by terse smiles and petulant conversations, all of this is just payment for the sins you did not commit.

Who does these things... school photographers.

I want to start by saying school photographers deserve a day of recognition. I say we need... no deserve a day that we will be welcomed with open arms and greeted with beer and massages. I don't know when this day would be, we could even make it in conjunction with other hard working Americans, because there is no way that my job is the only irritating job out there. Lets just make it an irritating job day! If you find your once wonderful and pleasing job irritating then there has to be a day out there for you.

When you arrive at a school, after driving through rain/ice mixes, in a automobile that refuses to heat you have a sort of magical super power if you are able to smile. What I don't understand is the anger. We are invited into the school, the administration and teachers are well aware that we will be there... why the hostility.
It is not my fault when I get the wrong paper work, I didn't control the paper work *sure I could of opened up my job bag up and checked. But I trust them to give me the correct information, unwise? Sure, but it is rare (yet upsetting) when I get screwed up paper work*

All of this angers me completely. How can a job, that I love. The hours are redonkulous (but I like it cuz I have most of my afernoons free and I love napping!), I love working with kids, photography is just fun, a job that I would LOVE to turn into a career... turn into such an anxiety ridden ordeal...

Jesus I just wish this would all work out.

When dreams serve as unfair reminders of memories you can't replace
Its easy to feel that your mind has betrayed you
walking down dark hall ways, opening up doors to pictures
haunting smiles, that hide dark truths, sending chills through my soul
Whispers, stares, a hand across the small of my back all set out to hold me in their place.

What do you when your dreams are set against you, holding on to the ghosts of your past.

Life comes at you pretty fast and if your not told about the impending change or you ignore that tiny voice that yells in times of trouble... You spend several days crying, fasting, and generally on the phone more then average.

at least I have.

I'm only blogging right now because most of the people that I would be talking to have real people jobs and although bothering them would be good for me. Its not good for them. In fact I hate blogging about break ups, the last time I did that was college... and everything is more dramatic in college so it might of been a more enticing read.

We all have our reasons why, ending a relationship is either something you obviously have to do or your not quite sure what to do and your only means of control is to slowly separate yourself from the things that understand you best because you just don't want to deal with it.
Life is in a constant state of flux and I realize that I would not be happy unless it was. But just like any outstanding production it always seems too short lived. Its the nature of the beast that all good things must come to an end. But unlike any outstanding production I think it is the shock of the ending that surprises and hurts us so badly... for you at the receiving end of a break up it seems as though one minute your flying high and less then 48 hours later your head hurts, your eyes are puffy and all you really want to do is call and beg for whatever forgiveness is necessary to make them want you again.
But it would be short lived. I know. What hurts the most is trying to slowly smother the hope that lives with in.

I can't stand my bed, my car, Elf (the movie), my phone, pictures on facebook, every other memory, comedy central, christmas, books, what I bought three weeks ago, underneath my bed, a sweatshirt, photographs that I find cruelly lying about. I haven't throughly scoured my desk yet, I have no energy to do so, I have no desire to run across handwritten memories of a complete lie.

deleting a text is a kin to scissors sniping away at heart tissue, turning what was a solid structure into a tattered mess. The last most painful abrogation was removing his number from my phone, in its entirety. Its still something I regret in my weak moments. My jejune sense of hope refuses to give up, dragging the emotional blade deeper delusionally delivers a belief that he still thinks of me.

As I once imparted to another heartbroken friend, Game Over. The only more painful phrase I can conjure is I love you.