I reside in Barstow ... *sigh* really I do.

Encircling my new home of Barstow, CA is desert. Mountainous, dry, and countless shades of brown, the land surrounding this small oasis town is foreboding and barren.

I imagine an aerial view of the surrounding area would be miles of nothing scarred by random highways that don't even have police to monitor them; rather there are only signs that warn that the speed is watched by aircraft, which always makes me laugh as I picture a shaky spotlight hoovering over my Corolla and a loud-speakered voice telling me to pull over to the side of the road in the pitch black of the desert night. I'm sure this is far from reality, but I cannot fathom another way that this would be a feasible system for controlling speed.

All this void surrounds a town filled with thin, long houses fairly stacked on one another. Street after street stuffed with seemingly abandoned cars and out-of-place deep grooves in the road to serve as rain gutters during the ten days out of the year when a few drops fall. These grooves seem to symbolize the spirit of Barstow, which calls itself "The Crossroads of Opportunity" - lofty plans with nothing to fill them.

Back in the heyday of Route 66 Barstow must have been a fabulous tourist spot. Empty store fronts and abandoned diners speak to the era when families rushed out of their station wagons for a quick bite on the way to LA, bikers threw their legs over their Hogs and roared off to Vegas, and couples newly eloped snuggled with each other as they looked over cheesy souvenirs so that they would always have something to remember their elicit trip. Or at least this is how I picture it.

Now the dirty streets mirror the decline in the economy. Many jobless people stew in their sweat as they sit on the side of the road staring at the passing cars because they literally have nothing else to do. Hookers are scattered everywhere, but they are hard to detect in their bland and therefore unusual uniforms. Youth of every race and creed wonder the streets at all hours of day and night in long denim jeans despite the 105 degree summer heat.

A few weeks back my boyfriend and I were sitting in our living room sweating on our couch, wearing the bare minimum of clothing as we saturated our vintage upholstery with dew. Suddenly I saw a man standing by our front window, meaning that he had to be standing in our cactus garden in front of our house. He spoke only Spanish, which neither of us speak. I couldn't understand what he was saying, but my boy eventually heard 'tamales' and figured out that this older Mexican man was trying to sell us food.

We told him no and he moved away, but this moment of entrepreneurship perfectly describes what its like to live in Barstow. While cooking in my own juices in my house I had to turn away someone I didn't understand. And I don't truly understand this kind of living yet. I don't understand abandoned businesses and hostile youths. I don't understand useless grooves in the road that brush the undercarriage of your car every time you drive over them. I don't understand houses with no yards and miles of nothing outside of town.

But I do understand that this is exciting. This lifestyle and this location please me even if it's beyond my current frame of reference. The isolation and the depressed economy is foreign to me, but not to so many others. As trite as it sounds, this barren landscape makes me aware of how lucky I've had it my whole life. If nothing else I appreciate the nothing of this town for that.

However this doesn't answer the question of whether I can survive it. That bit I'll have to figure out soon enough. But I'm tough. Max is tough. And so far we're doing just fine in Barstow.

On rebellion

Somewhere around eight-years-old, I started to do something that to my young mind was illicit and devious.

I would sneak downstairs at night and watch TV.

Around one in the morning when my house was quiet, I would wake. In the room next to mine my sister slept, wrapped in a cocoon of sheets, mouth agape, and hair mussed. My parent's door was shut tight as they only left it when they went to bed. I knew it was the perfect time.

I tiptoed past their doors and softly padded down the stairs. I bee-lined to the television in the living room, grabbing the remote as I passed the coffee table. Forgoing the couch, I opted for the floor. This was partially because I always enjoyed laying on my stomach before the flickering screen while holding my head in my upturned hands, but mostly it was so I could listen at the lowest audible volume without waking the house.

The hum of the television was a comfort as the box warmed itself upon hitting the power button. The grey of the screen quickly shifted to the last watched channel, and I rushed to turn down the sound as quickly as possible.

In my favorite position and the volume safely set, I was now free to surf. At this hour I didn't fear my mother's sharp, reprimanding tongue, or my father's disappointment; I allowed myself free reign to go to every banned channel and take in what my eight-year-old eyes were not meant to see.

In the years before child-safety codes and V-chips I would use the precious hours I could have spent resting taking in the flicker of that-which-my-parents-did-not-approve. I would watch video after video on MTV and VH1. This is where I first saw the video for Tool's "Sober" and Michael Jackson's "Thriller". It was late at night that I first fell in love with Madonna's "Like a Prayer", and was confused by videos made by Peter Gabriel. I still remember being moved to tears by A-Ha's "Take On Me" video, although at this point I can't really remember why.

Music aside, though, these late night viewing sessions lead to me seeing some of the movies that to this day are incredibly memorable to me. The first time I saw Johnny demand that no one put Baby into a corner was after midnight. Ferris Bueller's truancy was initially observed at one. Carrie's brutal assault terrified me at three.

And then there were the shows that I loved to watch during off hours. Reruns of "Saturday Night Live" made my laugh, even though I rarely knew why. "Aoen Flux" was a vast mind fuck for adults much less a young girl. The critiques of music videos on "Beavis and Butthead" taught me about satire and juvenile humor.

These hours spent basking in the glow of the television screen amid the darkness of the family room was not only my very innocent and ultimately inconsequential form of rebellion; it was my successful first attempt to develop my sense of self.

This vital declaration that all youths must make at some point wasn't done through illicit materials, questionable friends, or unseemly activities. For me this was accomplished through my favorite form of entertainment. For a child who always adored the television as educator, companion, and entertainer in equal parts, it seems more than natural that my choice for scandal was a tube filled box.

My parents were far from conservative in terms of raising my sister and I. We were free to do more or less what we wished whenever we wanted. We were, however, required to observe rules Our parents and their authoritative word was to be followed, regardless of whether or not we saw the point. More often then not this was the way I operated when living my young life.

But not during my late-night rendezvouses with the TV. Knowing that if I was caught I would be punished for being out of bed and, more importantly, watching the programing that I knew was not approved, I nonetheless several times a month committed my devious acts of visual malice. I was never caught ingesting the after-hours programming, but that is of little significance. It was the act of disobedience that made the events so delicious to me.

Looking back on these evenings has made me realize that if I had never crept to the box in the family room when all of my house rested, I would not be the person I am today. I would not be the entertainment nerd that I am who obsessively can converse on many a topic. I would not have the wide range of interests that varies from the fanciful to the macabre. I would not be the free-thinker that is willing to look past the status quo to find my place in society.

Is it simplistic to have been most highly impacted by late-night television consumption? Naturally. But I wouldn't trade one minute of my late nights in front of the flickering box.

Will work for health care and dental!

About a month before I moved to Barstow, I got fired from my job. And it's been sweet.

I was working at a company that I initially loved. I was hired for an administrative position, and I adored it. I was good at my job and I was increasing the productivity of my entire sales department.

But then my boss pushed me into a sales position. I never wanted to do it. I had no training. But they let me know that I would not be given a raise from my $22,000 a year if I didn't take the promotion. So I did.

I struggled for several months. I built up my connections and I got my pitches down. I gradually started to increase my numbers. It was a fun challenge to try and teach myself the skill of sales. I studied it up in my free time and asked countless questions so that I could learn as much as possible.

And then two things happened.

First, the economy started to go south. My customers stopped returning my calls and the time to close a deal became very long.

Second, they hired someone to be my boss. From the word go he and I didn't click. The first day he came in to meet the company he didn't bother to even say hello to me. That's right, the man that was to be my boss didn't think it was necessary to even introduce himself.

When we next met he asked what my goals were and what I needed help with. I let him know that I needed guidance and help with technique to learn how to sell. He promised to provide me with this.

Well...that never happened. Company meetings became annoying time-wasters that taught me nothing about the art of closing the deal. One-on-one meetings left me feeling like a failure. At one point after I told him I really wanted to be good at my job and I asked for advice, he told me this:

"Well Kendragon, I've always wanted to be a rock star, playing in front of thousands of people. But that's never going to happen. And I've always wanted to play in the NBA, but I'll never be tall enough."

This was my boss' idea of motivation - to tell me that I would never be good at my job. He started giving me impossible goals and reprimanding me constantly. So it was no shocker that I was fired two weeks later.

Needless to say, I was horribly hurt. I had not only never been fired before, but I had never not succeeded at a job before. I pride myself on my ability to learn quickly and become a key member of a company's team. It's my goal to be indispensable. And let's face it, despite my vast efforts and hours of time spent trying to improve, I failed.

This left me very depressed. I began to comfort eat and gained five pounds. If I hadn't had Max in my life to keep me light I surely would have gone completely off the deep end.

Since I have moved out to Barstow I have been working endlessly trying to find a job. I have applied for easily 200 job in around a month. The couple interviews I went on wound up being for horrible scam jobs that would have eventually cost me money.

So basically...it's been frustrating.

But I'm actually happy that I got fired. If it hadn't happened, I would have been stuck working a job I hate just for the paycheck. I never would have come with Max to here, where I actually love living, 100 degree heat or no.

But mostly, I wouldn't have seen that I can survive this kind of massive rejection. I mean I wallowed and became depressed, but overall I've been positive about the situation. I'm pushing to be strong with the situation, and thus far it's working. With my fear of rejection being such a big thing in my life, surviving this massive form of it relatively in tact has been huge.

So oddly I need to thank my former boss. I'm very comfortable in the notion that I will be much happier and successful for the firing having happened. It brought Max and me closer together, and it's forced me to see the sunny side of things.

Pretty good outcome for a shit-storm if you ask me.

A Word About Max

I feel the need to gush, friends.

I have an amazing boyfriend. And as I'm sure that anyone reading this knows little about my man I'll describe my marvelous find for you.

First off, my man is brilliantly smart. He has his master's already in freaking biology. Oh, and he minored in creative writing and knows a hell of alot about...well everything. To contrast this I have my BA in Theatre Management. *Cough*. He readily knows far too much about far too many things. For example, he is able to intelligently discuss with me the nature of why American theatre is suffering, and critic my notions for how to improve marketing. He does this with as much knowledge and creativity as my former classmates. And then of course there are the decisions about ancient civilizations, animal mating habits, music, film, society, politics, serial killers, and just about anything he finds even momentary interest in. To say the least he's wicked intelligent.

He's a kid at heart which is adorable instead of annoying. Mostly because this manifests as him being the most fun-loving man I've ever dated. He loves his video games and watching reruns of old TV shows. He quotes random movie and TV lines with me all the time. He loves a wide range of music and will sing along with me when we go on our many road trips. He's constantly thinking of new activities for us to do and I can't remember ever not enjoying them, most specifically because he makes everything more entertaining.

He's the funniest dude I've ever dated. Ever. And that's saying something. One of my exes was a stand-up comedian.

He's incredibly talented. He's a writer of both nonfiction articles that have been published and movies. He makes them with his good friend, and he both produces and acts in them. The first they made together recently won an award. I've watched them work on their latest, and they are professional and dedicated. There is genuine talent that they exhibit, and I find it incredibly impressive.

He's nurturing and caring. If I'm the least bit sad he takes notice and does whatever he can to make me smile. When my depression has become an issue he's offered to help in anyway he can, and gets angry when he realizes that he can't fix the problem himself. He holds me when I need it, and kisses me for no reason. He is the exact amount of sweetness that I could ask for without being annoying about it.

And finally...ummm...he's hot. My boy works out at the gym at least four times a week (I go with him, so if anyone is following me from years of prior blogs...hooray for finally being on track). One of his favorite things to do in his spare time is to go out into the wild and hike. He's got muscly arms and a manly, handsome face. The first few times that we went on dates I found myself not listening to him because I was thinking, "My GOD he's cute!"

Above all else, though, my man loves me. When he got the job offer that brought us out to Barstow, he waited about two weeks to accept. I know part of that time was because he was deciding if he wanted to move in general, but I found out later that part of the delay was deciding if he could ask me to go with or not.

After he asked me I obviously had trepidation. Max and I had only been dating a couple months at that point, and although I knew I loved him and wanted to be with him, I didn't know if now was a good time to start something incredibly serious with this guy. I mean Max and I don't want to have kids and are pretty sure we don't want to get married...so living together is the most intense relationship move that he and I will do.

But Max was patient with me as I made up my mind. He answered my MANY questions, and made it crystal clear that this was a move of love and not wanting to hedge off loneliness. What finally made the decision for me was when I found out that he had called the company and told them that he might not be coming after all. Why did he do this? Because I told him I didn't think I could justify the move. That's right, my wonderful Max was willing to turn down a job he would love in the part of the country he desperately wanted to be in...for me. To stay with me. After I found that out I realized how much he cared for me. And if he was willing to make that big of a sacrifice to be with me...well I could sacrifice for him.

I'm happy with Max. He's a great compliment to me that is pushing me to be the best person possible all the time. He's an incredibly positive influence and I love him deeply.

Now I'm going to stop gushing. My man is beginning to wake up on this Sunday morning, and I think I'm going to make him some french toast. Cause I love him. Muchly.

What If..?

I am cursed to wallow in the "What If..?"

I spend a vast amount of time every day asking "What If..?" questions. Usually this is accompanied by elaborate daydream scenarios.

Par example:

What if Max decides that my Crazy is too hard to deal with? What if he kicks me out of the house and I'm left in the middle of the desert alone? What if my family won't help me get home and I wind up being like the creepy homeless ladies around here who dumpster dive to find things to sell? What if I'm alone, jobless, homeless, and most likely with horrible teeth cause I have such a bad mouth?

And let's not forget the random "What If..?"'s that just make me seem crazy. What if I have AIDS and don't know it? What if I loose a leg tomorrow? What if I wake up paralyzed in the morning cause a cockroach decided to crawl into my ear and somehow got past the inner workings of the ear and started messing with my motor functions?

Fun no? And people wonder why I constantly am paranoid. It's cause I convince myself thoroughly that I am not good enough to get anything real and good in my life.

I have the perfect guy for me in my life. He's witty, charming, childish in the most wonderful way, mature, brilliantly smart, and handsome as the day is long. He cares about me greatly and asked me to move across the country with him just so we can stay together. But can I just enjoy it? Can I lay back and understand that this is me finally getting what I deserve as a person who tries to do their best for others but rarely gets the same treatment?

Nope. Cause what if I get too comfortable and don't notice us drifting apart? What if he decides that he doesn't want someone who's seemingly happy with their life going toward mediocre, even if the reality would be precisely the opposite? What if he realizes that he will most likely be able to find someone better? And prettier? And not crazy?

Naturally I know that this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. It's resulted in my life not being what I thought it would be at 24. I logically know that this is a bullshit way to exist.

But...how to turn it off?

I know that I'm living in the "What If..?" and because of that I'm missing my present. I'm missing the enjoyable time of creating a new life with a man I love. Hell, I'm missing out on being young and carefree. I'm missing out on being the fun-loving, happy girl I know I am on some level.

All because the "What If..?" is rotting the core of what makes me fabulous.

So...how to stop. And I mean really stop? That's what I need to answer.

Watch out! This is Bat Country!

For those new to the realm of the Kendragon, let me catch you up.

I'm a post-college grad who has been out in the adult world for about three years. Around five years ago I was diagnosed with mild manic-depression, which I kindly refer to as my Crazy.

I've gone through many a up and down, but now I'm working on getting my life in order. This has become increasingly important in the last three months. In that time I've 1) found an amazing man that I love whom I call Max, 2) been fired from a job I didn't like much but still labored at intensively, which has brought about a confusing set of responses both emotional and physical, and 3) moved from Cleveland, OH to Barstow, CA.

This last change has been both exciting and terrifying. I came out here because Max got a job offer that he couldn't pass up. He asked me to join him cause he loves me and didn't want to be apart from me. Without a job and living at my parents I had nothing keeping me in C-town. So I opted to come along. We have a lovely house with pets out here now and we're feeling our way through figuring out how to live with someone like adults.

The only thing that has made this huge change less than exciting is that my crazy has been raging. Without a job and nothing but time to worry I've been having some bad times. My fear of rejection has convinced me that the great man in my life will leave me, and no less in the middle of the desert now. Max has been noticing my paranoia and depression, and it's been hard on him as well. Something needs to change soon to make things better. Hopefully using this as an outlet will only help.