I Made a Blog!

(So get off my back about not writing home enough.)

 Tuesday, May 3, 2021 S.S. (Me, and the rest of Solíteir) 

Sunday, April 27, 2021 G.S (You, and the rest of the world)

       A wise rapper once said, “Immigrants – we get the job done.” As an immigrant, I can attest that yes, we do get the job done.

In my case, that job is as a clerk for the Julianopolis Central Neighborhood DMV. Is this my dream job? No. Does it pay the bills? Depends on how you define bills. I have a roof over my head and food in my stomach. If it wasn’t for my full ride scholarship to UJ, I would be eating last semester’s textbooks for breakfast and staying warm in an origami house made from old essay drafts and class notes. (I have enough to build a reasonable-sized hut. Stay tuned for construction updates.)

       I have been living as a stranger in a strange land for four years, but the DMV is still a world unto it’s self.  Not only does it bring out the worst in our patrons, but it also brings out the worst in us clerks. Like, just walking through the doors casts a shadow over you soul. When I moved to J-Town, I was alone. I assumed that I would get a job and make friends and meet a nice guy and move on with life.

But no.

DMV instead.

I have no friends.

I have no prospects.

       My father will soon have to settle for the farmer down the road for two goats and a book of matches. (I’m joking. Of course, it will be a whole box of matches.) To avoid becoming a lonely cat lady, I decided to get my graduate degree. But after two semesters of having to study and work every spare minute, I just haven’t had time to meet people. (At least that’s what I tell myself.)

       This morning it occurred to me that I have plenty of friends. I have family. I have people who are interested in my life and want to know what I’m up to, but I don’t have enough money to call every day. (Hello, this is Janie from 1-800-Call-Collect, will you take a call from… Ingle?… Eniga? Nelson?)  For the past four years, I’ve been grumbling and then sending my filled journals home for everyone to read and leave comments like my personal thoughts are in a 7^th grade biology textbook. But by the time the last person reads, comments, and mails it back for me to read, six months have passed and my life is utterly the same. How can anyone keep up?  (Also, my apartment is really small, and I already have a trunk full of grumblings. I don’t want to keep acquiring more and more journals for the rest of my life. Though… if the DMV ever falls through, I can use my journals to add a foyer for my origami house of school notes. And people say I’m not going places…)

       Then it hit me. The internet is free! (Ok, not free-free but you know what I mean.) No more postage fees. No more paper cuts. No more wondering who wrote what nasty joke. Yes, my friends, the future has arrived… but I’m using a school computer so no cursing. Censorship is still alive and well in the future.

        Anyways, I’m going to try to keep these posts short and sweet. If you have anything you want me to talk about or want to know about Solíteir, comment here. If you create a cute username, tell me who you are in the comments or I’ll assume you’re all Mike.

Love you all,

      Inga