If you want to know what’s wrong with me, you need to know what’s happening to some of the people I care about most. To learn that, I direct you to my friend Cyd.
I saw the paperwork with my own eyeballs. I fluctuate wildly between knowing it will all work out and crying inconsolably. And not only because it affects this household so directly, but because it affects so many hard working people. Doesn’t it always, though? Hasn’t it been happening all over the country? Hasn’t it been happening for years? My father lost his job twice during his life. It’s a real bitch, but it will work out. It has to…there isn’t any other option.
It’s all about new adventure, new opportunity, right? Well, maybe tomorrow it’ll seem more adventurous. Today it’s soul crushing.
And just when I was settling into S. Florida, and enjoying my work with the immigrant community. I was always ready to leave the area, but now I’m dragging my feet.
Man, things are a mess around here. There are these two problems taking up all the space in my head. The first problem is completely out of my control and the other problem is technically not my problem, but it’s bothering me anyway (it’s an Estate issue from when my father died). My husband and I are just sitting around, waiting for the hammer to fall on the first problem. I had such fun stories to tell from the trip to El Paso and Ciudad Juarez, but all my writing energy is being siphoned away and redistributed into stress. Mostly, I just stare out the window, at the monitor, at the thesis notebook, at the books I should be reading. blah.
I feel unmoored these days. I have major projects to work on: a collection of thesis essays and finding a full-time job. Yet I Can. Not. Focus. I’m experiencing nearly debilitating bouts of wanderlust, but I leave for Texas and Mexico soon, so perhaps that will satisfy the lust for a while. The idea of a full-time office job makes me want to gouge my eyes. Ideally, I’d like a job that is partly in the office and partly working hands-on out in the world. I went to lunch last week with with my boss and one of the center’s field researchers. The field researcher told me I could go out with him and the others to the Everglades to help them/observe them do their work, so I’m looking forward to taking advantage of this offer. As I mentioned in the last post, I’m studying Buddhism more seriously than I have in a long time. I find it helps me when I’m feeling lost. I’ve been reading a lot of Brevity magazine because I’m thinking of taking my thesis in the direction of short essays. We’ll see how that goes.
The Beatles always cheer me.
“Some kind of solitude is measured out in you. You think you know me, but you haven’t got a clue.”
I can’t take any more rejection. I’ve become weak over the past three years; my skin has thinned. I received word today that a job I really wanted was filled, and it wasn’t filled by me. I was contacted last week about a part-time job near my home that would have been really great, but I haven’t heard back from the guy since he said he would be in touch for an interview. I didn’t get selected to be in a music video that’s scheduled to be recorded in the area. Granted, I didn’t seriously expect to get selected, but because of all the other recent rejections, this isn’t helping matters. (And I only tried to get selected because of the band involved, not because I have any interest to be in music videos.) (And the band was looking for “average people,” so I thought I would give it a shot). I haven’t heard back from a non-profit organization regarding a job that I would be perfect for. Granted, I just sent in my application last night at 9pm, but they had all day today to look at it, and I was sure once they did, they would call me up and offer me the position. My husband calls me delusional, but he says it with love. I was at work in the office when I received the email about the job I applied for being filled, and it kicked me in the gut. I left a little early. I needed to come home, eat pizza, and lament my loser status to DS.
What’s more, my laugh lines are visible even when I’m not laughing. I don’t know if I’m more perplexed by their existence, or by my concern with their existence. I never thought such things would bother me, and I don’t know that I’m really “bothered” by them, but I do find myself sucking my lips inwards–pulling the skin around my mouth taut–in hopes of somehow ironing out a life time of smiling. Recently, I read a profile on Michelle Obama in the New Yorker. The reporter observed Michelle Obama did not smile easily…she did not “smile as a way to break the ice.” That’s what I do! I thought to myself. I smile to break ice. I smile for just about any reason under the sun, and I’m sure I come across like a smiling fool to a lot of people (I can’t help but think of the Pink Floyd line “fearlessly the idiot faced the crowd, smiling.”). And now my skin shows the signs of too much smiling. Ah, well.
On an up note: I’m really (really) digging the Anthony Burgess book. And I don’t have to commute to Boca for a while, which should have me singing from the rafters. I guess I’ll keep plugging away at the job applications. Something is bound to turn up sooner or later, right?
If ever I humor the idea of speaking to the media again, and make my intentions known on this blog, please remind me that I am not a good public speaker. I have never been a good public speaker; I will likely never be a good public speaker, and, no matter how prepared I think I am, I should just keep my mouth shut.
The Puzzle Box 