(dear) diary (or whatever) –
today was fairly uneventful. in the early morning hours, not unusually, i pondered what had gone wrong with my life that left me in a place where i regularly want for my absent lover and wish on my heart of hearts (and actively pursue) an altogether new secular existence. basically, next thursday marks a whole year that i’ve been working a shitty job post-graduation.
i have an mfa and work fool-time as an administrator.
~
i started this entry yesterday. i choose to pick it up here as i am and desire to be in a better frame of mind. in tough times, all i know to do is write. or clean. and it’s 8:17pm on a wednesday–there will be no more cleaning tonight if i can help it.
i was speaking, e-mailing actually, a close friend about the said shitty state of affairs in my life at the moment…discussing the grueling, disturbing, confusing state of things, and to backtrack some, i’m like the welfare mother in transition. i grew up lower middle class, black, midwestern, first generation college grad, first gen. grad degree, daughter of southern parents, 2 parents, 1 sibling (well, kinda), 2 cars, 2 yards, garage, etc. my life was ok. my mom was a fanatical and controlling jehovah’s witness; my dad was overweight and passive. etc. etc. etc. i was a fervent writer of diaries, a pothead with secret crushes, a party girl on high school nights, i met a guy in undergrad, fell in love, had a child, dropped out, went back, got a couple more degrees in arts and writing and basically finished at a prestigious university last year. i’ve been looking for jobs more on than off for about 18 months, and am currently maddeningly perplexed about my inability to secure a job in my (so-called) field (i’m beginning to wonder if i really have one).
all that said, i feel that something (else?) is terribly off in my world.
people think i’m smart. very intelligent even. attractive to most, beautiful to some. tall. well-mannered (usually). professional. efficient. capable. witty. (i can also be a mean drunk, secretive, detached, anti-social, morbid, obsessed with sex and finalities. but this post is about my career. or lack thereof.) with (a) story to tell.
i used to believe i could create my reality. i used to date a christian and pray. i used to try to believe in god. things i used to (try to) believe in withered some when i watched zeitgeist because it reminded me that so much of what we witness as a society is fabrication, illusion, smoke, mirrors, bullshit… i didn’t grow bitter, but i stop believing in much of anything (i think i decided to like the term agnostic theist). i was always a truth-seeker and for many years, i believed wholeheartedly in being a full-fledged truth-speaker as it were. this job, this last year…so much has changed with me…
sometimes i feel like i’m 18 and on my own now. except i’m 31 next month and have been on my own since i was 18 or 19. i’ve been working since i was 15. i’ve been a mother since i was 20 or 21. i earned my mfa at 29 and simply do not understand why i don’t have a decent job yet. i’m a (goddamned) administrator at a ridiculously counter-productive and unprofessional graduate school. i never thought i’d become one of those people that hates her job with passion, or constantly gripes about it, but so deep is my disdain, so persistent is my angst, so time-consuming the grief that befalls me from 9 (ok, often 9:30, 10) til 5 (or 4:30, or 3…)–i can’t help but let out spurts of my frustration to the few who i hold dear…
one such friend sent me a link to a blog this evening. she loves me, i think, and wants the best for me… a year and 2 and 3 ago, a few people thought i was a brilliant writer and anxiously awaited the work i might release unto the world.
funny thing–i decided i was tired of being a dirt-poor, college student and welfare mother who lives on food stamps and financial aid, in low income housing. so i ‘took’ this job–the only full-time one actually offered to me in the last 18 months. at various times in the last year, i’ve also worked up to 3 other freelance writing jobs at nights and on the weekend. it’s important to me to maintain a certain (albeit flailing) quality of life for my daughter and because i don’t get any financial support for her from her dad, i’ve been adamant and persistent about finding another job before quitting this one.
but i’m a writer.
not an administrator.
(long pause)
my friend sent me a link to some kind of self-help/change your life blog that basically asks one to ask one’s self 5 questions. i’m writing about this tonight because, i have nothing to lose, everything to gain, and really just want to figure this puzzle out before i’m like, 32, or something. publicly maybe.
the first question it says one should ask one’s self (when? in times like, NOW, i’m thinking…) is what else can this mean? the second, who can help me? third, what am I grateful for? 4th, what’s my end game? and lastly, what can I learn from this?
so i ask myself, here and now–what on god’s green earth can this bullshit mean? this is not my life! this is not what i signed up for! (i think it’s important for me to go ahead and get all of this out now so that i can move forward. bear with…) i’m a WRITER! i have an MFA! and a PBCW! and a BFA! i used to paint! i’ve SOLD paintings, had solo, group, juried, and invitational exhibitions! i’ve PUBLISHED! won an honorable mention for my manusctipt! i was a COPYWRITER! at an ad agency! (if, at any point, during my lamentations, something becomes really clear, please, i’m in darkness right now, please, go ahead and feel free to point it out. i’m weathered in rejection and braced for truths.) i’ve written for the web! i worked hard to prepare for 95% of my interviews, i’ve spent countless hours crafting and marketing my resume, i’ve registered and maintained contact with at least 20 staffing agencies, made and wrote follow-up calls and e-mails, hell, i was even flown out to boston for an interview at the prestigious andover newton prep school for a teaching position before i even graduated! i’ve been interviewed by panels and individuals, successfully completed proofreading tests, submitted additional writing samples, had references checked, taken long treks to the suburbs (withOUT the luxury of a vehicle), purchased the $60 ($70? $80? i immediately blocked out the actual price post-purchase.) oprah-endorsed brooks brothers white shirt for good measure (actually, for good luck and appearances), leveraged an ex’s design skills to create a copywriter’s portfolio, and have trolled online job listings submitting, on average, 50 resumes per week.
needless to say, i’ve not been hired. what else can this mean… that i’m supposed to stop looking for copywriting, admin, exec asst, librarian, adjunct teaching jobs? that i should get a relaxer or invest in better interview clothing? that i should start looking for jobs outside of my city? that i should just stay where i am? (couldn’t possibly mean that; i don’t believe in misery as a lifestyle.) that i’m not bubbly enough? that i’ve been too honest in interviews? that i should start lying on my resume? that i should really be applying for more internships despite my old age? that i should move back to my hometown and become a nurse? (i’ve quietly wanted to work in the neonatal unit for some time…) that i should let my daughter live with her dad and run off to new york to rough it and find my way? that i should get a phd and become a professor? that i should suck it up, keep working, and just write until i’m ready to publish my book? WHAT ELSE CAN THIS MEAN? [blog writer’s quote: “Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.” ~ Albert Einstein]
furthermore, who can even help me? i can admit to lacking certain social skills. like the pimples on my pretty face, i know that you can’t really have it all. i feel smart enough usually, but i can be socially awkward. crack off-color jokes, elicit odd pauses and lapses in conversation. i suck at small talk and have an actual aversion to meeting new people and networking. i know these are flaws fatale, and i’ve sought to compensate by staying in touch with people via email, by being friendly and polite in person, trying dilligently to stop the frown in my brow that is often the plain result of a squint (i’m often in deep thought or staring at a computer screen far too long)…anyway i sense that i’m digressing. my point is that, i’m not sure who can help! career coaches? copywriters? how about, potential employers (i tend to believe they have all the answers–the keys, at the very least to a salaried payroll and a cube and a mac with my name on it…)? people, in general… guess i should talk more to more people. they always say, you have to know somebody, as if that’s easy to do… maybe it is if you’re not me. anyway. stay positive stay positive stay positive.[blog writer’s quote: “Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so.” ~ Douglas Adams]
what am i grateful for? because i’m somewhat limited by a self-imposed bedtime, i will try to limit my response to this question. my daugher, breath itself, words, beauty, obama, my friends, RJ, TBM, TNM, DRF/W, a beautful family who thrives on laughter as a healer and as a coping mechanism, humor itself, good jokes, great sex, orgasms, my taste buds, did i already say pleasure?, good pot (my blog is about honesty…anonymity perhaps, but honesty, always), the internet, simplicity, great essays, inspired people, google, gmail, my history, synchronicity, good timing, money in the bank, good enough health, my physique, a good enough relationship with my daughter’s father and his wife and ex-wife–the mothers of my daughter’s siblings, a lack of known enemies, wikipedia, good media outlets, my bed and bedding, my ability to withstand, persist, succeed, grow, and evolve; (i don’t feel like going back and doing the semi-colons) my ability to edit and proofread; dictionaries (print and online); people who can see more than i can and are compassionate enough to share; compassion itself; great memories; a childhood free of physical harm; people who write style guides; thought leaders and geeks; insomniac artists who indulge their obsessions and give art to the world; landscapers; skyscrapers; paupers who become examples of the beauty of dreams; the tenacity of slaves and freed men; ancestral worship as a spiritual option that exists; the words soliloquy, epiphany, and tiffany; double entendres; two great white lady professors from my grad school; guardian angels; my own ability to function as a vehicle or tool or agent of change, evolution, revolution, and/or stability… i should pause. i’m also in love with love and passion…grateful for chemistry, fascinated by human interaction and reaction, inspired by history-makers, philosophers, poets, sinners and saints… and tattoos…i’m grateful that mine doesn’t stink. [blog writer’s quote: “He who does not thank for little will not thank for much.” ~ Estonian Proverb]
anyway.
what’s my end game? well, the daily happiness and peace in a big old house with great art, a nice kitchen, comfortable spots to sit and think and observe the outdoors, walls of great books, and calm at night… the ability to go places i’ve been and never been, my daugher having and exercising the freedom to choose how she shall live her life, her ability to compete in a global economy, the knowledge of the world that keeps me both focused and humble, touching the world or big segments of it with the things i’ve found to matter in this lifetime, the public acknowledgement of my brother’s life behind bars and the beauty that unfolded and continues to unfold between us… published stories of truth and love and loss… walking into the bookstore or library and being able to run my fingers across the spines of books that read TNS in gold leaf… knowing the pieces i’ve written and edited for whomever couldn’t have been done better… art that i’ve authored, on my walls and in significant spaces… having my kid look back in her 20’s and thinking to herself, well, all of that makes sense… more specifically? a rewarding career in writing. a safe and peaceful home far away from the gunshots and screams of the night. the jag eventually. the basic material things, but the fucking peace of mind that comes from spending a lot of time doing the shit that matters to me…like constructing really fabulous sentences and being able to give lectures on grammar to people who care… having the ability to bury my parents in style. having the ability to live with freedom. [blog writer’s quote: “If you wouldn’t write it and sign it, don’t say it.” ~ Earl Wilson]
what can i learn from this? what can i learn from the hell that is my work-life at the moment? never give up. i won’t. i can’t afford to. randy pausch said the brick walls are put there to keep the people out who don’t want in badly enough. what else can i learn? that even in crisis, i still have choices. i can live each day like it was my last, keep documenting the journey, keep recognizing the journey AS a journey and stay focused on the end goal. i can learn to suck up challenge and draw strength from success…small or large. that i didn’t choke anyone in this morning’s meeting, that i still work to optimize procedures at this school…that i can somehow extract experiences to draw from in the future is a lesson in itself… i wish i could end this on another note, but alas, it is time to say good-bye. [blog writer’s quote: “You always pass failure on your way to success.” ~ Mickey Rooney]
plus, this ain’t the end. it’s only the beginning. still.
Nonfiction Woman 