I’ll be the first to admit, I am flawed. Lazy, nearly goal-less, not great with money and sarcastic beyond necessity. Can you imagine, if I was that honest in a job interview? Ha.
But that brings me to my plight. Because although I am incredibly negative about myself and quite possibly the most self-loathing person on this planet, or any other, I have good points too. I am personable, kind- mostly, creative, and chaotically organized. I can be awkward, I tend to be quiet but if I’m anxious I over-talk to compensate, I am funny, and above all things, I put my heart into whatever I am working on. Be it hand-made invitations, job applications, blog posts, or cooking dinner, there is something of me in it. Unfortunately, this lethal combination of faults and skills has thusly led me to believe I am pretty useless.
No matter what, when, how or where we move, Ryan will always know and have a job. I will never have that luxury. Which is fine, honestly, I knew this going into the move to Omaha so many millennia ago to be with Ryan. Because I knew I would be fine following his career. Because I knew, as hard as I might try, I’d never fine a job like that with my pointless degree. I will work odd jobs that I don’t even like, just so he doesn’t stress over money. Because I love him. Again, this is really something I am normally okay with. Normally.
I guess hindsight is better than 20/20. Because as I sit here and look back on all of it, I realize, by not having a dream job or even an inkling of a maybe-want-to-try job back then, I have set myself up for a lifetime of filling out job applications to Target and random assistant positions. What’s worse is, my degree that I worked so hard at, graduating in 3 1/2 years from a 4-year institution, really does nothing to help me. And my skill set, although applicable in many a broad reaches, is hard to spin positively anymore. I have become more disillusioned than ever with myself.
There is no point to this really, except that I am pretty jaundiced about finding even a part-time piss-ant job. I just want to pull my weight in this partnership with Ryan, and lately, I have not been, using wedding planning or college as an excuse to brush off the obvious lack of income on my part. Because at every turn or move we make, this…this “skill set” and resume and degree and combination of job-nessessary attributes, does me more harm than help. I hear NO more than I care to admit and it brings me down, I start believing I am really not a note-worthy or memorable or even good candidate for even the Target jobs. Seriously, Target tell me NO every single time. I don’t want to work a dead-end retail job, I think I deserve to be just a tiny bit picky about this. I do not want to work as an indifferent employee. I want a job that, although may not be ideal, at least I feel visible and helpful. Although, I am sure even that is too much to ask for.
With all of this admitted and out there, I need to go job hunt. For real.
Dear “Blue Girl,”
I might be a noob at this gardening thing, but I do remember passing my colors pop quiz in ninth grade art. And you, you little lying color harlot, are not Blue. Your cutesy label said, “Beautiful blue/lavender blooms.” That is the reason I bought you. I wanted lavender blossoms you jerk! Now, as I am seething with self-loathing over this obviously mislabeled purchase, you have two choices, as I see it. One: you can go home, sober up, and turn blue. Two: you decide to bloom red and I yank you from your comfortable and premium front yard space, to be shunned, with the other rose bush in the backyard. Since that one didn’t even grow yet….You both can wear the back yard of shame…Or get your act together you lying piece of Bantha fodder!
If this were a real relationship, and not just a crazy lady type-yelling at a photograph of a red rose bud, I’d break up with you. Liars do not make the front yard, you turd of a rosebush. You garden heathen. Color harlot. I am a fool of a Took for buying you. Don’t make me yank you. I will. Oh. I will.
I like to pretend that writing and typing sort of fast are my super powers, so that my life doesn’t seem so pathetic.
Job hunting once again, for the nine thousandth time in my life. No money, as always…
My life is a circle.
So I write and put things here and in my journal and I pretend it matters. So I don’t go totally invisible.
I have copied this from the wedding page of rhaimi, so it’s clearly visible…
Our wedding will be held outdoors, at The Secret Garden in Colorado Springs. Which means, I would strongly suggest flat shoes for all of you gorgeous ladies coming to celebrate with us. I don’t want anyone falling. There are small streams, mild hills, and a plethora of flowers and trees that could cause a dainty heel to flop. I would also suggest bringing a light sweater or shawl in case the evening cools off. Again, these are just suggestions. I imagine guests should not dress in an overly formal manner, as this is in a garden, in August, but no jeans or tiny skirts please.
There is a hotel, the Travelodge, that is very near the venue. We will hold a block of rooms for out-of-town guests that need accommodations. It’s not the Ritz, but they do have new carpets, flat screen TVs, a pool, and a continental breakfast each morning. Please let us know of you’d like us to hold a room for you there, or if you’ll be making your own reservations elsewhere, thank you.
Speaking of out-of-towners, Ryan and I are not living in Colorado Springs, we are still in Nebraska. So this is sort of a destination wedding, in reverse. Or something. With that said, we have limited space to take gifts back by car. Although we are eternally grateful and appreciative for the love and thoughtfulness, we’d be even more thankful if gifts could be mailed to our Nebraska address. If you’d like that for your records, please contact me and I’d be more than happy to call and give it to you, I just don’t want my address on the Interwebs for all to see.
We will not be having a DJ, but rather an extensive iPod list of songs ranging from Classic Rock, to Dance-Pop. If you have an absolute favorite song or a must-play-or-you-will-disown-us hit, please, let me know so that I can add it to our awesome playlist.
My thoughts slip away from me, like water through fragile hands. Can birds fly if there is no laughter holding them up? I wish I had a phosphorus brooch. There’s nothing wrong with not understanding yourself. But I’m frustrated. I’m 25, shouldn’t I have some of it figured out? What’s so great about dreaming? I can compromise my life. Work odd jobs, accept the monotony of each day, realize I am not where I thought I’d be at this age. I can live for the spaces between breathing, the quiet chaos. But I can’t compromise the life after mine. I cannot and will not. I can follow Ryan, happily, to each new job, each new place. I can put off school, be alright with mediocre dreams. I am no engineer, no blooming photographer, no excellent teacher or anything close to any of those professions. But I digress, the need comes before explanation. Years pass in the stretches between moments. Everything is closer. Louder. The trouble is, we think we have time. But if we wait to be ready, we’ll be waiting for the rest of our lives…or rather…if I wait…..
I have always been an unusual girl, with an indigo soul. Carrying an inner indecisiveness with me that wavers like the ocean, a compass struggling to find due north. And I’ve been living here, in the winter of my life…reminiscing on faded dreams and hopes, clinging to them like the last days of summer. Even as I sit and write this, I contemplate the repercussions of posting it. I feel my bones cracking under the weight of all the lives I’m not living. Owning my own tee shirt shop, coffee shop, book shop, being a writer, a real writer, traveling the world, becoming a mortician, an auto-mechanic, a teacher, a librarian, being a mother…..Mockingbirds do nothing but sing beautiful melodies for us. They sing their hearts out every day, that is what they know they were born to do. I do not have the luxury of knowing my talents or how to make a living with them.
So I put things off, I put things off, I falter. I quit. I second guess and re-group. I procrastinate out of fear of failure and in the end all I do is regret, which, is actually far worse.
That’s why, yesterday, I applied to college to get my Master’s degree. That’s why I’ve started doing. Not just talking about the what if’s or the somedays. No more planning, no more following other peoples’ ideas of happiness for me, I’ll follow my happiness and if life pushes me down, if I fall..I’ll get up and kindly tell life, “you hit like a bitch.” And I’ll continue. Because I cannot keep going, without doing. I don’t have time to wait. I will not compromise the life after mine, when all I want is to improve it. I will never be smart enough to be an engineer, nor will I ever have the fortitude to own my own shop. But darn it, I will be alright being surrounded by books, stories and children. And I’ll be one heck of a mother lion when the timing is right. Until then, I’ll learn. I’ll grow. And I’ll take this chance, for me. I will chase this dream and keep running after it even when we move, even when we stumble, when Ryan and I are on our honeymoon, even when I am out of breath and patience, I will keep living forward, and I’ll get my Master’s degree. For me. For my future.
And all of a sudden it’s June?
In 2 months I’ll be married? What?
(**Kristen Wiig’s voice; cut to seen in Bridesmaids when she finds out Maya is engaged.**) WHAT.. IS.. HAPPENING?!?! I JUST GOT ALL SWEATY….YAY….!!!!!! OH MY GOD.
I can’t help it. I’ve heard it for years now. Echos of a little boy’s laughter as he runs through a hall, his little feet pit-pattling on a hard-wood floor. His hair in his eyes with his big baby-tooth smile. I imagine his voice, “Wook Mom, wook at dis fing.” His little knees bent up to his shirtless chest as he roots around the garden dirt. How his skin feels and how heavy he is. His little hands. I’ve seen him in my dreams for years, a son, I may one day, be so lucky to have. But not today, today I love him only in dreaming, in imagined echoes and faded still-frames and vintage camera shots. I have dreamed of him so often, his features never change, His messy long blondish-brown hair, his little chubby cheeks. He’s so mature but so little, every time I see him, “Dis isn’t fwom da dogs, Mom. Dis footpwint is fwom a fox, obviouswy, Mom.”
Last night in my sweetest dream, we were hobbling through the garden with tall trees around us, following Tucker through a path. We name everything, the goat is Hazel, the cat is Lucy Beetle, the chickens are Christopher Spinach and Timothy Spigot, even though they’re girls…”Chwistopher and Timofy. He’ll say.” They chase the rabbits from the vegetable garden, “Wike boys, Mom.”
Ryan came in at lunch and the boy sprang off his chair and screamed, “Daddy! I’m eating a ham wap wis cheese in it!” He had messy hands and a terribly messy face and he smeared it all over Ryan’s shirt. Ryan didn’t mind. Tucker snuck the wilted and squished up ham wrap from the floor and helped himself.
And then I woke up at the alarm. And lost it all. It’s frustrating. Only seeing the boy of your dreams in your dreams and never in real life. Absolutely frustrating. Like when the film comes out of a cassette and it take a pen and massive amounts of patience to spin it back in again.
So I’ll spin, madly on, and maybe one day it won’t be a dream. If I’m lucky.
I am seriously considering becoming a librarian, with a heavy concentration in archival studies. I could work for any university, government library, law office, pretty much anywhere.
There’s an ALA (American Library Association) accredited online college to get my degree so even if we move, I’d still be able to attend college, because apparently one needs an MS in Library and Information Science to get this dream job. But look at it this way, books are a science. HA! I’d no longer have a BA in BS, I’d be a real life adult with a note-worthy and applicable degree.
What do you think?
Ryan says it’s right up my ally of dreams. He said to research it more and I did, Librarians, on average make about $58,000 a year, and no matter what city we’re in, there’s going to be a library, who probably needs help, at least part-time. So I’d be a desirable candidate…The only cons I see are, taking on more college debt, and if we move to a teeny tiny town, a possible commute but that’s worth it.
“This concentration focuses on the practice and theory of managing collections of records and papers in a variety of archival settings, including government agencies, libraries, historical societies, corporations, not-for-profit organizations, museums, and religious institutions. The concentration courses may also be of interest to students planning careers in special, public and digital librarianship.” -ALA.com
|Graduates of the Archival Studies Concentration Learn To:
The above excerpt has been taken directly from the iSchool at Drexel University’s Website.
I’d learn exactly how to preserve some of the most precious information out there, in new technological ways. I’d help people continue the legacy of learning, which is one of the most important reasons for living, to never stop learning. I don’t know. I love books, I refuse to ever own a Kindle, because I need that kinesthetic feel, the smell the physical turning of pages, the tactility of a real book, and they are our history on paper. Sorry…ranting…
But again, I ask…What do you think?