A Future That Will Never Be

I'll add a picture when I'm back on a computer and not with winging it with a Kindle Fire and a prayer.

I wrote earlier about how I wasn't hired for the much better and more interesting position of Programming Librarian at my library.  It sucks.  It really does.  But them's the breaks.  It's fine.  Not only have I gotten used to rejection over the years, but I was expecting it.  I've said before that I'm not well liked at my library, and it's true.  And it's not that they (my bosses and suchlike) don't like me for personality reasons or because I either don't do my work or do it poorly.  No, I'm just overlooked most of the time. 

That's fine too, the overlooking of Amber.  I don't need anyone to hold my hand or pat my head and tell me what a good girl I am.  I enjoy working without supervision.  I like creating and completing my own projects, making my own rules.  The lack of acknowledgments can be irksome, but I'm terrible at selling myself and I know that, so I've come to terms.  That's one of the reasons why I've not been able to find a job.  It bugs me but I'm not that willing to change.  I hate to admit this, but I don't want it enough.

Don't get me wrong, I'd be excellent at it.  Passionate, driven, energetic, creative.  I like projects and that position would be nothing but projects.  We're renovating a new building and the new site has a huge, park-like side yard.  It also has a ton of meeting space and study rooms and the like.  AND a great maker space, complete with a recording studio.

I have this dream of a series of interconnected, intergenerational, and interdepartmental programs spanning years.  Programs that cement the library as a hub of the community, bring in money in the form of grants and fundraisers and maybe even advertisements, though we'd have to be careful with that last one because the library is not a place to sell things – the services should be kept free. 

My dream included a monthly or semimonthly podcast examining the people and the history of the community; library publishes books of short stories, biographies, poetry, etc by our patrons (and done for our programs); a community garden and seed library; plays staged in our park in the summertime possibly in conjunction with the high schools and colleges around town; we could have a farm animal programs and get people to bring their horses and the smaller, more petting zoo appropriate animals; we could do a story corps type thing where people record interviews with their loved ones; we could have a wall of art by local artists for sale and for display.  We could do a thousand thousand things that I have up in my brain, but we can't.  At least, we can't do my things, because I didn't get the job and I'm not going to do anymore programming, not after this spring and I've finished with the programming I already said I'd do.

It's not petty, or not entirely.  It's more a matter of labor and being paid for it.  I'm part time, hourly and doing a ton of work off books for the library with the planning, preparations, and implementation of these programs.  I don't work enough hours to have enough time to do this at work, at least not and still do what I was hired to do.  Needs must, and I'm very against any unpaid labor.  I am worth something, you know?  I deserve to be paid for my labor.  Even if I sometimes give it away for free because I'm excited about something or I'm trying something out, or I think it'll pay off in the long run.

Now, it's not worth it for me.  Now, I'll just focus on doing my job really, really well and managing my money and some of my own projects that with a little skill and a lot of luck will afford me a living.  The big thing is, these projects will be mine and no one else's.

I know I've been down on my luck lately, what with not being able to find a job, but I think that may be because I've been following other people's plans for me.  I never wanted any of this.  I'm chasing a dream that was never mine because other people convinced me that mine was impossible.  Shit, I'm done listening to other people.  The boring future of the really good, but completely unfulfilled librarian died as it was born.  I'm going to try to live for me and my dreams for myself.  Maybe then I'll actually be living rather than being stuck in this fucking limbo like I have for the past 15 years.

Farewell to the future that never will be from a girl who never was.

Hollow

By Oleg Alexandrov [CC BY-SA 4.0], via Wikimedia Commons

I pulled a Tarot card today and it was The Tower.  Not a very good sign, right?  The Tower has actually been coming up again and again in my readings for myself.  I've got this Tarot app on my kindle and it comes up there too.  It seems to be a theme in my life right now.  I'd say it's probably been a theme for a couple of years now, actually.

Generally, The Tower represents sudden, catastrophic, and unwelcome change.  It is a card of destruction, yes?  And a card of warning.  Yet, my life is so horribly the same.  Always.  For years now.  There is no change.  There has been no change.  My efforts to force change have come to naught.  My life is is stagnant, foul and rotting.  What the rot touches, it destroys, and it has touched everything.  Over the last several years, I've watched as everything in my life has been eaten away.  Nothing has been spared: not a hope, not a dream.  Everything withers and falls away.

Today I got the "you're not good enough to hire for this position" call from my workplace.  I was up for a recently opened full time position—one in which I would have been brilliant.  I interviewed and was rejected.  The rejection wasn't a surprise.  After six years of being searching for a full time job, I go into interviews (when I get them) fully expecting to be rejected for the job.  I mean, the hope is there, but I'm no longer surprised by the rejection.  Though this particular rejection was truly unsurprising because yesterday my boss asked me to cover a shift at the of December.  She wouldn't have done that if I'd gotten the job.  Deductive reasoning.

The Tower, representing catastrophe, has been my constant companion for years and years now.  So long now that catastrophe, though still traumatic, is no longer sudden for me.  It's no longer unexpected.  Everything I touch, everything I care about, everything I hope for shrinks from me.  It's like it knows that my touch is toxic and will cause it to rot and wither.  I had hoped–not having a lover, not having a husband or children, nor the prospect of such–that I could have a satisfying career.  I do not have a satisfying career.  It's been six–almost seven–years and I do not have even the beginnings of a satisfying career.  I no longer believe that is going to happen for me.  I don't think it's meant to be.  At least not in the library.

Perhaps I am not meant to have a job.  But then how will I survive?  Right now, with the meager wages I bring in from my part time job, I have to be supported by my parents.  Without them I can't afford food or shelter.  Even with them I can't afford myself. 

I now owe $58000 in student loans.  It keeps going up.  I'm on an income based repayment plan and can only afford the $30/month I pay them now.  If I had to pay the entire amount I wouldn't have money for gas.  I clear maybe $1000/month.  Maybe.  Of that, $300 goes to car payments, $300 goes to paying off my credit card, $100 goes to car insurance, $100 goes to health/dental insurance, $50 to gas so I can get to work, and the remaining goes to miscellaneous expenses such as food, phone, the occasional hang out with one of the few friends I have left, car maintenance, or any one of a thousand incidentals.  No wonder I have panic attacks.

I made a grave error when I went to graduate school.  It's one I can't fix, one I have to live with, but how?  How?

I have to figure that out.  I have to find a way to make money outside of a regular job.  I have some tentative plans for next year.  Plans I sorely need to flesh out and put in action.  It's a gamble, what I have in mind.  A huge gamble.  High risk, and a maybe okay reward—the likelihood of a high reward is so low as to be nonexistent.  I am afraid.  I am so afraid.  I can't afford to fail.  I am literally gambling with my life.  Like, if this doesn't pay out, I don't see myself surviving.  Not for very long, anyway.

Gods!  It sounds dramatic, but I don't mean it as such.  I'm just . . . operating without a safety net, and my plans–tentative as they are–require cutting my last lifeline.  If I don't learn to fly before hitting the ground, well, SPLAT.

Movement: a Post in 8 Acts

via Giphy

First: Happy October everyone!!!  This really is the best month.  Cool nights, warm (but not hot) days.  No one looks at me funny when I display my witchy accessories.  Halloween.  It's all just fabulous.

Second: As of today I've gone four full weeks without a cigarette.  I'm super excited about it!  Seriously.  I've been trying to quit smoking for years and I've never been this long without before.  I won't say I've kicked my addiction, but I'm pretty sure I can refrain from here on out.  Yay!

Third: Still no luck on the job front.  Hiss!  I continue to rethink my desire for a real job.  I mean, I need one.  Desperately.  But as job after job passes me by, I become more and more convinced that it's never going to happen.  So I need another option for making a living.  So I need to start actively pursuing other options for making a living.  It's going to be hard and I'm terrified that I'm going to fail, but what other options do I have?  And until I succeed in my "other option" I need to continue applying for real jobs.  Blah.  I hate that life's so complicated.

Fourth: Moving the odds on the job front in my favor a bit is the fact that my local county library system is opening up a new branch and will have LOTS of jobs open for application at the end of the year.  Also working those odds is the fact that the city library for which I work will be having a number of full time jobs open up at the end of the year due to retirements.  Possibilities abound!

Fifth: Despite the fact that I just ate nachos made by my younger brother, this month I'm focusing on cleaning up my diet.  I really want to feed myself a mostly plant-based diet of minimally processed foods, you know?  I feel better when I do.  Plus, I want to lose some weight.*  I'm also thinking of starting intermittent fasting for spiritual purposes, but I haven't decided on that yet.

Sixth: I've decided to go deeper into my spiritual and magical practices.  Actually, I've been working on this for the past few months and I've come to something of a crossroads.  Now it's time for me to take the next step** and start actively becoming who I want to be.  So I'm taking a greater, more active*** hand in my life and recovering much that I've lost to depression these past almost two decades.  I will no longer sit on the sidelines of my own life.

Seven:  Even though I'm basically broke because my uvula thing last month caused me to lose nearly a week's worth of work and thus a week's worth of pay, I managed to come into some spending money today so I purchased the Samhain Ritual Vault and some Flying Ointment from Skelton Key Shop.  I'm pretty excited about it, and already have plans for use.  The bath bombs in the Vault won't do me any good since I don't have a tub, so I'll gift them to friends that do.  But everything else will come in very handy.  I'd like to subscribe to Moon Box as my two best friends also subscribe to it, but I'm not confident I can afford it right now.  Maybe next month.

Eight: My memoir writing class starts this Tuesday!  I'm prepared.  Mostly.  I'm excited.  Also extra hours mean extra pay in November.****


*Okay, I want to lose a significant amount of weight, but "some" will do to start.
**This is the overall theme to my life right now.
***I guess the keyword here is "active"
****Yeah, I only get paid once a month.  Have I not mentioned that before?

Tell Your Story, Man

The Adults (my great grandparents): Joseph and Sopia.  The children: Sophie, Katherine "Kitty", Anna, Mary, Barbara, Zora, Daniel (my grandfather), Mildred, Josephine, and Frances "Vinny."  Not featured: Elizabeth "Betty" who was not yet born.  Based on my estimated age of the eldest daughter, Sophie, who was born in 1904, I think this photo was taken in 1920 or thereabouts.

For the most part I find people to be interesting.  For the most part.  I think everyone has a story to tell about themselves and their lives.  This is the type of history that I enjoy: the history of people, the personal, the relatable.  The stories of my family.  The stories of your family.  Stories.

In that vein, I'm developing a memoir writing program at my library.  The program will run every Tuesday night in October, with four weeks of writing and storytelling assistance, and one final week of filming one of the stories the participants have written.  I'm pretty excited about it, and I really, really hope this program is successful because I'd like to see it expanded.  I have dreams of creating a regular podcast or web series around the program, and running the classes through much of the year.

Oh!  And can you imagine a book?  I can.  I think it would be nifty.

My program planning is mostly finished.  The only things left for me to do are the final touches: creating handouts, working out which of the myriad of topics we'll focus on, and figuring out how to use the freaking green screen at the library.  I'm working mostly from Lois Daniel's How to Write Your Own Life Story, and incredibly helpful book on memoir writing, which I love.  And I'm having a really great time figuring out the how of this, going over some of my old writing assignments from yesteryear, remembering the styles and encouragements of my teachers, mentors, and professors.  I'd forgotten, I think, how much I enjoy the business of writing—I love it more than anything.

Which brings me to myself and my writing.  I have really been sadly neglecting this hard-won skill.  I mean, yeah, I have a natural talent for language use and storytelling, but that gets me nowhere if I don't actually work at it, and I used to work at it.  Now, I'm in a state of atrophy, but I'm not so far gone.  I just have to remember, and remember to work.  So I guess that's what I'm going to do.

At one point I wanted to make writing my career, and you know what?  I still do.  It's time for me to actually start seriously pursuing that career.  No excuses.  What does that mean for this blog?  Not sure.  Because I want to actually sell what I'm writing, I'll not be posting it here.  Most publishers want first rights, you know?  But I will post some stuff (and maybe more often), and I'll try to keep you apprised of what's happening.  The two people I know who actually read this blog sometimes complain that I don't update it enough, so I suppose that has to change.  (I don't know how my suspicious number of French readers feel about anything, I just know that I'm getting an oddly large number of hits from France.)

So that's my plan.  I'll keep you posted on my library program and my writing progress and whatever else I feel like blogging about (because, really, this blog's about me).  Below is my list of possible memoir topics, and, um, I'll let you know as I figure more out.

Oh! And I almost forgot: I'm still looking for a new job.  As much as I now enjoy the library, it still isn't the place for me.  I've got no room to grow.  And I'd really like to have relatively normal hours—and full time hours with all the benefits that come with those (medical, dental, retirement).  So, if I find a job before October?  I'll take it.  I plan on leaving enough notes that one of my coworkers can step in.  Or, if I can swing it—and this is my preference—I'll still teach this October class after my regular workday.  It'd be nice if the library will still pay my regular hourly wage for it, but I'm not expecting that.  If I have another job to pay the bills, I can volunteer.

On to the list!

Possible memoir topics include:

• Birth
• Childhood
• Parents & Grandparents
• Accomplishments
• Where were you (significant historical events)
• Religion
• Relatives
• Romance
• Turning Points
• Children
• Technology
• Holidays
• Politics
• Pets and Animals
• Traditions
• Immigration
• Memorable Moments
• Places
• Failures
• Jobs
• Creative Arts (how music, theater, dance, movies, paintings, etc) affect your life
• Hobbies
• Wars
• Fashion
• Teachers (in school and out of it)
• Food
• Lessons (that you learned or that you have to teach)
• Natural Disasters
• Et cetera, et cetera

Joy? No Joy. Joy?

Aurora over Kansas by Lane Pearman,  A rare occurrence indeed.

So, no joy results from my interview a couple Fridays ago.  Too bad.  I can't say I wasn't expecting it.  Though I can't say that I'm not massively disappointed either.  I wanted that job.  I really, really did.

Oh, well!  Moving on.

Today, shortly after receiving the dreaded email of rejection, I was called for an interview.  Yay.  Subdued yay, because the job is low paying, possibly part time (though maybe not), and not anywhere near the "professional" position that I need.  Applying for it, I couldn't help but think that I was giving up.  That they called me so quickly, I can't help but think that this job, and jobs like it, are all I'm ever going to get.  There seems to be an inevitability in this, you know?  It's work that I have been trying so hard to get away from, work that I spent tens of thousands of dollars on my education to avoid having to do, and yet . . .  This is what I'm most likely to get.

It's fine.  It's fine.  It's fine.

I need the money.  Desperately.  I'll have to continue working at the library, which is a pity, but, right now, it can't be avoided.  I don't mind the work itself.  I actually kind of enjoy it.  What I mind is what comes with it: low pay, crappy hours, the disrespect masked by the assumption that you're uneducated/stupid/too lazy to get a "real" job, etc.

Blah.  I'm being too negative.  I'm actually grateful for the chance this job brings, and a little bit happy that they've called.  I was beginning to believe that I was completely unhireable.  Two interviews in as many weeks goes a long way to prove that thesis wrong.  So, yay!  Maybe I can find a job after all.

And here's some big silver linings about this job (if I get it):

• Health insurance
• More money!  Along with my library job, I'll be able to:
• Pay off most of my debts, especially my credit card!
• Buy a new bed!
• Get some new clothes!
• Do things, like, go out to dinner!  Or even a movie!
• Rebuild my savings!
• Buy new bookshelves!
• Get a new phone!
• I can dye my hair some funky colors, which is something I've wanted to do for YEARS now.  Seriously, the hair is a big thing for me.  Check out Ursula Goff's website to get an idea of what I'm wanting to do, especially "galaxies," "oceans," and "jewels."

If I'm able to get at least something of a set schedule, then maybe I'll have some free time.  That's not guaranteed, of course, but a girl can dream.  I just hope that I won't be roped back into going months without a day off.  That way lies madness.  

So, this is a good thing.  Maybe.  If I get the job.

Once I get my debts paid off, I'll think about quitting the library.

I'll have to make time for both writing and studying.  I'll have to prioritize it.  I've been wanting to make a living writing forever and haven't ever really believed I could, but I'm not doing too good a job making a living any way else either.  Now's as good a time as any to really follow my dream.  Maybe I won't have to get a "grown up" job after all.  Maybe I'll be able to transition to writing with the help of this job possibility.

That would be good.

If I get this job, then I'm going to dye the crap out of my hair for my birthday.  And maybe next year get that tattoo I've been wanting.  (It's a simple compass rose).

Bright side, bright side.  I'm feeling good!

What's the worst thing about depression?

Three pictures of the same Nō 'hawk mask' showing how the expression changes with a tilting of the head.
by Wmpearl [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

I was asking myself this earlier today when I had a thought that my random bouts of deep sadness were the worst thing about dealing with depression.  I thought this because I was in one, and it was something that I wish I could have avoided.  When I had this thought my immediate response was to question it, because those random bouts of deep sadness are not, I think, the worst thing about dealing with depression.  I'm not really sure what is, truth be told, because there's so many things that depression brings that are the very worst.  For instance:

• Rage: the white-hot anger that burns through me–again, randomly–and is mostly triggered by the unfairness of life, petty injustices.  The fact that I can't find a job or support myself in any way, after years of working multiple jobs and going to school, getting TWO degrees, and spending most of my free time applying for jobs.  Getting rejected again and again and again and again.  I'm mad at myself and I'm mad at the world, and sometimes that just bubbles over.  It's often followed by Deep Sadness or Utter Exhaustion.
• Utter Exhaustion: when I just can't move or do things.  All I want to do is curl into a ball and sleep, sleep forever.  If I had to make an effort to breathe, I probably wouldn't.  Though Utter Exhaustion often shows up after Rage or Deep Sadness, it sometimes visits on it's own.
• Deep Sadness: the best I can describe this is as an endless pit of tears.  A well so deep as to be bottomless.  For me, it is often triggered by babies or children and happy new mothers.  At least, right now.  I've always wanted to be a mom, and I don't think I'll ever get to be one.  Also triggered by couples, people with successful careers, and job searches.  
• Stupidity: brain misfires, the inability to think, a lack of concentration, losing words and names.  I'm smart.  I am.  Gifted is what they called me in school.  I was just one point off from getting a perfect score on the ACT in high school.  I remember almost everything I read.  I learn quickly, needing, in general, just one pass at any task to be able to do it again.  And yet, there are times when I can't think.  I just can't.  I can't think, I can't remember, I don't know.  I can't string words together to make a sentence.  I can't read.  I can't understand.
• Physical Pain: this one doesn't happen very often, but any of the symptoms above can and sometimes do trigger migraines or muscle cramps/spasms.  Sometimes I just ache.  Sometimes I just hurt.

None of these are pleasant.  All of these are the worst while I'm dealing with them, you know?  When it's bad, all of these show up at once.  And it sucks because I still need to function.  I can't hide like I so very much want to.  I push through.  I work, I live.  Sometimes I even laugh, and I die a bit inside. But I have customers and coworkers, friends and family, and none of them want to know.  So I don't let them see, and that, truthfully, is the worst.  The constant lies eat away at you and cause much of the Rage and Sadness and Exhaustion.  The never letting anyone know what's going on with you because you did that once and lost all your friends, your lover, and caused your family pain.  You never wanted to hurt anyone, you just wanted a little bit of comfort, and maybe a hand to help you stand up and move through what was supposed to be a temporary sadness.  But you were pushed away, abandoned, and blamed.

So you took that lesson to heart, and you learned to lie.  You swallowed your emotions, your pain, your sadness, your anger.  You swallowed them all and forgot how to feel.  Except sometimes, when it all became too much for you to bear, and then, sometimes, you cried or you raged or you wallowed, but only when there was no one around to see.  Only when you were alone.  And those times were refreshing, the only bit of freedom you were allowed.  So you found a way to make those times longer, you kept yourself apart from others more and more, and you forgot how to interact with other people because you didn't want to wear that damned mask.  You didn't want to lie.  And you relearned how to feel.

Of course it couldn't last.  You get lonely when you're always alone.  You need work and friends and you always wanted a family.  So you step out in the world and try to live your truth, but that truth includes your pain and others still don't want to see.  You bring the mask back, but it chafes.  You're healing, you know you're healing, but it's not happening fast enough, and you're still so fragile.  The lies make you weak, but they make you socially acceptable.  Every time you laugh when you want to scream it's like opening a vein.  There's only so many pints of blood that you can spare, and you lost those pints long ago with a wound that's never fully healed.  The mask keeps it open, you see.  The mask makes you bleed.

It's harder now than it once was, to wear the mask I need to wear to function in the world.  I think it's because I don't have stable footing right now.  I keep slipping and my mask falls, and they see this bleeding, tired creature desperately grasping for a little bit of normality, a little bit of stability, just trying to stay upright.  I bleed from a thousand tiny wounds, a thousand cuts of worry.  I bleed, but I can't let anyone see it.  I'm punished when I do.

But showing it, talking about it, feeling it?  That's how I heal too.  That's how I let the mask go and find the bandages and antiseptic that I need to cleanse the wounds caused by the jagged edges of the mask.  That's how I know I'm human still.  A bloody creature, maybe, but one that can learn and grow and, yes, heal.  That's how I remember that change is possible.  And, gods, I need a change, and the change I most want and worry about is in my job situation.

Right now, my big worry is money.  It's so hard because I'm less than a paycheck away from losing everything I have.  If I lose just eight hours of work a month . . . Yet, I think the slips of my mask make it harder for me to get a job.  Would you call that irony, or just plain bad luck?  I need a full time job and the money that the job would pay me.  I need the money and the stability the money will buy me.  I need the health insurance and the psychiatric care that health insurance brings–mostly in the form of antidepressants.  I need a little breathing room, time and room to heal.  I need to pay myself back, pay off my debts, and rebuild my savings.  That would be the first of many steps, of course.  I've a long way to go before all's said and done.

Interview post mortem

I had my first non-library interview today.  My first interview in over a year, in fact.  I think it went well.  I know better than to count my chickens, or to even count on anything before it's in hand, but I do hope I get this job.  It sounds super interesting, something that will push and grow my skills, you know?

I think the interviewers and I had rapport, which is good.  And I think that I answered most of the questions they had for me well.  Though, I may have fumbled a bit at the end.  The library thing (the fact that I have a library degree, and am not looking for work in a library) came up, and I know no good way to answer that.  Not without sounding angry and desperate.  Then they asked what in my career would they not go back to, and I don't know how to answer that either.  Everything I've done is open for redoing.  I'd hoped that I wouldn't have to go back to retail work with it's low pay and crappy hours, but it'd be different if I owned a shop, so that's not exactly true either.

I can't quite make myself believe that this is going to work out for me.  I'd like it to, but I can't count on it.  And I can't believe it.  If I end up being offered the job, I'll just have to be pleasantly surprised. Because I can't expect and then not get it, you know?

Man, but it'd be an interesting position.  I had assumed it would just be a receptionist, which would be a fine if boring position, but no, it's a growing gig.  I'd be receptionist, yeah, but I'd also be involved in quite a bit of the administration of the department.  I'd be able to define the role.  Which. Is. Awesome.  Responsibility and room for growth?  Forget about it!  It'd be a dream.

Which, of course, is why I'll probably not get it.  Why expect this to go my way when I've had years of nothing but bruises?

So, back up plan, back up plan, what will be my back up plan?  I'll keep applying.  I'll apply and apply and apply, much like I have been, and hope that something sticks.  And I'll ramp up my writing.  Not here, not right now anyway, but creatively.  I've let that slack.  I've told you.  I have a short story in the works right now that I think I could sell to one of the major magazines.  If I can finish it and polish it up a bit.  I've got a couple of others bubbling and brewing.  And there is always my novel, which I haven't worked on in a while, but I've been thinking about.

Something's got to give soon, right?  

Of bosses and brain-worms

I'm stuck just hanging out.  Photo by Dodger nzl [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Yesterday my boss called me and told me not to come in for the rest of the week while they investigate the incident on Thursday.  Silver-lining?  I'm still getting paid.  Happy Christmas to me.  So I'm to be kept in limbo.  Yeah, I'm thinking this job is done, though I'll find out next week if whether or not that's true.

Wow.

I'm not sure how I feel about this.  The whole situation has been blown way out of proportion.  And I trust neither my luck nor my workplace to stay with me.  I only hope that I find something else soon, because even if my boss and the administration above her decide to keep me on, I don't know that I'll want to stay.  At least not very long.

So what instigated all of this drama?  Maybe someday I'll tell you.  It's incredibly stupid, but at the time it was really, really upsetting.  Like, it left me shaking, and not with anger, but with fear.  I was totally freaked out, and I maybe could have handled things differently, but I didn't handle them bad.  Definitely not bad enough to warrant this.  It's almost amusing, in a tragic sort of way.

Gah!  My life!  It's unbelievable.  I have Such. Bad. Luck.  I mean, nothing has gone quite right since 2011, and the only thing that went right that year was my final semester at KU.  Even starting grad school that fall was a bust.  Wrong path, I suppose.  One I never should have walked down.  It's ended with me in job-limbo with only enough money to last the rest of the month if I don't find something soon.

I'm trying to stay positive.  After all, that brain-worm of mine is working, formulating a plan for me.  If only I knew what it was.

Conundrum

I'm wondering whether or not to apply for a job, and I just don't know.  I've got about a week and a half before it closes, so I have to decide quick.

The Pros:

It's in my field.  It's full time.  It's in the same town as my best friend.

The Cons:

Crappy pay.  It's not a professional position.  Semi-crappy hours.  The town is about  3-4 hours away from my family and support system in a town where I only know 3 people (my best friend, her husband, and their kid).  A quick google search of rents in the area revealed that I'd be paying about as much as I would here if I had my own place, and I wouldn't even try to find a place of my own for that pay here—it being about half or more of my monthly take-home.

If it paid better I would jump at it.

If it were in my town I would jump at it.

However, it's pretty damn far away from my current support system.  I'd have to find a place to live, pay rent, utilities, continue to pay for my car (loan payment, gas, upkeep, etc), buy food, and pay for other various expenses (my credit card, clothes, my phone, internet, etc).  A lot of that is stuff I don't have to worry about now.  Add to that, the small raise in my pay may end up requiring me to pay more towards my student loans, and I don't know that I'd actually be able to live.  

On the other hand, it's in the town where my best friend lives and we haven't lived in the same town in years.  

This is so frustrating because the job could be perfect.  It's not too far away from my family.  It's in my field.  It's full time.  With benefits!  But it's not enough.  I need more money, and I don't want to have to work two jobs to survive.  

But I'd be near my best friend and I miss her so much.

I don't think I'll apply.  In the process of writing this I talked myself out of it.  If it paid more—but it doesn't.  I'll just have to keep looking.

GGAAAAHHHH!

I really need to do this:

This post is to remind me of something to do that will both benefit the library and look good on a resume for a future (maybe local) full time library job.

I want to put together a list, a pathfinder, or even a website like my Gothic literature website compiling every author I can find who has a connection to my area.  I don't know how far out I want to go with this, whether, for instance, I want just authors from the Kansas City metropolitan area or all authors from Kansas and Missouri.  Nor do I know whether I want to list authors who were born here (or around here) but were raised (and/or lived) somewhere else, or vice versa.  I'm leaning towards an all-encompassing list incorporating Kansas and Missouri in their entirety.

Things to include:

• biography
• bibliography
• links to author site
• links to free reads (if any available)
• links to library systems in the states? maybe
• links to booksellers

Any other ideas out there?

I adult now? Really?!?

Poster for WPA education program. Public Domain.

I don't know how to adult.  I don't.  I really wish they gave classes on it.  Mostly because I know how to student.  I student well.  I should, I spent the majority of my life studenting.  But I've had a hard time making the transition from student to adult.  I just can't seem to manage it.  And you'd think, at 35, I'd have some ideas of how to go about it, but I don't.

Well, I know I need a job, but I don't know how to go about getting one.  I know I need to move out of my parents' place, but without a job . . . That's not happening.  That first step, getting a job that pays a decent wage, one on which I can freaking live, that prevents everything else from falling into place.  It's so frustrating.

So I'm living–and have been for some time–provisionally.  Which is the worst way to live.  Because all I do is make plans, and never follow through.  Someday I will (ha!), maybe.  What is, by far, the worst part of this is that I have to live provisionally.  I have no other choice, my options right now are so limited.  So–grrr–frustrating.

What I want to do–when I can–is get my own place, join the woodworkers and wood-turners guilds and take classes so I can learn to build something solid.  I have plans drawn up for bookshelves, a settle, a bed, and a few other pieces.  I want to visit Ireland, Barbados, and Croatia.  I want to pay back my parents, pay off my credit card, and make at least a dent in my student loans.  Eventually, I'd like to buy a house–or build a house–on a few acres of land and have a garden.  All these things are contingent, though, on me being able to make a living.

I don't understand what went wrong in my life.  I'm smart.  I'm educated.  I'm generally outgoing–though I must admit that that aspect of my personality comes and goes with my overall stress level.  I'm hard working.  I learn quickly.  I'm punctual, organized, and I rarely get ill.  I don't know why I'm struggling so, so much.

Looking back, maybe I should have pursued office jobs earlier.  I definitely should have completed my BA years before I did.  But that shouldn't matter that much.  Most of that you could chalk up to me being a bit of a late bloomer.  Now, though, I feel like I've crossed the threshold between late bloomer and that creepy guy living in his elderly parents' basement.  Maybe not, but I'm pushing it.

—As an aside: Can you tell that I've begun applying for jobs once again?  I took a mental health break for the summer.  Now that old stress is upon me again and I'm being melodramatic.—

I don't know.  I'm trying to fill my time and not compare myself to my contemporaries.  (Though that last bit is difficult).  I've begun studying Irish, and constantly seem to be finding myself trying to make sounds I never learned how to make.  Irish probably won't help me out on my job search, but it's an interesting language–fun.  And I feel the need to keep my mind supple.  I have plans to pick back up with my Mandarin studies–which may help me in my job search–after Halloween.  If I can talk my mother into covering expenses, I want to redecorate the family room.  I have a design already in my head.  I read a lot.

It's tough though.  I want to take dance classes, or yoga, or woodworking.  I want to be able to go out with my friends.  I want to be able to do normal fun things that women my age do.  Hell, at this point, I even want to go shopping for clothes–something I absolutely loathe–because my wardrobe is fairly raggedy and I like looking nice.  I want to do things.  I really, really do.  But things cost money and every penny I make is already accounted for.

Gods! Please!  Someone hire me soon!!!

I've Been Dreaming Paradise

Full Moon over Diamond Head by Daniel Ramirez

I recently applied for a few jobs in Hawaii.  I don't really expect anything to come of it.  Why would I when I can't find a job at home?  But I needed to allow myself to dream for a bit.  I think I could do it, you know?  Make the move—as long as I had a job to get to.

I understand the pitfalls and disadvantages.  I know that it's much more expensive to live in Hawaii than it is here—of course, it's much more expensive to live almost anywhere than it is in Kansas—but I know how to live cheap.  And I know the feeling of being cut off from the lower 48 from my time in Alaska.  I figure Hawaii will feel the same in regards to the mainland.  I also remember how much I missed my friends and family when I was in Alaska, and think it is/was probably a good gage of how I'd feel if I were to move away anywhere, including Hawaii.

However, I now have, or rather, I now lack something I didn't when I moved to Alaska, and that's ties.  Depressing as it is, I have to admit that I don't have many close ties here.  Family, most of whom I don't see, and a few friends (a very few), most of whom I also don't see.  I have no lover.  I'm not in school anymore.  My job was always meant to be temporary, plus it's very part time.  I have really nothing to hold me here.  And a good reason to go: here I am a burden to my family.  Away, they would worry, but they wouldn't have to support me, financially speaking.  And I know they're tired of me.  They're tired of having to deal with my freak outs and panic attacks—which become more and more frequent the longer it takes me to find a job.  I don't blame them, I'm tired of me too.  Still, I'm very lonely here, and I figure that if I've got to be lonely it might as well be in paradise.  Which may be a bad way of looking at things, hence my quest to find a doctor and antidepressants.

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of a several thousand mile move and that worries me a little.  I question whether I'm running towards something or away from something.  The answer, when I really think on it honestly, is a bit of both.  I think it would be nice to live somewhere with no memory of me.  That way I have a relatively clean slate to reimagine my life.  With a job and some breathing room and a beautiful new place to explore, I may be able to begin to heal.

Don't get me wrong, my glasses aren't rose-tinted, I know that moving won't change who I am inside. But maybe it'll allow me (or force me) to grow and ultimately blossom.  I'm not looking for a quick fix, I'm just looking for a chance, and a place to breathe, a place to be.  I'm so tired of being stuck in one place.  I'm tired of being an adult who lives at her parents house like a child.  I feel trapped.  Mired in muck.  And nothing changes.  I've been searching for work for more than four years.  I've been back at my parents for twelve.  Nothing changes.  I can't breathe.  I can barely think.  I feel so trapped.

I've come to terms with a lot of things in the last couple of years.  Well, mostly come to terms.  I can accept that I will never fall in love.  I can accept that I will never have children.  I can accept that I will never own my own home, that I'll have to be a perpetual renter.  That's fine.  Disappointing, but fine.  I can live my life without those things.  But I refuse to accept that I will never do anything with my life.  I refuse to accept that I will never be able to support myself.  I refuse to accept that I'm stuck here—I'm just stuck here now.  But that has to change.  It has to.

I have to do something.  I don't know what that is.  I keep applying for jobs and applying for jobs and applying for jobs, and nothing.  Not even an interview.  I don't know what else I can do.  I barely apply for library jobs anymore.  Mostly office work.  I don't know, I don't keep an accurate accounting of how many jobs I've applied for or what or where I've applied.  Not anymore.  My poor heart couldn't take it any longer.  It broke every time I added another to the database I created.  I know a year and a half ago, before I destroyed the database in a fit of hopelessness and rage, it had nearly 850 entries.  I'd estimate that since then I've applied to around 200 more jobs—all over the country, but mostly in this area and to the North (I don't fancy being a single woman of child bearing years with liberal sensibilities and a non-Christian/non-monotheistic religious views in the American South).  The jobs I have applied for are one that I more than qualify for, and still nothing.  But I keep it up.  I spend hours and hours writing cover letters, and rewriting my resume, and searching for jobs online.  I don't know what else I can do.

My brother (the successful one with a new daughter) doesn't understand.  I can't stand being around him anymore because he always manages to say something cutting to me about my situation.  Like he thinks I'm not trying.  And I'm trying so hard.

Look at this, I've gotten all off topic.  I didn't start this to complain about my lack of job prospects.  I wanted to talk about the hope and fear that followed my applying for jobs so far away.

Hawaii is WAY out of my comfort zone, and this was the first time I've applied for any jobs there.  And I didn't apply for library jobs like I normally do with my out of town applications.  I applied for office positions.  For companies that interested me, or paid well enough to live on my own.  I did so on a whim, which makes me sound flaky, but is true regardless.  I felt stupid applying for the jobs.  Why would someone in Hawaii hire me?  But then, I feel stupid applying for any jobs anymore.  And why wouldn't someone in Hawaii hire me?  I believe, disregarding my lived experience over the last four/five years, that I'm am eminently hirable.  I'm organized, hard working, smart, and generally friendly and respectful.  Anything I don't know or don't know how to do I can learn–and quickly!  I show up, and I stick around (sometimes much longer than I should for my own peace of mind).

The thing is, after applying for these jobs I got to thinking about what it would be like to live in Hawaii, and I found that I rather liked the idea.  I like the idea of being able to go to the beach after work, or hike the mountains on the weekends.  I like the idea of learning about Hawaiian culture.  I like the idea of being on an island.  I like the idea of being a racial minority.*  I like the idea of me being in Hawaii.  I don't know if it would work, but I find that I really want to find out.  So maybe I'll focus my attempts there now.  Maybe I'll find some way to make it work.  I don't know, we'll have to see.

One last thing and then I'll go: One of the jobs for which I applied was as an Executive Assistant for Keiki O Ka 'Aina.  I don't think I'll get it because I think they want someone more familiar with Hawaiian culture than a white girl from the Kansas suburbs—though I will say that I think I'd be brilliant at it—but it seems like a terrific organization.  (Which, not coincidentally, is why I applied.)  Anyway, I like them for a number of reasons: 1) they got back to me almost immediately after I sent my resume with a request for more information, so their HR is really on the ball, making it seem, at least, like communication is not just a buzzword they use to sound professional; and, 2) they're a non-profit that provides education and assistance to Hawaiian youth.  They do cultural programs, Parents-as-Teachers education, literacy advocation, and so on.  You know how much I love anywhere that advocates literacy, and I think it's important to for native populations (or really any population) to hang on to their cultural identity, language, and religions.  I think it'd be really cool to work for them, even though I'm not qualified to be on the more fun side of things.  I rather doubt, though, that I'll even be given an interview, but even if I never hear from them again, I'd recommend anyone reading this to head over and check out their site.  Maybe make a donation.  It's a worthy cause.

Hawaii Culture Show by Tommy Wong

*For those of you who don't know, the first half of my life I lived and went to school in the inner city. I–a white girl–was, for all intents and purposes, a minority in my school and neighborhood.  I grew up surrounded by brown and black faces, until halfway through high school when my family moved to the suburbs.  I don't think I'd ever seen so many white people in one place before.  All my neighbors were white.  Most (about 90%) of my classmates were white.  I knew, but it never really hit me, that whites were a majority in this country, and the realization was . . . weird.  I've never really felt comfortable since.  It's not the discomfort with minorities that a surprising amount of white people have, it's more of a feeling as though I'm out of place in society.  Or maybe it's the witnessing of white discomfort (fear, anger, guilt) with minorities and wondering why people can't just be treated as people.  That's probably something I should explore here sometime.  And that's not to say that I don't have racial bias, I do, everyone does, it's just that maybe I'm more comfortable taking people as they come.  I don't know.  This is definitely going to be another post.

Imagine

The Rainbow Lies in the Curve of the Sand. (1901) John Reinhard Weguelin.

“Those who fear the imagination condemn it: something childish, they say, something monsterish, misbegotten. Not all of us dream awake. But those of us who do have no choice.”
~Patricia A. McKillip

I was hanging out with a friend today, and she said something about how when you work towards something, taking positive action towards a goal, life has a tendency to work out the way you want it.  That wasn't it exactly, but you get the idea.  After she said this, I grumbled something about finding it hard to find motivation to do anything, which was a real downer, and shortly thereafter our conversation ended.  Now, I don't think our conversation ended because of my comment - by that time we'd been talking for about an hour, and we both have lives we have to lead, chores to do, and the like - but I still wouldn't be surprised if my comment had something to do with it.  I'm pretty sure my friends are just as tired of hearing me whine and complain about my life as I am to do the actual whining.

That, however, is not the point.

Something struck me at that point in the conversation, started nibbling away at a corner of my brain, a thought that needed to be examined later - after our conversation was truly over, and it was this:

I am suffering from a profound lack of imagination.

Or maybe I should call it "practical imagination."  It's sad really, I can dream up a thousand fantastical stories, but I just can seem to think of any action to take to get out of my current state, let alone positive action.  Everything seems to lead to more standing still.  I'm applying for jobs, but that's not getting me anywhere, and I just can't think of what else to do.  What can I do?  I'm bogged down in this quagmire, and truly have no clue.

The trouble, I think, is that I don't know the rules of the outside world.  I understood school.  In university I knew exactly where I stood, and where, ultimately, I was heading.  The real world?  I'm completely lost.  I'm a cog that was left out of the grand machine of full time employment.  Then, not only am I a cog, but I'm a cog that graduated with a bazillion other cogs that fit just a little bit better than me.  What's a girl to do?

It's obvious that whatever I do, I won't be able to do it the easy way - if that even exists.  But what steps to take?  I don't even know that.  I just keep blundering around and losing my footing.  What do I want to do?  I'm not even sure of that.  Mostly I just want to work one full time job that pays a decent wage - and hopefully offers insurance - while figuring out my next step.  It'd be awesome if that job could be in a library, but I'm rapidly losing hope in that prospect, but anything.  Right now, I work around 50 hours a week (my commute is added in) at two part time jobs and still only make around 17k a year.  I can't move out of my parents house.

But what do I want?

I want a little place of my own.  One that I can share with my cat.  I want to be comfortable dating again (there's no way I'd invite a guy to stay the night at my folks' house, though that's not my only excuse).  I want work I find rewarding.  I want to be able to pay back my student loans.  I want to be able to take a vacation somewhere at least once every couple of years.  I want a future, but I don't know how to go about getting it.

At the start of this year I wrote that I wanted to pursue writing as a career.  It's something that I wanted to do as a kid, through high school, and my first couple of years at college.  Somewhere along the way I lost it.  Maybe my inability to find a job is my gods/the universe telling me that I need to get back on that path.  I'm not really sure, but there's no harm in trying.  Of course, it would be easier if I had a full time job to support myself while writing (hint-hint, gods, hint-freaking-hint), but I don't know if that's going to happen.  What was the last count before I quit keeping track?  Eight-hundred-fifty-something applications, five interviews, eight-hundred-fifty-something rejections.  (Oh yeah, I had my fifth interview for a full time position at the library for which I currently work in a part time position last week, it went really well, but they decided to go another way.  Nicest rejection I've gotten so far.)

Will sitting down to write a novel be my positive action?  Will it be enough?  I wish I knew.  A part of me says that I could totally do it - live my dream and all that.  Another part of me urges practicality.  I'm not sure there's a way to balance the two.

Hopefully I'll get this figured out within the next couple of months.

Well anyway, wish me luck - the good kind please!  

Delete

So, I made another big decision recently.  In addition to deleting a myriad of post here, I have also delete the database I created to record the all the jobs for which I have applied.  Yikes!

It was just . . . weighing me down.  I'd look at it and see the pages and pages of entries, and get so angry and sad.  I'd ask, "What more can I do?  What am I doing wrong here?"  There were so, so many jobs listed.  Some I was, admittedly, under-qualified for and those didn't bother me so much, but the others . . . There were many, many jobs for which I was over-qualified on that list - way more than the ones for which I was under-qualified.  Then there were those jobs that seemed to be perfectly tailored for my skills and experience, and those too gave me nothing.

There were so, so many jobs and statistically none of them even gave me a chance.  Four interviews out of nearly 1000 applications filled or resumes sent.  Four.  It was - and is - crazy-disheartening.  But no more!  For now that database doesn't exist.

I feel as though a huge burden was lifted from me.

Of course, I also feel a bit panicky too.  I suppose I'm going to have to start again from scratch soon.  But not now.  Now, it's been deleted and I am . . . free.

For the moment anyway.

I'm going to try to declutter my life.  This, my great purging of posts, is part of it.  My plans, however, go far past cyberspace.  My goal is to, before winter sets in, clean the shit out of my physical world as well.  I'm dreading going through my books, but it needs to be done.  Truth?  It needed to be done 10 years ago.  Everything needs to be weeded, and I need to be ruthless about it.  That's the only way I can think to allow myself to bloom and blossom.  I have everything picked out. The color of my bedroom, new furniture, window dressings, even what I'll grow in my window box (if I'm allowed to have one).  I know what art I want on the walls, and where it will go.  I know what sheets I want on my bed.  I know what car I want to buy to replace my current one.

Most of my plans for my physical space will have to wait.  We're getting new siding put on the house, and that will affect the inside walls.  Patching and painting will have to be done after.  Getting rid of the stuff, though, that can be done now.  Since most of my stuff is books, well, that means I'll have to go through them all, decide on what to keep, throw away, or sell.  Then following through.  Difficult, difficult.  But needs be.

Hopefully, once I get my space done I can start working on the rest of me.

No more living provisionally, though.  No more I can't do this until that gets done.  I want to move forward, which means, you know, actually moving.

Wish me luck.  The good kind of course.

Oh.  I almost forgot.  I applied for two new jobs today.  Office librarianship.  Could be interesting.  I'm worried that I won't be able to do fun things with my hair like I want - conservative workplace and all that - but it's not like I can do those fun things now.  I hope I get it so I don't have to worry anymore about money and can focus on progressing through my career, but we'll see.

I guess I need double the luck.

Moving Forward, Staying Still

First off, I want to say thank you to all my friends and family for your support in the wake of last weeks post.  I'm so very glad that I have people who care about me in my life, however peripheral.  That said, please, please stop sending me suicide prevention hotline numbers.  I assure you that I'm not suicidal.  I'm just massively unhappy with the path my life is currently on.  That doesn't mean I want to die.

My mother, she with a psychology degree, says that depression is just anger turned inwards.  I get that.  It makes sense to me.  Since I fluctuate between raging at the world and at myself, it makes sense to me.  It's just that I don't know how to fix this: my life.  I don't know how to find success and happiness.  I can't seem to do anything but fail, and it makes me bitter.  How do you get a job?  Or even a job interview?  I'm closing in on 700 resumes sent or applications filled and have only gotten two interviews.  I try, but no one is interested in giving me a chance.

I've applied for jobs that I'm perfectly qualified for - jobs that seemed like they were made just for me - and nothing.  I've applied for jobs that I'm overqualified for, and nothing.  I've applied for jobs that I'm under-qualified, and, of course, nothing.  There are only so many ways I can change my resume.  So many times it can be rewritten.  I keep trying and I keep failing.  Again and again and again and again.  I don't know what to do.  I don't know what else to do.  Is there something in me that's lacking?  Something other people can see, but I can't?

What do I have to do to get a full time job?

I'm not sure that I believe that it will ever happen.  And then what do I have?  Nothing.  Useless degrees and many thousands of dollars of student debt.  I can't afford a life.  

I'm so ready for this summer to be over.  Autumn needs to come and bring with it crisp air and cool rains to wash away the mess the summer has left in it's wake.

I don't know what I'm going to do with my life.  I need some kind of plan, some structure.  I thought the library would give that to me.  I could make my career, find my place . . . The truth is, I've been questioning that assumption all along.  For all that I would be a fantastic librarian, for all that I spent tens of thousands of dollars getting a degree that would allow me to move up in the field (provided anyone gave me a chance to get out there), for all that I've invested my time and energy and spent my spirit, I've questioned . . . From the beginning I've questioned if this was the right path for me. 

I want it to be.  I would love to work in a library in a librarian position, as a professional, as an integral part of my community.  And I love libraries, I do, but I don't fit.  I don't know why, but I don't.  I wish I did.  It would be so much easier, but when, of late, has anything been easy?

The thing is: what else can I do?  What. Else. Can. I. Do?  What else can I do?

That's the crux of my problem: I don't know.  I don't know what to do.  I don't know what else I can do?  I just know I can't stay here.  Stagnant.  I've got to move forward with my life, and I don't know how.  I need to find a job, and I don't know how.

I suppose I'll have to figure it out, because I can't stay here.  I can't.

It should be an interesting journey.

Drama. Heartache. I'm so done.

Sometimes I wish I could just burn my life to the ground and scatter the ashes to the winds.  Or cut ties, walk away from everything, begin again.  No sick and helpless father (though he's out of the hospital now and still has both feet/legs!).  No massive student debt ($48,000+).  No crappy infighting and bullying at the library.  No annoying underemployment.  No frantic, fruitless job hunt.  I could be/find something novel, something new.  I could find my place without the weight of everything dragging me down.

I imagine myself as a of the hero in one of the fantasy novels I love so much: wanderer, poet, mage, bard, adventurer, lover, dreamer, warrior, witch, princess, thief.  Brave and strong and smart.  Wild and wily.  Have you ever noticed that they don't need funds?  That they can walk away from or stab their enemies?  Have you noticed how everything works out for them - these heroes of my faery tales?  Somehow, everything works out.  It must, otherwise it wouldn't be a good story.

Life isn't a story.  It sure as hell isn't a faery tale.  And I'm not sure that anything's going to work out for me.

I'm so tired of bad luck.  I'm so tired of failure.  I'm so tired of thinking I'm moving forward only to find myself further back than when I started.  I'm tired of not being told what I'm supposed to do at work, then getting in trouble when I don't do it.  And I'm tired of platitudes, and "it gets better"s, and false reassurance, and "at least you don't live in (whatever 3rd world hellhole is fashionable at the moment)"s.  I'm tired of "it could be worse."  I know it could be worse, but it's pretty damn bad now.

I almost walked out of the library tonight.  That's one of two things I've never done at any of my jobs: I've never quit without giving at least a months notice and I've never been fired.  But I was ready to walk out, go home, and never return.  My boss actually talked me out of it.  She was right when she pointed out that it would damage my future career.  It would, but I'm not really sure I have a future career to damage.  I have a couple of meaningless, expensive pieces of paper that ideally should make me employable, but haven't seemed to help me at all.  I have a constant headache and tears in my eyes every single night, but especially when I leave the library lately.  I have a brain that replays the bad parts of my day, my life, over and over and over again keeping me from getting to sleep until I pass out by way of pure exhaustion.  I have a desire to cut myself, something that is so fucking cliche and upsetting to me, something I haven't done in over a decade.  I have an almost pathological fear of going to work, and the beginnings of a need to avoid libraries from now until the end of time.

Which sucks because I truly love libraries.  And for the most part I love my job.  I LOVE helping people find books, answering questions, doing research.  I love thinking up programming ideas and learning about new trends and conceptualizing my ideal library.  I love making pathfinders and study aids.  There is a comfort for me in libraries, but it's slipping away because of stupid internal politics and a fucking bully of a supervisor.

And I hate it.  I hate that I hate going to work now.  I hate that I feel underutilized and unappreciated. It just compounds, you know?  It just keeps getting worse.  I'm so stressed and upset and it seems like nothing is going my way.  Nothing IS going my way.  All my family drama is stacked on top of my professional failures is stacked on top of my general depressed person depression, and that twisted layer cake is topped with this new work bullshit.  Something's gotta give.  I just can't do it anymore.  I'm having nightmares, night terrors, again.  I woke myself up screaming and tearing into my arms the other night with my fingernails.  I can't do this anymore.  I feel sick inside.  Rotted.

Knowing that I'm not the most stable, mentally, at the moment, and not in the best frame of mind to make decisions, I'm going to give it a couple of weeks - until the end of the month.  Then I'm probably going to quit my job.  I hope that something comes up before that.  That somehow, miraculously, one of the many, many, many places to which I've applied gives me chance.  It would be better that way, easier.  With my luck, though . . . 

I wish I could just walk away from it all.  Disappear.  Go on some grand and magical adventure, and return home triumphant, if I return home at all.  Life's not that neat though.  It's messy and awful and painful.  There is no "better."  There is only the same or worse.  Or at least that's the way it's been for me for my life.  And I know from trying that there's no way for me to change it.  I endure.

The point of no return

I interviewed for and didn't get another library job the other day.  It's frustrating and stupid that I can't find a full time job in a library.  I'll keep applying, but more and more I'm feeling like the entire search is futile.  I wonder if anyone anywhere will be willing to give me a chance.  It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't desperately need a job.  With a decent pay check and medical insurance.  I think that here soon I'm going to start applying for jobs outside of libraries, though I don't know that that will be much better.  I don't have much in the way of marketable skills outside of books and organization.

And the thing is, I really, really want to work in a library.  Specifically a public library.  If I get a full time job outside the library I'll never have a chance to go back.  Not without starting completely over: first, as a volunteer; then, a part time employee.  And I don't think I'll ever be able to afford that.

Not unless I get married and my husband can support me, and that's probably never going to happen.  Truth?  I don't think I'll ever get married.  I may never date or have sex again, let alone make a lifetime romantic connection.

I have to be able to support myself, especially because I expect to forever be alone.

And that's okay.  I can be alone.  I can't say that I'll enjoy it always or even be 100 percent happy, but I'll be content.  It's better than being miserable because of another person.  Except, I worry that I'll never be able to support myself.  

And I'm worth so much more than my current jobs.  I should be able to support myself.

I feel like I've given up so much already.  I'm beginning to accept that I'll never find love.  I'll never have a partner in life or children, and that's beginning to be okay with me.  Sad, but okay.  I don't need that, not really.  I can find other things to do with my time.  And that's huge, don't you think?  I don't want to give up the library.  I don't want to give up on being a librarian.  It's too much.  It's everything.

But something's got to give.  And being a librarian is the last thing I have.  If something doesn't come up on that front soon, then I'll have to give up that dream as well.

And then what?  Then, what?

I don't know.  I don't know what else there is for me out there.  I'll be traveling blind and ignorant.  I don't like that thought, but I'll soon have no other choice.

I think I'm going to give it through the end of the year.  That's, to my mind, pushing it, but I really want this to work out for me.  After the year's end, if I still don't have a job . . .  I don't know.  I guess we'll see.  But that will be when my final dream dies.