Ring Damn You!

Yes, I'm yelling at my cell phone.

I spent March, April, and May filling out online applications, writing cover letters, going to job fairs, and going through every possible means of applying to over 30 school districts in the suburban Chicago area.

Have any of them called me?

No.

Fuck you, Illinois.

So in June I decided it was time to get desperate, and I started applying to schools in North Carolina. Within a week I had gotten e-mails from 3 principals following up on my paperwork, and one interview over the phone. I was all excited that the myths and legends were true, and that these districts would be fighting over who got to hire me.

But what have I heard in the last week? Survey says... Nothing.

Offer me a fucking job! You've got my cell phone number, you've got my home phone number, you've got my e-mail address. Pick one! (Now reread the last sentence, imagining it's in Lewis Black's voice.)

I'm a Hack

I spent all day on Friday trying to finish a short story for The Newsletter. Two half finished stories left behind, and 3 AM later, I finally finished it and e-mailed it out. It's not a groundbreaking testament to the human spirit, it's not really all that good. I think there's enough little amusing lines and bits to make it worthwhile, but it's not something I'm waiting on the edge of my seat to see in print.

Sigh.

As I was driving back home from Chi-Town Saturday, I remembered the stack of floppy disks I had found amongst my crap in the basement during the last time I tried to consolidate the nonsense. Since I don't have a floppy drive on my laptop I didn't check them out right away, and then they fell back behind something and I wasn't in any rush to dig them out. But thinking these disks may have a lot of my writing from high school on them, I decided I was going to make a project out of going through them. I got back home Saturday with enough time to grab a snack and a shower before heading to the Gap, and so the exploration of these disks was saved for yesterday.

As I had suspected, these were some of the disks to which I saved things in high school. As I waited for the files to load on my brother's computer (his has a 3 1/2 disk drive) I realized that it was taking a minute because these disks were 10 years old. It's scary to put that sort of perspective on things.

What's even scarier is that I was immensely please with how good the stories and other writings were, moreso than I have been of my writing of late. Sure, I could see ways to improve them and stylistic changes I would make today, but the basics were better than I remembered.

And that's totally depressing.

I had more to write about when I was 14 than I do at 24.

Time to Get Me an Accent...

School is done for the year now, so that means no more subbing days. My only source of income now is from the Gap. I just get more resentful of it every day that I go in - hating what I have to do, hating the customers, hating many of my coworkers, and even hating particular items of clothing. When inanimate objects provoke a sense of seething rage in you, you know things are not going well.

I've gotten 3 rejection notices so far, and that's all I've heard from schools. Just like dating, all the pretty girls aren't interested, so now it's time to go find the girl with a "great personality"...

That's right, I started applying to schools in North Carolina.

Supposedly Texas, Florida, and North Carolina are the states most in need of teachers. North Carolina has the distinct advantage of not being either Texas or Florida. Over Christmas break I talked briefly to a girl I graduated with who is teaching in NC, and she tried to convince me it was the thing to do. My dad was down there for a week on business a few years ago, and he told me it's pretty nice down there. It's the South, but it's not the Deep South. Hell, I see more confederate flags and cowboy hats in West Michigan than I ever did living in Missouri, so I'm not too worried. Now I just have to wait by the phone...

Mr. Brightside

You know that scene in movies where the character goes into the bathroom to wash their face, and as they look up from the sink there's a long emotional pause as they look at themselves in the mirror while dramatic music plays?

That kinda describes the way I've felt for the last few days.

May was an exciting month. Between Tulip Time, Star Wars, and this past weekend spent in Traverse City I've had a lot to do and a lot of fun. In between all of these weekend extravaganzas were some solid weeks of substitute teaching, which not only kept me busy but also kept me away from the Gap.

Now it's June. Time to hurry up and wait for something to happen. School's ending next week, so it means no more subbing jobs. My time will be spent waiting for the clock hands to move at the Gap, or waiting for the phone to ring at home.

Here's the last piece of the puzzle... Yesterday I found out that one of my ex-girlfriends from high school is getting married. Beyond just a little fling or a date to a dance, she was the most significant dating relationship I had in high school. After a bit of awkward transitional time, we eventually got used to being friends and have more or less kept in touch over the last few years. I hung out with her one night around Christmas and she mentioned that she and her boyfriend had been "talking about the future". Now that it's official I'm happy for her, but it's a weird feeling to say the least.

A real job and a girlfriend. When all is said and done, those are the two things I want that I can't seem to attain. And I won't find either in Holland.

So here I am
grown up at 23
Will someone tell me
what it takes to be happy?

The Ataris - "Giving up on Love"

I'm sure you, the reader, are shaking your head at my foolishness or naivete.

I know there are millions of people in the world that are both gainfully employed and involved in relationships, and are all the while still unhappy. I know that having these two things will not unlock the magical door to happyland. I know that more likely than not, there is a good chance for more misery to come of either a job or a girlfriend.

And still, I want both. As irrational, illogical, unbelievable, and unreasonable as it seems I have nonetheless admitted it.