An Open Letter to Office Food Pushers

Dear free-food-loving co-workers,

I am not a dog and do not need to be rewarded with food, constantly. Although from time to time it is nice to stumble upon cupcakes in the break room, it is my decision whether to engage in gorging myself of said free cupcakes. Thank you for having a bowl of candy on your desk and in the hallway, that's so kind of you. But why do you insist on grabbing a handful and walking around the office handing it out like it's your own personal Halloween every single day? Why do you bake cookies and then hand them out like you're in first grade and it's your birthday? Picking and choosing who is worthy?

Last week there was ice cream cake. Do you know how I knew there was ice cream cake? Because not one, not two, but three people passed my desk just to let me know. One brought me a piece without asking. Someone emailed the entire office, why? NO IDEA. And alas, one more CALLED me on my work phone to let me know, just in case I had not heard. Hi, yes I know there is ice cream cake in the break room.

We work with over 200 people. Almost every day is someone's birthday, someone's promotion party, someone's farewell. There will always be cake. Repeat after me: THERE WILL ALWAYS BE CAKE. Today is not special, just like yesterday, when you shoved two pieces of free carrot cake onto one tiny plate, was not special. Why are we all eating as if one day the birthday-cake-coffers will mysteriously stop flowing endless amounts of cash into cakes, cookies, and candy?

Why do you look slightly disappointed and/or sad when I kindly say no thank you? Is it because you're realizing this is the fourth straight day you yourself have enjoyed a giant slice of cake? It is because no one says no to the crazy candy lady who pushes her sweets with the fortitude of a friendly neighborhood drug dealer? There has to be a better way to socialize in the office.

Don't even get me started on bagels.

Yours sincerely,
The lady trying NOT to get 365-days-of-free-cake thighs

Serenity

Serenity. For two weeks anyway. This is the amount of time I'm told I must wait further. Another two weeks of this holding pattern. Another two weeks without a full breath, time wasted, uncertainty.

I know I sound dire. I also know this outlet for my frustrations has become just that, no longer talking about the joys in my life, for which there are many, but instead focusing on this gnawing, this constant itch to be settled and the journey I've been on in my attempts to do so, mainly through acquiring a full time job. It's all coming to a boiling point for a number of reasons, reasons that make it all so much more dire. First, I no longer have health care and have been denied when trying to apply for individual health care due to a pre-existing condition. Apparently all the health reforms we've fought so hard to achieve do not go into effect for a few more years, during which time it seems, unless I am employed full time, I will not be able to get health coverage.

Additionally my student loans are due. On top of that The Professor seems to be having an even worse time than me in our eternal waiting. I was told, by the same people I've been interviewing with since March, that I would know their decision Friday of last week. Friday before Good Friday. I heard nothing until Wednesday and was on edge with each passing day. I then learned that I was a finalist, something I had already figured on my own. I continued to wait throughout Easter weekend during which time I was told that I would be interviewed again, for the 7th time, through video conferencing. I figured surely this was the meeting where we'd discuss salary, start dates, and any final questions. But it was another interview. The same questions. Similar answers. And I was told they would decide in two weeks. Two. Friggin'. Weeks.

I used to get sick a lot as a child (let's just say I'm not the most 'robust' of humans) and my mom would tell me the serenity prayer, because I could not control that I was sick, but I could control how I dealt with being sick. Since then I have had this outlook on almost anything, always attempting to react best to bad situations. This resourcefulness has protected me and gotten me through some bad times. But now, in the 11th hour, I'm just not sure I can handle this any more. I've gone through worse things, it's true, but never for 12 straight months. An entire year of being told no. It's hard not to take it personal. It's hard to remember my serenity prayer.

God, Grant to me the serenity of mind to accept that which cannot be changed; courage to change that which can be changed, and wisdom to know the one from the other, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.

Last night I told The Professor that I no longer have any hope. That each time I get my hopes up I am told no, or to wait longer. Thus I think my hope has dried up and now I am jaded, constantly expecting the next no, and accepting the idea that I will never be back in my field and we may waste away depending on others to get by financially.

I know this is all depressing, and not what you might want to read on this Tuesday morning. But it's overcome my thoughts. It's become my entire world. I have so many other blogs in my mind that I'd like to share. About our trips. About Easter weekend. About the snakes and other critters which have come out of the woodwork at the cottage, terrifying this city girl. About cooking a whole chicken. About my first ham dinner and how well it went. But all these stories would seem fake to me if I didn't first express my current state of mind and being. At least for today anyway. Hopefully tomorrow I will have a more cheerful story for you. For now, I repeat:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference.

The Great Matter

My great matter seems to be these days, the job search. The dreaded and soul crushing job search. The never ending, year-long, 100 jobs deep, job search.

Tuesday I thought I'd had it. I was done. This was ridiculous. I was fully prepared to take my two masters degrees and my double major and shove them, shove them hard down the throat of life (that sounds really melodramatic, but I wanted to say it anyway.) Thoughts raced through my head. We need to get out of the cottage. We need to move back into civilization. We are deteriorating mentally and physically. We have no health insurance. Student loans are due in three weeks. We need to get out of here. Thus I resolved myself to work a job, any job, that would move us into university city and stop our dependence on our families. I also cried a lot.

Then yesterday two little, tiny, almost invisible baby steps towards employment occurred. One of the hundred jobs offered me an interview. It's not the most perfect position, but it's in my field. And it's somewhere new and interesting. And it's a permanent job, giving us cause to relocate and get health insurance. So basically I get all ahead of myself planning what life could be if only this works out. Which is dangerous and I must stop it. It's basically the equivalent of feeding stale bread to starving people. They devour it and think it's the greatest thing ever.

Because the truth is it is very likely that I won't get this position. And we can't move. And I get more rejections. Yesterday alone I received four rejections. Today I opened my email at work to receive one more, first thing in the morning.

Staying positive and upbeat has usually been my thing in an almost inhuman way. Now it's proving difficult. Challenging. Next to freaking impossible.

So cross your fingers, and your toes, and whatever else you are able to cross, that my interview goes well tomorrow. Because I'm starving and would love some stale bread now please.

The Judging Man with the Ponytail

I work in a curious little basement office. While my archive is on one side of this sprawling matrix of confusing hallways, another group works at the opposite corner. I've never known what this collection of men does. I think, perhaps, something to do with tech. It's never been explained to me. Their hallway is, however, an obstical I need to overcome each time I use the restroom, which unfortunately resides on the other side of their offices. And here is another problem, I pee a lot.

Yes, over-share, I know, sorry. But it's true. It's always been true. I'm a hydrated little lady and if that means peeing 14 times a day I will gladly do so. That is, before I was so totally noticed and judged each time. Because my office is fra-fra-freeeeezing I wear the same black Columbia fleece everyday. It stays at my desk and welcomes my cold, cold body each morning. Because of this, I am much like a cartoon character. Whatever day it is, I basically look like I'm wearing the same thing. This makes me very noticeable to the men who monitor me walking down the long hallway, much like a walk of shame, to the restroom every hour.

Each man works with his door open, each looks up from his computer as I walk by. But the man with the ponytail, whose office oh-so-sadly resides in that sad space between the men's and women's restrooms (how does that even happen!) he notices the most. He looks up and he judges me, each.time. He looks at me as if to say, "you're peeing again?" And I return a look that says, "you're office is next to the restroom, what do you even do!"

I see him sometimes when I walk around outside or am coming to work, and his looks says, "you're that girl, that girl that pees all the time." And my look says, "your pony tail is much much longer than I thought it was now that I see it in the daylight and not in the shadows of your basement bathroom office."

Devil with the Blue Shoes on

This is day three of me working, and I come to you, shocker, from work. I'm definately adjusting and getting use to, A. getting up in the mornings, B. the freakishly long commute, and C. working in a giant room all by myself while air conditioning blasts even though it's not hot, thus making it colder, during my long, lonely days.

OK, that was a bit melodramatic. But I am working at a table within an old exhibition space (the exhibition is moving to a new building.) So like me, this place is in its own holding pattern. It seems only fitting that I be placed in here as my work space, with all the other boxed-up and slightly cast-off objects.

The day is going faster as I focus more and more on my project and the research before me. I do really like the smell of archival boxes (sad!) and the discovery of one or two outlandish letters from times gone by, such as one today blaming teenage VD on the lack of prayer in schools (take that one, school nurses nationwide!)

I wore my electric blue shoes today, which I very, very, rarely wear. They make me smile. And they were cozy during my half hour hike from the parking garage to work (uphill both ways, it seriously is!)

I hope your shoes make you smile!

Welcome Back

That song has been stuck in my head for the past couple days, "Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back." And it's true, I'm back. Not so much as defunct as before, depending at how you look at it. I've returned to my previous employer in university city, back to museum work, stretching my brain and attempting to remember how to function in the working world.

I do miss going to TJ Maxx whenever I want. But the benefits far outweigh the downsides. Benefits: I get to work, function in the world, collaborate with people, contribute to an exhibition in a curitorial role of sorts once more. Downsides: I have to drive in with The Professor about 1.5 hours each day each way (not that being with The Professor is a downside, far from it, but the drive does suck hard,) the job is not exactly what I wanted (more research assistant than bad ass curator,) I work mainly in a room alone for most the day, I have far less (read: no) free time anymore due to the lengthy drive in and out, it's only temporary thus we can't stop our holding pattern and move on to the next phase of our lives. So still holding, but the landing gear may be coming out just a bit.

And I'm still a bit defunct. Yesterday I could not remember simple words and had problems drafting simple, short object labels, a task I used to be able to complete in my sleep. Apparently my brain has been buried deep beneath watching too many reruns of Grey's Anatomy and reading cookbooks all in between napping and taking random photos of my cats. I really needed to get back to work.

Another plus is I'm able to commit to this project just one month at a time, which means the search for real, fulfilling employment is still on. After about 58 cover letters and rejections I still hold out hope that not all is lost. I could even be coming to a city near you!

And We’re Down Again

Bummer. I got all excited about my wonder consultant today and the call that would.change.my.life. Well, that’s yet to be seen. The call happened, all 3.5 minutes of it. Sadface indeed.

My influencer has one powerful contact within my field in this much desired city, and put a plan into action to call said contact Monday, who will then call me. At that point I can talk to someone about making more contacts and get advice.

When The High Powered Preggers told me of this phone call she made it seem like it would be lengthy. She told me to prepare for invasive questions, the purpose of which were to find “hidden talents” and “special personality” aspects with which to recommend me for jobs that even I might not have known I could do. I was told there would be much about linkedin and being aggressive and contacting contacts and making myself visible. This was not had. What was had was me desperately trying to keep her on the phone while she obviously wanted to go.

And it’s still raining. And it’s freezing. And the cottage is not equipped for such weather (it literally has three fire burning heaters with actual fire coming out of them. FIRE!)

The silver lining is this contact and the hope that it will birth more contacts and actual advice.

Rain, Rain.

It’s raining in Georgia. This makes lake living slightly more depressing than it already was. But today I put on my happy face and my cute black boots and went “into town” to start volunteering for a local community arts organization. On top of that I took a part time job in the university city where The Professor works. I’ll be doing curatorial work, so now I’m only partially defunct. While it rains outside, my outlook is getting a bit brighter.

On another note, I’m getting a bit more used to driving out here in the middle of nowhere. There is this little cultural wave I’ve picked up. I suppose it comes from there being so few vehicles on any given road at any given time, but drivers passing each other lift their hand up ever so slightly from the wheel to greet one another. It’s adorable. I participate frequently.

Another thing I noticed today while driving around is something I’ve been suspecting for a while. People around here (and I don’t want to generalize the whole South because I’ve only studied this small area) don’t tend to put their headlights on during rain or inclement weather. I noticed it bit by bit, and have commented on it to The Professor before. But with the downpour we got today, it was really noticeable, almost every other car was without headlights.

Regardless, I found a dive Jamaican place, got some chicken and plantains and headed on home to my sick Professor who stayed home today.