Last night was my end-of-semester cohort potluck. I have to say, we were a pretty bedraggled bunch. One woman lost her father in a motorcycle accident last week, another’s husband broke his back on Sunday. Others are sick, or stressed, or lonely, or just plain exhausted. Our advisor is jumping ship next week, headed back to Colorado to be with her family before our program even finishes. It’s forgivable, considering she lost her son just weeks before the school year started. Yeah, on the spectrum of cohort tragedies, my break up ranks pretty low.
We ate good food, gave out cheesy awards, and hugged the shit out of each other. We have a few summer courses yet, but we won’t be together for all of them, and by the end of June it will all be over. I can’t believe a) how hard it’s been, and b) how fast it’s gone. In any event, I love and admire my cohort so deeply. A few of us went for beers after the potluck. We complained about every damn thing and toasted our own resilience. They were good to talk to about matters of the heart, too. So loving, so not about cliches. They didn’t do the whole “he’s a jerk, you don’t need him” bit, because they know he’s not a jerk. I’m thankful for that. And I’m thankful for the healing affects of good cold beer. Mmm. Thank you Germans, or whoever made beer in the first place. It is truly a magical beverage.

Remember my post this morning, when I said that I couldn’t think of anything positive to close with? Well, after I wrote that I got a call from one of the principals I met at Saturday’s job fair. She wants to interview me! This is the woman who represented the last school I visited, when my blood sugar was super low, my mind was filled with looming break ups, and my feet were killing me. The first thing I said to her after I introduced myself was, “Don’t your feet hurt in those heels?” Which made her laugh, and we talked about footwear for a while. Then we got down to business- literacy programs, classroom management, etc. It was fine, just my normal spiel. Finally she asked me the grimace-inducing question, “Why should I hire you,” which is my cue to put on a sunny smile, and sell, sell, sell myself. Instead I looked at her for a while and said, “Um, because… I’m nice. And… my feet hurt.” She laughed some more, told me she liked my sense of humor, and told me to wear flats to my next interview. And what do you know? She called me. I will absolutely wear flats on Thursday.
I actually have an interview that same morning with another district, based on my weird screening interview at Friday’s job fair. That one I’m pretty positive I got because I’m left-handed. Such a sophisticated process.
So even though I’m bummed beyond belief, at least the possibility of being permanently unemployed with massive loans to repay is looking a little slimmer.
And that’s something. Right?

I said I’d wait a few days to write about this, but I can’t. There are no hard feelings, my heart is not broken, but I’m really, really sad. Mike and I broke up yesterday. It’s been tough going for a while now, and we tried real hard to figure out another way. But ultimately the timing was wrong, or that’s the official explanation anyway. It’s never quite that simple, really, but I’ll tow the party line. (Is that the cliche I mean to use? It sounds right, but I don’t know. Tow? Toe?) Anyway, I’m not mad, we’ll be friends, blah blah blah, but damn. My heart hurts. I really like that man!
Needless to say, I did not find the joy I was looking for this weekend. Two job fairs and a break up. I miss my friends that live far away. I miss my parents. This time is so hard, I wish I could sleep through the next six weeks and wake up with a Masters degree, a job, an apartment, and a boyfriend who wants to be my boyfriend. No, strike that last part. I have a lot of love in my heart, but I’m going to save it for friends and students and my family back home.
I’ve been staring at this screen for the last ten minutes, trying to figure out how to end this entry on a positive note.

I will post photos as soon as I have some good ones, but so far the only ones I’ve taken have been self-portraits in my car at stoplights. Because I am blonde now. Well, blonde-ish. More frosted, I guess. I look sort of like a news anchor. See, I ended up “winning” a free cut and color from an Aveda salon near my work, and feeling (as you know, ad nauseum) like I needed a little Joy right about now, I made the appointment for a whole new look. Except that I didn’t really want a whole new look. I wanted my same haircut, just cleaned up a little, and my same grey hairs on display for all to see. I wanted my bangs a little shorter. And I wanted some very mellow lighter brown highlights. You know, for depth or whatever. But the man who cut my hair was a sort of frumpy 1980’s washout, with a Great Clips commercial-esque bleached fade. And when I told him I wanted very subtle color, he acted completely disgusted, as if I was asking him to marinate my hair in chlorine for an hour and then cut it with a primitive stone knife. According to him, blonde highlights are the only kind of highlights, and that even with my very dark brown hair, blonde highlights could still look very natural. Which I didn’t buy for a second, but let him do anyway because it was clear he didn’t want to be giving a girl a free haircut anyway, and I wanted to be accommodating. (Which by the way is my MO these days.) So I looked on while he brought out the bleach and the foil and the crusty paintbrush. And I sat under the dryer and read US Weekly. And I let him put literally 8 sticky products in my hair. The one thing I can say about my hair right now with absolute certainty is that it is very, very sticky. Apart from that it’s just frosty. Boring cut, no bangs. Sort of bubble shaped right now, but I’m hoping that will go away with washing. I tipped him ten dollars. I will make an appointment tomorrow with nice nice nice man Joe V who will fix me up and make me look 26 again. Instead of 56. Maybe he can fit me in next week? Sigh.
It’s not that bad.
I was going to write a sort of catty post on the PDX Film Fest site about how much I hate Q & A’s with directors. But then I read the posts that went up today and they were so thoughtful and appreciative that I felt bad and backed down. Even though I guilted MIke into giving me a login for that blog ASAP. No no, I can’t be catty on that blog.
But I can be catty here! I hate director and/or artist and/or actor and/or musician talk-backs after shows. Don’t get me wrong, I like to hear artists speak about their work. What I don’t like are the dick-slinging questioners who use their moment in front of the mic to prove to everyone in the room that they understood the film better than everyone in the room. Including the director. They ask, “What made you decide to use a hand held shot during the bedroom scene? Do you feel that hand held shots in general provide more intimacy to the moment, or were you making a comment on the fumblings of new lovers?” But what they mean is, “I am a film aficionado. I am a nuanced critic of The Arts. You (director) and I share an understanding of The Arts that is beyond earthly comprehension. It is, rather, celestial. Or perhaps you do not understand at all. (This condescending tone of voice I am now using to respond to your response with my elaborate follow-up question denotes that I have lost all respect for you.) Perhaps what you have created is nothing more than a naive accident, and I will now attempt to trap you into a faltering admission of this fact.” Fucking douche-bags. I have been an artist at one of these talk-backs, and it’s just excruciating. You can’t do much more than shrug helplessly and mumble something about how every viewer had their own schema and that sometimes artistic decisions are hard to explain in a hot, crowded theater when everyone else just wants to get to the party.
Okay, enough cattiness.
Psyche!
A little bit more.
I won’t name names here, but I was at a party recently and spent some time with some very status-conscious people who sized me up and decided I was pretty low on the totem pole of PDX coolness and proceeded to fawn over my much more street credible companions. Can I just call bullshit on this? Anyone who has spent time in this loosely connected “indie rock” community knows the unspoken rule, which is basically just “be cool to everyone.” How many shows have I gone to by myself only to meet nice dudes who later became my tightest homies? How many bands have crashed on how many couches around this ol’ globe? How many baristas have set up installations for traveling artists at their humble cafes? Favors are traded and returned, and connections are made with kindness and word of mouth. So don’t come into my zone and break the unspoken rules! And don’t be presuming to know the lay of the land! Ugh. Maybe it’s not like that, but damn. There is no excuse for rudeness.

Rebecca and I rented 3 Angel DVDs recently, which amounts to about ten episodes. Which is a lot of Angel. I’d never seen the show before, but I love Sci Fi, and I love watching TV on DVD, and I love hero stories, and I sort of secretly love Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which is the mother ship to Angel’s satellite. I haven’t watched a lot of Buffy, but my friend Heather is into it, and when I visit her we’ll often watch a couple of episodes. The musical episode sort of made me fall in love with the show. Anyway. Rebecca and I decided to just start with episode one of Angel and see what happens. Confession? I basically love it. Well, I love it less now that Doyle is dead, but I have some degree of confidence that he won’t be dead forever. No one stays dead forever in these shows, right?

Doyle is actually dead in real life now, though.
Which is sad.
Because he’s a cute Irishman, and you know how I feel about that.
My plan for getting out of the proverbial gutter:
* blog the shit out of the PDX Film Festival,
* make my one minute movie,
* try to ride a horse this Sunday,
* have a little fucking faith for crying out loud, right?
I have a job fair to attend Friday. Then another one on Saturday. Then hopefully on May 4th (if I make the cut. It’s invite only). I need to work on my portfolio, print more copies of my resume, and get a haircut. I also need to get new brake-pads, like, yesterday, and do my laundry. But first, JOY!! I’m getting dressed up and going to a movie premiere and then to the Holocene for a p-a-r-t-y. I might wear some shimmery makeup, who knows. It’s time to let loose!

Hours logged on EdZapp Sunday: 4
Hours logged on EdZapp Monday: 3
Anticipated number of hours to be logged today, Tuesday: 5
I am worn down. This whole process is so draining, and I’m just starting it! Mike asked me last night what the worst case scenario would be, and of course it’s not getting hired anywhere for the Fall. But honestly, that wouldn’t be SO bad. I would sub for the year, make good money, be mellow. I’d have no responsibilities and a flexible schedule. Of course I’d be in the same position I was in when I was a waitress living on tips alone, not having the stability to budget ahead in any meaningful way. And I would have to go through this whole process again next year, which at this moment sounds like a terrible, terrible nightmare. But it wouldn’t be the end of the world. And I will probably get a job soon anyway.
I was thinking this morning about how I don’t have a whole lot right now that’s lifting me up. My friends make me feel good, of course. But they have their own hard times right now, and while we are all taking turns caring for each other, there’s not a lot of joy being passed around. A lot of love, not a lot of joy. And then it just so happens that my relationship is in a rocky spot at the moment, and remaining patient, calm and positive takes more energy than I’d like to admit. I need something special to happen soon. I need a long hike, or a long drive, or a killer dance party to pump me up. I need a cool visit with an old friend, or a fun project to sweep me up and distract me. I’m starting to work on my submission for this year’s One Minute Film Festival, and that might just be the ticket. Last year I made a (short) drama, this year I’m making a (short) comedy. I’ll post it here after the festival.
I should change the name of my blog to “lots of complaints repeated over and over again.” Sorry, dear readers. It will not always be this way. I hope. I mean, I promise.

Two white-haired gentlemen, sitting at an outdoor table, eating eggs. One man jovially declares, “She came into our lives and everything turned upside-down! Nothing has been the same! She asked me, ‘Aren’t you worried that we’re putting all of our eggs in one basket?’ I said, ‘Sure we are. But it’s a good basket. And it has a cover.'” The other man nodded, smiling.

The sun is out, the flowers are blooming, the people are riding their bicycles. Spring cleaning is such a ritual because whenever the season rolls around again it Feels Like The Time. TIme to look under your bed at the things you’ve been burying, check your closets for the things you’ve been hiding, and peek into the pantry for the things you’ve been hoarding. You open the blinds and let the sun in and Decide; what do I want to hang on to, and what do I want to let go? I’m speaking physically and metaphysically of course, and I’m not intending to be preachy. It just seems like the people I know, including myself, are taking inventory right now and hauling out the trash. When I look around my room my belongings comfort me, but also seem oppressive. I love my tee shirts, but do I really need to keep them all? I love to look at my friends, but their framed pictures crowd every surface. This time of year I know I can put them away without forgetting what they look like. And internally I’m trying to clean up too. It’s great that I’m sensitive. I can empathize with my students and my friends when they are feeling low. I can identify and communicate my own feelings in a pretty deliberate way. But all of our strengths can also be curses. I take things too personally sometimes, and I tend to overreact when my feelings are hurt. I want to clean house, but I don’t know how to let go of the one without compromising the other. I want to sweep that tendency to magnify sad feelings right out the door, but still hang on to my ability to connect deeply with other people. It’s tricky business! Maybe the two issues are not as related as I think. My goal this season is to find out- to catch myself before I get too dark and take a look at the source of my sadness. Does my reaction match the cause of it? If not, what can I do to feel more peaceful?
Spring Cleaning, man!!!
Applying for jobs does not need to be an emotional process. Negotiating the terms of a still-pretty-new relationship shouldn’t require me to become overwrought. Good things are happening, more good things will happen soon. Time spent worrying is just that: time spent worrying. What does it get me? Lately when I find myself getting stressed I have been repeating the words “positive self-talk” in my head over and over until I calm down. It’s pretty funny, really. I’m not thinking, “I’m going to be a success,” or “Everything will be okay.” I am literally thinking “positive self-talk.” What kind of new age hippie am I? I need a better affirmation.

I’m tempted to write fiction right now, as things in my life are pretty topsy-tervy and blogging about them seems inappropriate/overwhelming. The job hunt is in full swing. Or rather it would be if I was not paralyzed by anxiety and unable to apply for any district openings. Some people in my cohort have already landed jobs, and many are interviewing with nearby districts. Granted, most of these people are bilingual and/or total overachievers but still. After my poor showing at the job fair I really need to pump up the jam. The whole application process seems designed to make people hate the world of education. Districts are trying to streamline their hiring processes through this website called EdZapp. In theory applicants can upload all of their materials to that site, which will then disperse them to hiring districts. Sounds great, right? Just pop over your resume, cover letter, professional recommendations, character references, background check, undergraduate and graduate transcripts, teaching license, and Praxis Test scores, and voila! You’re on your way to a glamourous teaching position! Except that most districts require their own unique additional materials. Like a handwriting sample, perhaps. Or a professional autobiography. Or maybe you’d like to answer these six questions in excruciating detail, only to lose them when the site logs you off moments before you upload them. Not to mention the hoops EdZapp itself makes you jump through. Filling out THEIR stupid supplemental application took me upwards of seven hours because of just plain shitty programming.
Then, once you have everything uploaded and ready to go (which I do not), you must check the site many, many times each day because districts will post their jobs and then close them the next day. Or they will post them and then change the materials required five days later, so if you’ve already applied you now must resubmit with 10 more essays and a backflip. But even if you do get it all in on time, chances are the district won’t look at your app unless you buy “Zapps” from EdZapp, which puts your application at the top of the pile. Ah, capitalism.
So yeah. I’m procrastinating like a mad woman. I bought five Zapps, but I should buy at least 10 more. I have half of my materials up, but I’m waiting on letters of rec and test scores and transcripts. And I have yet to write an essay. I’m sick of essays. I just want a fucking job! I don’t actually feel anxious at the moment, just incredible run down. I’m in the midst of my solo teaching, which is going incredibly well, but I’ve got this gloomy cloud looming over me that’s like, “So what? You still don’t know where you’re going to work in the fall.” It’s seeping into the rest of my life in a most unwelcome way. I’m just generally more tender, which manifests itself in a myriad of ways. Like getting emo at Costco and having to go lie down in Steve’s car because the lights were buzzing too much in the warehouse. Charming right? And I’m not even scratching the surface here!
This weekend I’m just going to sequester myself with my ipod and some coffee, and crank shit out. I have Monday off too, which will help. But if you are my friend, and you think I am a distracted mess when we hang out, or if I have forgotten to call you back, or if I have started to cry during an episode of ANTM, or if I have sent you an email that seemed especially bleak, or if you are a perfect heart reader and you are disappointed my my infrequent and somewhat pithy entries, I’m sorry. I’m sure I’ll have a job by August…

* pioneer stories
* wild horses
* movies based on comic books
* friends who know my ins and outs
* women who wear brooches
* people in uniforms
* art deco architecture
* kissing
* all allusions to Wes Anderson and JD Salinger, especially in combination
* touching sun-baked boulders with my cheek
* SNL digital shorts
* every Jane Austin film or television adaptation I have ever seen
* every New Yorker contributor except David Denby
* ethicist Randy Cohen
* the idea of ethical societies
* snowflakes
* Quasi
* Bruce Springsteen
* Joni Mitchell
* popcorn
* HBO
* art museums
* my friends’ blogs
* other peoples’ parents
* my parents