Today is the Day.

Marie's birthday is today but unlike previous years she is not happy about this one. This is her first bday without the comfort of her friends and family. She is convinced that her existence in the hills of North Carolina (because that's where all the pig farms all) is not important. If she was to leave her job, apartment and life she feels that no one would miss her. I try to comfort her as much as I can, but as I deal with my own stuff listening to her has become harder and harder. I cannot relate, I mean I can't even pretend to relate.

She has a job, she has a boy who is interested in her, she has a job, she has a car and an apartment, and she has friends (friends who are far away but friends regardless). I have none of those things. I don't even think I am close to having any of those things. The only thing we share in common is a general concern for our own loneliness which has been caused because of the things we lack in our lives.

As I mentioned before I do have an interview on Tuesday. I am going to brave the frigid weather (again) take the metro north into the city (again) before catching the subway (again) to a literary agency that may or may not accept me as an intern (again). The only person I really complain to about my struggles in the city is my mom, and I must credit her for holding up nicely under the train wreck that is me. I am anxiety filled while drowning in my own unrealistic images of my life and self. I often reduce myself to being nothing more than a bookstore girl who will forever be in the aisles shelving literature that I am too lazy to write myself.

Complacency is a word that I hate only because it regularly plagues my thoughts. What happens if I get too tired of fighting for 'something' that I just settle for anything? These thoughts are weird and stupid I know, only because I am a person who never settles. But still the thought remains.

Yesterday began a month long employee appreciation stint at my job. We are given 40% off of books in preparation for the headache called Christmas. I have never worked retail but I know that it will be madness at my job for the next 3 weeks and I do not feel prepared. I bought two Joan Didion books and a Cd for my mom and started reading the rest of "slouching towards Bethlehem" when I got 'home'.

I carried on further reading at Michelle's dance class this morning while listening to some Sir Sufjan Stevens. There is something about Stevens + some Didion that gets me thinking. I contemplate the choices I have made in the past 3 months....okay lets be honest in the last 4 years. I am impulsive, impatient, and a worry body. I have no idea what I want to do, I desperately seek guidance, and did I mention I have no idea what i want to do.

As I was sitting in the lobby listening to a bunch of 3 year olds running around, I had this interesting revelation. Maybe I have been approaching New York the wrong way. Despite reminders that I am a person who is suppose to write I forget this often in the 'real world'. Without a comment on a paper I have written or guidance from my professors on the strength and weaknesses of my writing, I am not conscious of my potential to do...anything.

I have spent the last 3 months trying to get an editorial assistant job, an internship, or even a damn desk job, that I haven' done the one thing I know I can do. Write. I mean seriously write. I haven't joined a workshop, created experiences worth writing about, or committed myself to the craft. I've only ever been good at observing things, analyzing stuff, being incredibly receptive to my environment. If I was meant to write and experience things then why I am not doing any of that.

Despite feeling like i have put in 100% into making something of myself while I have been here, maybe that is not entirely the case. I have been contently pursuing publishing (to no avail) for so long that I have put writing to the side, literally. On interviews I can't mention my pursuit of an MA in Creative Writing. I do not say that I can honestly critique work because of my own interest in writing, I often end up giving safe answers because the truth would solidify something to my potential employee and possibly myself.

I do not agree with what the editor on my first interview said. This was the interview (that was exactly more of a luncheon) on the rooftop over looking the city I held so much promise for only a few short months ago. After she was done chastising me for not capitalizing my I's in an email I sent her ("it's something I pay attention too") she none too pleased of my writing pursuits. She suggested picking one over the other because there may not be a way to do both.

I call bullshit on this one.

There has to be a way to balance security (making money so i can live comfortably) with passion (writing, observing analyzing, experiencing). And if I have to create that balance then I will just have to in order to maintain some sense of myself and preserve my sanity.

I have (once again) a million and one thoughts floating around. If this whole grad school thing works in my favor i should be enrolled sometime in August. I am no longer looking to apply to school abroad just because I could never decide if I wanted to study abroad because of the programs or the sites. Until August I have a couple of months to do what i want to do should an internship not come.

I have been thinking about volunteer related programs for recent grads. Some range from a 2 week to 3 month commitment. The program would be abroad but seeing that I've only traveled domestically (and on the east coast) going anywhere (and volunteering) would be an adventure. I need to be challenged, I need opposition, I need purpose and without those things I feel...complacent, useless, and slightly depressed.

I need a goal to fight for. In school I was determined to graduate, so even though I hated sitting at a desk all day I didn't mind being there. I knew that there was a purpose for being there, that I would earn a BA and be one of the few college graduates in my family. I need a goal, a finishing post, a sign that I am accomplishing something towards some purpose that is significant.

Why must I be such a difficult and demanding person. Geez.