Cursing Out UPS and Best Buy one day at a time.

I'm back!!!!

You will not believe the trouble I have gone through just to type those words. As you may know, my AC adapter for my computer short circuited a few weeks ago. There was a small tear that would eventually lead to sparks and fire.

I still do not know my way around (and riding the bus scares me) so i came up with the brilliant solution of ordering the part on the phone with best buy. This seemed like a great idea. I talked with a really nice lady who said she found the part for my computer and that it would arrive at my new address in less than a week.

I waited patiently for my AC to come, reading books, writing a new story and teaching a three year old the importance of Rock and Roll. When Tuesday of last week came, I camped out on the stairs for the UPS man to arrive and was delighted when he handed me my box. Unfortunately when i opened the box I did not receive a new adapter but instead a whole new battery for my computer. Which does not help if I don't have anything to charge the battery with.

So I called Best Buy again, told them about the mix up and ordered the correct item. I was suppose to receive said adapter yesterday, and I waited until 7pm for the UPS man who never did show up. I eventually had to call UPS and ask them why he didn't drop off my adapter. Seems like when I talked to the 2nd guy at best buy, I did not explain that it was being ship to Beckett Hughes and not Mommy Hughes. When UPS saw the difference in the name from the address he held on to the package until a verification was made on who would be picking up the item.

I held in the tears once again, and told said UPS lady that i would pick up the item myself in the morning. My aunt forgot to pay the cable bill, so we spent all night watching dvd's for those three and under. This did not make the wait any easier, and by 8am this morning I was dressed and ready to go. The UPS store is not in the town I live in, so i had to take a 12 dollar cab ride to some town outside of westchester county ( i think). When I arrived at UPS I handed over my ID, picked up my package and took a 12 dollar ride back 'home'.

In the cab, I noticed that my plug looked a little weird. There was no socket for me to put in my computer. The whole way 'home' i silently cursed under my breath that this was the wrong item, and that i would have to call best buy again. When i got back to the apartment, i tried shoving new ac adapter into any hole in my computer. After quite an effort, I gave up and just started sobbing.

It's been a rough couple of weeks and having a computer around would make it a lot easier. After I regained whatever composure I had left, I called best buy to order the same part for the third time in 3 weeks. I was literally crying on the phone as i tried to explain why this adapter wasn't the right one

Me: It just doesn't go anywhere, I have been trying to shove it in any outlet in my computer but i think its the wrong one.
Geek Squad Guy: Did you check the rest of the box
Me: No
GSG: Well this adapter is more of a universal one, there should be some other pieces in the box and one them will be placed on the adapter and you can use it for your computer.

I may have jumped through the phone and kissed him on the mouth. Inside the box were the missing pieces and with that my weeks with best buy and ups has come to a close.

I can finally do some of the more important things...like check out what has happened in the news. The Perez Hilton news. And blog, search for some international grad schools (oh yeah i have to tell you all about that one) and write my story. It's good to be home.

And the Clouds Came Tumbling Down...

My cousin leaves for school tomorrow, which means  I cannot sneak into the living and use his computer anymore when he leaves to hang out with friends. Damn.

This week has been horrible and it is only Wednesday.

 I hate my job. I mean I really hate my job. Working at a bookstore and working at a college library are two different things. I can no longer take 3 hour breaks, talk with interesting co-workers and shelve books while listening to my iPod. At the bookstore I am accosted my patrons (who I call bookies) creeped out by some of my co-workers and needless to say drained from the question "can you recommend a book for me".

Instead of answering with a "hell no I can't recommend a book because there is no telling if what I like is what you'll like", I smile, pull up a list of the New York Times bestseller and tell them to take a chance with one of those titles. It's the NYT right? I think I hate my job the most because it isn't where I imagine myself in October. I was hoping to have a job in my desired field, hanging out with other weird and introspective writers and artist. I did not see myself behind a cash register telling customers that they can save 10% on all items in the store by becoming a member (25 dollar annual fee of course).

At this point I have all but abandoned any hope that I will get that internship. It has been 2 weeks since I emailed her my reader response and all I have received in my inbox is spam and more spam. 

I want to escape this place, but I know I don't have anywhere to go. I can't return home which no longer has my two cats waiting for me. There is nothing for me there and even pretending like there is hasn't worked out for me. But I can't imagine staying here, where I am leading a life that isn't entirely mine. I don't even feel like some big failure, I just feel like my place isn't here and I would rather be broke and happy, than making minimum wage and depressed. Because that's what i feel like, I feel completely and utterly outside of my body and things like happiness and optimism are masks I wear for other people so they don't worry about me. 

I tried to explain this all to my mom on Monday, but she was having none of it. She was growing angry and agitated with me on the phone as if  asking for my wants to be a reality isn't the way the world works. In so many words she was telling me to suck it up, that I have to be patient and that I won't get stuck working at a bookstore my whole life. But I don't even want to get to the point where I have to contemplate this job becoming some sort of career. Where all I do is come 'home' and talk about my day selling books. It's disheartening to say the least, and feel like quiting everyday. 

I didn't answer any of her phone calls yesterday, more out of anger towards myself than to her. Stagnation is a vice that I have never been able to accept or overcome, and this overcast of depression and anxiety has a lot to do with my future. Like I will be some sort of wasted potential scanning books and trying not to tell a customer to piss off.

I have been toying around with the idea of grad school. Yes, I may be using it as cushion right now but I know I am good at academics. Sometimes in my 'new' life as a 9-5 girl I don't have a sense of my potential. I am use to people telling me how much of it I have that even during shit days that knowledge comforted me. It made me somebody, it gave me a sense that I was going somewhere, that I was special. 

Now I don't feel special by anything or anyone. I can see myself seeking that affirmation from people I don't even know. There is a guy at my job who is an elementary school teacher, and even before i knew this i was drawn to him. He helped me out the first day of work, and called me 'kid' which for some reason I liked. He was good at explaining things, sarcastic in that new york kind of way, and did I mention sort of cute. He's in his early 30's, which right there I was like "whoa" but I like him  solely because I felt like he (as a teacher) could see the potential in me. He could see that outside of my flower shoes and crooked smile there was something special about me. Whether it be my depth or potential. There was something.

In the weeks since I first met him he hasn't said anything to me. I mean nothing. He sort of looks at me as if I am a weird new creature who he wants nothing to do with. We work in the same small circular information desk and he ignores me. This would not bother me so much if he wasn't so familiar with everyone else, including the girl I got trained with. He is funny, extroverted and charming. He wears cool glasses and has a deep rich laugh that comes straight from his stomach. 

I feel like he already knows what I'm about. The he can see past my facade and read me like some damn book. When I see him, I get a knot in my stomach that has nothing to do with my attraction to him. I feel like if i look him in the eyes he'll know everything about me and be turned off but who'll find underneath.

 He gives me a look sometimes (while ignoring me of course) that I can't fully read. I think it says that i am young, naive, and complicated. I can sense that he can read my need to feel special, and for that reason alone he deprives me of it. The other day I was walking with my eyes cast down, still aware of everyone walking in front of me. I could see him vaguely walking in my direction and when i tried to divert a collision he walked in my way and then veered off, causing me to run into a shelf. I feel like he's fucking with me, and bringing to light what I already know about myself. 

Without some purpose, without some affirmation I feel lost. I stumble around hoping to crash into something that will make me feel like a person again. Writing makes me feel whole, and without someone or something there to affirm it I am...walking around with an overcast of uncertainty that makes me feel less than human.  

I of course am not completely beaten down. I just realize that something has to change in order for me to have a sense of my own worth again (retail has a way of removing that from you). I could look for another job, I could tough it out until I snag an internship, but grad school is my top priority now. I hate that I have to ask for references again, and only hope that i can get some. Surprisingly I am not to worried about the writing sample. I have written pieces of a story that I am proud of, and that I know has the potential to be something. Along with regional schools, I am looking at some international programs. I am looking for places in London simply because I could develop as a writer outside of this crazy city. The idyllic countryside might stir my best work yet. Plus I have been looking for any reason to get out of the states.

I should have my charger plug on Monday. I can hardly wait. I have not played the Sims in weeks and it is driving me crazy. Plus after writing this post I feel a little better (if not embarrassed for admitting my attraction to this guy whose name is...wait for it...wait for it...MIKE, go figure). 

Until Then

~Beckett.

Fucking Eh...

Now I really want a Mac.

I was suppose to recieve my wall charger today for my computer.

Instead the motherf*ckers sent me a new battery. Not a charger. So though I can now use my computer I only have about 90% battery life remaining. Kill me now.

In another 5-6 days I should be able to use my computer once and for all. Until then, I am stuck working like a mad woman and crying to sleep in my pillow.

These past few weeks have given me a lot of time to think about the future. And Grad school has never looked sweeter.

I swear I'm coming back to blogland. Don't abandon me yet. I need all the support I can get these days.

Why I want A Mac

My computer has died for the 2nd time in two years. I am having serious problems with my computer battery overheating. It overheats so much that it hurts when you touch it, and it also eventually burns a hole through some important wires. Which leads to a very flammable situation.

My cousin is home for the weekend, and due to being a very popular guy I am left at home with his cool Mac. I love this thing though it is not mine. 

I should receive my new battery in the mail on Monday, but until then I have been busying myself with a new story I concocted yesterday during work. I hate my job, and I want nothing more than to run away from the bookstore every chance I get. Though I am not suppose to do anything 'recreational' on the job, I keep  scrap paper with me everywhere I go and secretly write down story ideas in the aisles and at the cash register. 

So if you are ever in a bookstore and you see some girl hiding in the philosophy section with a pen and paper... it's Me. Trust me. 

No word from The Editor yet. I have losing hope that I will get this internship and have already begun planning what to do next to escape the drudgery of work. My spirits however are high, I feel like I am getting somewhere with this story. 

Until then...

~Becks

The Bell Jar.

Yesterday a customer asked me to recommend a book for them. This occurs a lot more at the bookstore than it ever did at the library. Sometimes I just pull a title off of the 'popular favorites' table and call it a day. Other times I make a sincere effort to get a vibe off of the customer and then lead them to a book I think they might like.

Teens seem to gravitate towards me the most during this recommendation process. They are usually at that age where they don't want to read teen fiction and are looking for a great novel to start with. This is a pretty hard task, except for yesterday. If i was 16 years old I think I totally ran into my best friend yesterday. She was super cool and edgy with a funny European dad. Sometimes she looked embarrassed by him other times she was totally amused. She came in wearing this wicked awesome army jacket with patches sewn onto the sleeve. When i saw her and started talking to her, I instantly wished I could be 16 years old again and hang out with her.

It was her dad who asked me first for a recommendation, and after shooting out a few titles we all decided that The Bell Jar (one she hadn't read) was the one she wanted to read. Sylvia Plath is just awesome and I now know why I was so drawn to it when I was 16. Of course I didn't have an explanation for it then, I just assumed I liked it because I could relate to Esther's angst at 16. I mean who doesn't have a little bit of that at that age.

Hell I have a little bit of that now.

I still suffer daily from my disillusionment with the New York dream. Other than a stable (yet uninspiring) job, the excitement of being in the 'city', and falling back into the routine of being a real new yorker ( purchasing my first real pair of savvy shoes and buying a butter roll from a corner store) there is something incomplete in my life.

During my break yesterday, I nearly cried for no reason at all. I had just gotten off the phone with my mom where we had a lengthy conversation about well...me. I confessed to her that I miss feeling important, I missed feeling like i was someone other than that new girl at work. The truth is at school i was constantly reminded of my importance but more importantly my potential. I was defined by academics and writing. At the end of the day I was okay with my anxiety and bouts of sadness because I felt safe knowing that my professors and peers knew I was a good writer and that I had talent. Some kind of talent.

I kept asking her on the phone if it was weird that I needed someone to believe in me. That guidance makes me feel safe and important. She did the mom thing of course and said that i first need to know my own worth before I can expect it from others. Yadda Yadda Yadda. I'm still contemplating that answer in my head.

She is worried that i am depressed here (which could or could not be true) and she thinks that once i land this internship all of my worries will fade away. But for some reason I know my current 'weirdness' is not solely confound to internship worries. There is just the place that I cannot even locate, a feeling that I can't even describe of complete and utter disconnection from who i am, who i was, and who i want to be.

I haven't written anything in a while. I carry around a bright red notebook that everyone at work wants to pry into. I was trying to work on a story in it (during my break yesterday) when I noticed a co-worker behind me looking at what i was writing. I felt embarrassed and invaded, and he turned in the opposite direction as if I hadn't seen him.

What he may or may not know was that i was not working on my story but instead was writing down some thoughts of the day:

I'd like to feel important again, whatever that means. I don't think I'm depressed I am just dealing with the reality of my own illusions. Value first and foremost should come from the center of your being. It must be practiced, cherished, and all encompassing. But for those who think it does not have external value, they are liars. Our internal worth, our spirit and even our essence is often externalized by other people. Our importance is reflected off the people we come into contact with daily, like a mirror revealing an image of ourselves. Have I mentioned that I have not been able to stare at myself in the mirror for weeks. I am afraid of what I will see. I am afraid of who I will find staring back at me.

I feel emotionally depleted at work, I feel useless during the day, I want to write but I am holding my words inside for fear of who will trample on them, and despite the constant affirmation of general importance to family I feel invisible in a place where people are every where.

Geez. I didn't mean for this to be such a depressing post.

I recommended the Bell Jar to the awesome 16 year old after my weird 'teary spell' in an aisle. My co-workers (who still keep a close eye on me) asked my why I choose that of all books for her to read. One of the girls I work with said she just couldn't get into it, and after a few pages she put it down and never looked back.

I have never known depression like Plath. I don't even suspect that I've suffered from it fully. Anxiety has made me prone to depressive like symptoms but for the most part I am just a highly sensitive human being who feels incredible lows and highs.

So when my co-worker asked me why that was my favorite book of all time I wanted to say so badly that " I know how it feels. I just know how she felt". But that would have required to much explanation.

Today i had a day off, and spent it sleeping and reading. I also spent a couple of hours strutting in my new shoes because they cost me a pretty penny. The new book I am reading was actually recommended to me by a customer. It's called Elmer Gantry by Sinclair Lewis and after spending 15 minutes discussing books in the aisle with some old guy named Richard we both decided to by the book. I usually don't buy books that customers recommended (because every one has a book they think you will love), but Richard was cool and he sold me on the book (though I should have been selling him on it).

Time to strut and read. A very hard thing to do in heels.

My Other Husband Isn't Dead!!

I woke up this morning to breaking entertainment news.

A plane crashed in Columbia, SC after a concert which featured my on and off husband GAVIN DEGRAW.

There was no word on those who died but it was

reported that Gavin was one of them.

NOOOO!!!!!

Fortunately he is alive and well!!! I could cry.

I send my condolence to the four people who did die.

Time Alone.

TGIF!!

My aunt has had the last three days off which has not given me much time to myself. I told my mom that I love my alone time after being with people for too long. When i said this she did her weird concerned voce and said she was afraid that my brother and I may have antisocial behavior. She attributes this to our need for alone time and wonders if either of us will ever be in a stable relationship (because my brother has only been in bad ones and I have been in none).

For someone who has just given away my cats to some god awful---I don't even want to know---place, raising these new concerns about my relationships are imposing and irritating. Even if she does have a point.

I have recently discovered that I am a needy person. And not in that oh-so-crazy way. I like taking care of things, I like affection, I like being important which is odd because I am so guarded that no one can get close to me.

I made this discovery this summer because of my affections for Stephen. Though I was clearly attracted to him, and he was not shy of his interest, curiosity, and puzzlement over me there was this physical blockade that prevented me from hanging out with him more. Let me go through my last meeting with Stephen, which I have been too embarassed to discuss here.

I was shelf reading on the first floor by myself one dayto make sure that all the books in a particular aisle were in the right place. This can take a pretty long time, so I took a seat in the aisle and began reading the shelves. Stephen works on the first floor, and sometimes we would see each other from a distance. He would smile, and I would run into something. I swear to Bob. On this particualr day, i was shelf reading right near the office he worked in and mid book, I noticed him from the corner of my eye walking towards the office. He noticed me too, because he sort of walked slowly by glancing in my direction.

Instead of being a normal 22 year old flirtateous girl, who would have said "hey Stephen" I ignored him because i was nervous. This would not have been a bad thing, if he hadn't walked by my aisle so many damn times to make it obvious that he wanted me to notice him. Not only did he walk by the aisle but he went to the soda machine (a few feet away) and took the longest time deciding what drink he wanted. It was excruitating. I wanted to go up to him. I wanted to be that girl. Confidant and cute and flirty. But instead, I just sat there and let the guy I liked walk away with some lame soda.

Needless to say for a girl who wants to be wanted and needed I don't do such a good job of putting myself out there.

Mike always complained that I was there but not there. Like even though we were friends he felt distant from me. At the time, I told him that was complete bullcrap and to finish eating so we could get back to studying. But as I sit here now, a couple of years after his observation I feel like he has a point.

Yes we were friends. Yes we knew things about each other that we wouldn't admit to anyone else but he never knew what I was feeling. About him, about our friendship, or about my part in the relationship. I can see now why he was utterly exhausted by me. I mean this is going to be a horrible analogy but imagine being a kid who has just recieved a present you can't play with. You can see the toy, you know will have love it but you are forbidden to get too close because of the steel box that contains it.

Hell I'd be frustrated too.

At 22, I have built my wall so high that i've missed out on opportunities that I desperately want. I want to feel important and needed by people outside my immediate family. And as i still continue and try to be socially revelant, this need has become a worry that i can't shake. When i think about the future, outside of a career, it's my relationships that i worry about. I know what i want (to be needed) but I can't step outside my own paralysis to open up and just be me.

I guess I just have to keep working at it.

Confusion Overload.

I had a shittastic day at work (i think i was called a asshole on the phone) and I have just returned to a quiet house. I checked my email, only moments ago to see if the editor sent me anything in the mail.

I wrote my reader response for the shittastic book I read this past week. When i say it was bad, I mean it was really bad. There was nothing about it that i liked. So when i wrote the response my review for the book involved the line "valiant effort but not worth pursuing".

I mean I do not know if my taste is just off or something but I hated the book. Hated it.

I was so excited to see an email from The Editor just a minute ago, because I knew she would agree with some of the points I made in my reader response.

Turns out....SHE LIKE THE BOOK. I mean really liked it (she wrote that specifically in the email). WTF?!?!?!?! Did we read the same story? Did I judge this craptastic story too harshly? I mean she is an Editor and I am a mere college graduate?!?!?!? Could I have gotten the post energy crisis, animal possessing, street running, cia government story all wrong.

Hell No. I stand by my opinion but what does this mean for my internship?.

She said my critiques brought up some good points about the stories weaknesses (which could be a good thing) and that she will get in contact with me real soon. At this point I have no clue where i stand with this internship. I really want it ( I mean really) and I just hope my different stance on the quality of this novel does not get in the way.

What a great way to end a crappy night. Time for bed.

Working Girl

My computer battery is dying (for the second time in 2 years) so I've limited my computer usage until i can swing by Best Buy and order a new one. Luckily I have the warranty this time.

I am still sad about my cats, but my avoidance technique has prevented me from crying at work or at my Aunt's house. I use to hold grudges like no other, and my mom figured I would never talk to her again (which often crossed my mind). But i forgave a couple of hours later, though I wanted to cry and be angry all day.

I still want to cry and be angry all day, but I don't think that will get me anywhere.

In other news....I may have an internship after all!! After a two week wait and no word from the editor I emailed her back to ask if the position was still opened (that's called initiative). A few hours later she said that the intern position was still open but that i would have to read a manuscript she received a week ago, critique it, and write up a synopsis of the story along with whether or not this story should be published.

I was so excited. I mean here is my big chance to get into publishing. Here is my big chance to get the ball rolling on my career. So I opened the manuscript attachment she put in the email...and this is literally one of the worst stories I have ever read in my whole entire life. It's actually 415 pages of the worst stories i have ever read in my life.

I am slowly plowing through it, and I have no choice but to finish it today so I can email her my critique before the deadline. I have complained about this story several times to my mom (withholding some info because I don't know how the confidentiality thing works). But my complaints about the story (long, boring, unrealistic) are really just masking how excited I really am.

I have often heard that when you get into publishing you don't really read a whole lot of good stories. Often times you are stuck reading more garbage then anything else. But to me there is something interesting and exciting about the one story you do come across that stirs your interest. So far this book is not the one. It's convoluted, strange and unrealistic (let's say that there was a huge power outage in the whole world, turning big cities into a wasteland of crime and gangs. How then, in a 20 year span could there be a miraculous evolution of people into these half man half beast animals. I wasn't a biology major for too long, but I covered evolution. And i think it takes a lot longer than 20 years).

I know i was probably sent the suckiest story of the whole bunch, to see how I would deal with it. Even though she said that i didn't have to read the whole story (should it but good awful. Which it is) I am determined to finish all 415 pages. Which is a goal I can accomplish because I'm almost done. Now i just have to write about my report about why this book should never published. Not an easy task when phrases like "this shit is garbage" cannot be used.

I want this internship so bad. And as long as my report is good, I should be in the running for something. Let's hope. Work is not really fulfilling, and I want to meet people in my field. So I have the creative artsy feeling again. I miss it.

Time to finish this story.

The Real World Officially Sucks.

My mom gave my cats away.

She said she couldn't take care of them anymore.

They weren't really her cats anyway, but mine. And my BIG MOVE only meant that they would see less and less of me.

When I was home they behaved, were friendly and gave cat kisses.

When I was not home, they pooped on the couch, threw up every where, and peed on clothes.

I'm not really shocked, just hurt.

Now along with no cats, I have this shitty job, no internship, and my NEW YORK dream going down the drain one book sell after another.

Throwing in the towel never looked so sweet.

I'm beaten down, people. This last blow may have taken the fight out of me.

Going to the Country.

It's Friday!!! Thank god. I've never been so happy to see a Friday afternoon in my whole life.

Me and another girl are still under constant supervision at work. Sometimes we definitely need to be supervised (what do you do if someone wants to order something that is not in the store) and other times it is not necessary. Like reminding us that spelling counts, that you have to bring the customer to the book and place it in their hands, and answer the phone in four rings or less. I guess repeating this over and over well beat it into our heads.

I was wrong when i said Keith was perv. I guess i got a wrong impression from his blood shot shifty eyes. He's actually pretty nice though a little too intense for his age. He recently got married, recently got a promotion, and now has 3 new employees to train. He looks on the verge of a breakdown like one day his body will literally buckle under him. It wouldn't deter him from making sure everyone is working, being productive, and greeting customers with a smile. Even if he is giving orders from floor.

Of course I had to get hired the same day they hired an extremely cute, tough and funny girl born here (Natalie). I wish i could say i hated her but I don't. She's pretty nice and outspoken, and for 20 has this tough exterior thing that you know is a facade but it's adorable. The last two days I have often been abandoned by employees who want to talk to her instead of me. So though it is an interesting job to have, i can't help but miss having employees who all liked me. That's how Amanda use to introduce me anyway to all the new employees: "that's Beckett, we love her you will too"

Starting a new job means having to situate myself all over again. It took me a year just to make a name for myself with the library staff. Debbie Downer recently emailed me to say that David (cute emo kid with a girlfriend) said he missed me. It made my day because i played a wicked game of Rock Band with him. I don't warm up to people instantly and sometimes I can come off as distant and standoffish, when in all actuality I am just shy and wanting interaction. Natalie has the interaction thing down. She's an lively extrovert while i am a contemplative introvert. Damn sometimes i hate being an introvert.

I have Saturday off which is a good thing, but unfortunately Hurricane Hanna has some other plans for the NorthEast. I feel like i need a vacation. Just a weekend to myself with a crying baby, stressed out aunt, nervous mother, and neurotic thoughts coming from my own head. I told my mom about my concerns the other day (that i will work in a bookstore my whole life and never get a career in publishing or writing) and she literally got angry on the phone.

"What are you talking about. You were worrying about getting a job and now you have one. And now you are worrying about something else."

I am relentless in the pursuit of something I have no concept of. I guess because I often feel unstable and on the fringe of falling apart, I seek out what I feel will create some stability in my life. If right now that stability is finding something that is creative and productive (publishing), I feel threatened by anything that might knock me off course. If that makes any sense at all.

But sometimes i forget to breathe. I forget that i am only 22, a recent college grad, and that i have a lot of experiences to go through before i reach a stability i am okay with. I don't enjoy being in the moment sometimes, it is a chaotic listless place that frightens the hell out of me. Being in the moment arises an anxiety in me that I can not articulate, so i always make sure to stay on some course (even if i am stressing myself out to do it) rather than feel like i don't have control over something.

At the end of the conversation my mom suggested i take a break for a while. Stop planning things out, and just have a relaxing day of nothingness. I wish i could rent a cabin somewhere and just be by myself for a while. I could a rent a car, take my laptop and camera and head up into the mountains and write. Or at least take in the scenery.

When we took my cousin to college a couple of weeks ago we crossed a river called the Tappan Zee. The bridge stretches over the Hudson River and takes you to upstate New York. It was like a different world crossing that bridge from the busy honking streets of Westchester County to the farmlike oasis of small town USA. I imagine there is probably some cabins up that way that i can look into. Just to rest my head and rejuvenate. And maybe write. I haven't done much of that these days.

List-O-Rama

I cannot begin to explain how much i love making lists.

I make lists for everything, because it lessens the anxiety I have at that particular time.

Lists remind me of my aspirations, goals, and sometimes what i am suppose to do on a given day. I don't make them often, but I do feel a sense of safety when I have mapped out what i want to accomplish. There is something about seeing a step by step guide that wipes anxiety away and makes me feel productive. I follow a list of ingredients for baking and cooking, I make a list on really busy days so I can squeeze everything in, but more importantly I make a list of what I want to accomplish for myself (in life) so I don't forget it.

In this place you can get so wrapped up in the busy flow of excessive activity and livelihood that you can forget why you came here in the first place. It's pretty easy to do this too. There is so much to see, so much to do, so much you feel you have to be apart of that you can lose what you wanted to create for yourself. And for a person who loves list...this is frightening thing.

I started my job yesterday and it was pretty good. Everyone seems nice (for now) the hours are manageable (for now) and for the most part it seems like something I can do (until i find my dream job in publishing). I always get weirded out when i see people clearly older than me working at a bookstore, or music store. I don't mean those people who are working their part time to earn more money, or those (like me) who need something for right now. But I mean those people who literally have made this particular bookstore a career. It's not that I have any bias against them (times are rough and any job is better than no job) but I wonder if they ever saw themselves working at a bookstore when they hit 40. I wonder if somewhere along the way their dreamed got deterred and this is where they have ended up.

You may have figured out that I am often afraid of settling. My greatest fear is that I won't accomplish what i have set out to do with my life, and because of this I will get so comfortable in something steady that i will be unfulfilled. Toby use to say that because i am aware of this fear and acknowledge it (along with verbalizing it) that that is probably not going to happen to me. But it is still an unnerving possibility that lingers somewhere within.

One of the managers (the one who hired me) is an attractive, seemingly intelligent book girl. She is in her 30's, recently married and has just moved here from California. She has worked at this book store for 14 years!!!! 14 YEARS!!! She said she started out as a cashier and "just sort of stayed with the company". For 14 years!!! I couldn't wrap my mind around it. She then introduced us to some guy name Keith (who I was instantly creeped out by. He just has this "I like em' young" look to him). He had the same exact story as the other manager. They started out working the floor and then just stayed with the company.

It's like my worst nightmare. EVER! As she was telling me and the other girl about the book store policies and benefits (should we stay long enough to receive) I had visions of me sitting in her spot 5 years later with a goofy smile on my face and my dreams totally abandoned for a safe job and employee benefits (though employees are allowed to check out any hard copy book in the store as long as we bring it back in two weeks. I of course had to use this benefit yesterday). I imagined coming in everyday at 27, with my homemade lunch, new bag of faces, and having water coolers moments about Heroes (should it still be on in 5 years).

Don't get me wrong, I am ecstatic that I have a job and subsequently a paycheck every week but I don't want to forget what I came here for. I didn't come to make a career out of selling books at a bookstore. I could do that anywhere. I came here to make a dream a possibility and I hope it won't be this hard forever.

I guess the fear originates from the waning possibility that I will get this internship. It's been a whole week since I emailed her, and after checking my email relentlessly (every hour) I think she passed on having me as her intern. If she hasn't contacted me by Monday I am toying with the idea of emailing her back and saying "is the internship still available? If not, thank you for considering me". I have set my work schedule around having a morning internship, and if I don't have this one (and i really don't feel like waiting anymore to hear if I'm even consider) than I need to look for another internship.

The truth is I can't get a job in publishing without some experience in publishing. The promises of an entry level job is bullshit. Sure they are looking for college graduates, they just happen to leave out the whole "If you have an internship we will definitely consider you for the position" It makes sense though, at least with an employee with some experience you don't have to hold their hand for a long time. I know that being around people in a field that I want to get into will only inspire me to work harder and start accomplishing the things I set out to do.

But as I continue to check my email, and I continue my job at the bookstore ,I know I will always be thinking about the reality of my life being very different from the aspirations of it. And I know, I've just started my whole "real world" experience. I know I have a tendency to want immediate results rather than wait for things to work out.

But I just don't want to get so comfortable that I settle. Settling is just not an option.

For the Book Lover in All of Us.

I got a job! I got a job! I got a job!

Thank God. I have been hitting the streets looking for a part time job ever since i moved here. And after my interview with The Editor I definitely need a part time job if and when I get the internship (to make sure i am making money while apprenticing with a publisher).

Though I have yet to hear anything from The Editor , I did get a call last Friday from a bookstore looking to hire me because of my superb shelving skills (which I listed on the application). Who would have thought being able to shelve would catch the eye of the manager?

An interview later...and I'm a bookstore girl. YEAH.

It's a part time gig, with reasonable pay....but I'll get out of the house, make some money on the side, have my mornings free to intern, and did I mention that I would no longer have to babysit a three old. I could cry with happiness.

I called my mom first, because besides me she was most nervous about my job hunt. I could hear her do the happy happy joy joy dance all the way from Westchester County. I start tomorrow at 4, but I have to buy some shoes before then because all I wear are Converse and Pumas (a big no no in the job department).

This is incredibly good news, and I hope to have some more before the week is out. Having that internship will solidify the whole reason I moved here. Fingers crossed people.

* I haven't seen that Happy Happy Joy Joy video in a long time. Kinda of creepy for a kids tv show. Nonetheless, it's a fitting song for the day.

Books. Books. And More Books.

Yesterday i spent a good two hours in the children's and Young Adult (teen) section of the bookstore. I haven't been in this area since middle school. And for good reasons too.

I'm short. Young looking. And for the most part I have that precocious thing down to a science (even though I'm 22). There are parts of my personality that is totally child-like, which is why I think kids love me. I'm imaginative, I ask a million questions, and I get excited over the smallest things. Like Hulas!!!! Especially Sufjan Stevens doing the Hula.

Because of this i often have to remind people of my true age. And also because of this (i think) i gravitate towards more adult themed literature. I figure you can't mistake me for someone way younger, if I'm talking about a Richard Yates or Ayn Rand novel.

As i wait patiently (or white knuckled) for The Editor to contact me about this internship, I can't help but go over all the knowledge I have on children and young adult books. From my recollection, as soon as I read my first adult book (when i was 12) I have never looked back to YA. It's what my writing tends to lean towards and what I end up reading on my off time. I often write stories with children as the protagonist, but my stories usually tend to be about a child narrator who is toying with the scary, complicated, and often terrifying world of adults. They are kids who I describe as "players of the game house, without any real knowledge of how fractured that structure is".

My mom and I got in a near heated debate over the difference between YA and Adult fiction. This was right after my luncheon, and she wanted to know every single detail of the day. I told her that I may have made a mistake in admitting my unfamiliarity with YA books.

"What do you mean you don't know anything about YA books!" she asked/half freaked out "you were a kid and teen once"

As I tried to explain to her the fundamental difference, she was not buying it. I asked her when was the last time she picked up a children's or teen book, to which she replied

"I just read the Ugly Duckling yesterday. I found it in my closet and I read the whole thing"

"Yeah but you didn't specifically go to the library or bookstore, ask if they had The Ugly Duckling in stock and run home with glee that you nabbed the last copy."

After this she was not into talking to me anymore, "you are very grouchy tonight. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Though I could be totally wrong, there are differences between the two. In publication, advertising, academics, readership, and symbolism. Even the writing is different. I have a fair knowledge of Fairy Tales, but are those even considered YA books by today's standard?

So, I went to Barnes and Nobel yesterday and moved past all the fiction and non-fiction books directly to the YA section (I'll go in the children's section when Michelle is with me). As i scanned the books for the specific publishing companies logo...some of the books (by various publishers) were just plan campy. Others were decent and interesting.

A flood of memories came back of all the books I use to read before i abandoned them for more adult fiction. I was obsessed with the author L.J Smith whose stories of vampire/human love entertained me most days. I actually began writing my first story shortly reading her book Soulmates ( I adapted the book with major changes to the plot). I have since sworn that i will name my kid after the main character (Thierry) and I still continue to write some vampire stories for the hell of it. R.L Stine was also a favorite. I'm not talking goosebumps here (but who could forget those gems) but his Fear Street series. I was not a goth kid (maybe a metal head) but i loved the suspense stuff the most.

During my transition to adult fiction from YA fiction, i read Speak, I Never Promised You A Rose Garden, Feeling Sorry for Cecilia, and The Bastard out of Carolina (not really a YA book, but a really nonetheless). Of course as I roamed the YA section this time, I didn't see any of my favorite books from middle school. The selection now is very generation appropriate (which can be a good thing or a bad thing) and some of the reads were just...blah. But there were a couple of good ones, and the YA genre has a lot of potential.

As I finished my research at the bookstore, I was more excited about possibly interning at this publishing company. I mean i was excited before, but now i am so excited I want this thing more than food and water. I admit YA fiction isn't a genre I've gravitated too since middle school, but I am damn excited about it's influence in the publishing market. YA fiction is huge, and produces some good work. The publishing company itself was a friendly open atmosphere, one that I could see myself at. I could meet people in my field, make connections, and be productive.

Plus I remember how much those books shaped my own appreciation for literature. Who doesn't want to be apart of that?

Fingers crossed I get this thing. No word yet from The Editor and that is making my stomach hurt. I'm excited though and even a little upbeat (which is a rare treat these days). I feel like things will get better, that things are getting better. I just have to wait and be patient.

Goodbye to All of That

"Stress may raise breast cancer risk in young women"



...Well if that's the case I'm in trouble!



It was interesting waking up to this yahoo news this morning after a sleepless night and week of stress. I don't think I have ever felt so depleted in my whole entire life.



Because I sometimes find comfort in numbers and schedules, I am counting down the days I've been here. I've counted the days I've been on a job search, and the days I've been babysitting a three year old, the days I've been antsy and near tears. It's only been 14-15 days by my calculation, which in essence is not a long time. But the stress of this job search, combined with not having my own personal space, is freaking me out. And/or stressing me out.



The biofeedback lady I went to 2 years ago, said my body didn't handle stress well. I actually didn't need a professional to tell me that, but hearing her say "your body is so stressed right now you are almost a corpse" was a little unnerving.



I vacillate between extremely optimistic and on the verge of tears must days. It's a weird sort of chaotic balance that i haven't been use to for a while. Without the safety of college, or even my mom and house Anxiety doesn't have any place to function. At least with those anchors, there was an emotional place for Anxiety to work. Without that structure, Anxiety is working like a bacteria, attacking my body and wearing me down.



Despite my luncheon yesterday, i have been critical of the thing ever since. "i shouldn't have said this/i should have said this/Damn I'm awkward!!". When i went to bed last night, I keep thinking "too little, too late" about the whole situation. Maybe I've completely let a big opportunity slip through my hands, and all i have left is more stress and a potential cancer risk.



I've made a decision about interning, but i feel like my ungraceful answers combined with the whole "i want to be a writer" thing may have messed up my chances. BIG TIME.

I've been evoking some Joan Didion lately via an essay i read by a writer who moved to city because he thought it was the place for writing. Of course he soon became disillusioned by the city, and discovered it wasn't what he imagined it to be. He eventually left, feeling neither success or failure for his time spent there, but a sense of incompleteness with his journey. I have just begun the Didion essay, but i figure (since he referenced it in his essay) it is about the same disillusionment she felt with the city.

Though i was born here, my 10 year absence has made readjustment difficult. The City is like an old friend. A friend who i left on good terms. But after ten years, and my sudden reappearance I feel like we are just two very different people. We either have to find the things in one again that attracted us in the first place, or part...still on good terms but without all the expectations that shrouded our reunion.

I hope things get better. I really hate boring you with my readjustment problems.

Rooftop Luncheon.

Today i had an informational meeting with an editor at a publishing company!!! Scandalous.

Thanks to Frogboots, i got a Wednesday away from a moody 3 year old. I did not spend the week up to this meeting writing out detailed questions to ask The Editor. I wanted it to be a relaxed, informal sort of thing. If i hyped up the experience in my mind, i would have went there nervous and freaked out. I did get a cute skirt though because meeting or no meeting I wanted to look semi-professional.

My aunt has a day off to day, and said she would take me to Soho as soon as she dropped Michelle off at the Babysitter. I think she was more excited about the trip then i was. As a burgeoning fashionista, any excuse to hang around clothes stores is enough incentive for her. We left the house at 9:20 to catch the 9:50 bus to Grand Central station. I looked kind of weird wearing a nice skirt, a cardigan, and my converse shoes. I know i looked tacky without the proper shoes ( I put the heels in my bag so i could change into then when i got there) but there was a lot of walking and i would risk fashion for safety any day.

Getting to Grand Central was easy. Getting on the subway posed a small problem. I don't think I've written about me fear of public transportation. I've been here two weeks and I still refuse to ride the bus. It's small, cramped, and i have heard my fair share of "some guy was masturbating next to me" stories to fear riding the Bee-line.

I've only been on a subway once (when i was 10) and other than the smell of pee, it was not a bad experience. At GC you can go down a tunnel which will lead you to the subway. Unlike the train, you have to get a Metro Card to ride the subways. It's 4 dollars (round trip) but you get to train hop until you get to your destination. Of course when we got there the line to buy a Metro Card was long. So long that it would take 20 minutes of just waiting to get it. We went all over Grand Central looking for another place to find a Metro Card. A nice guard, pointed us in the direction of a place no one remembers to go for a Metro Card.

The Subway is hot and dark. There was a moment as we descended some stairs that i thought i was walking into hell. When the subway did come, we jumped on the wrong one and had to get off at one stop to get one the right one. This error was not too big because 15 minutes later we were in lovely Soho.

I can't even describe this place without squealing. Unlike the terribly busy, noisy, cramped quarters of Time Square. Soho is the darling sister of her unruly brother. There are shops all over the place, and i saw more models in one day then i could take. Because we were an hour early, we went window shopping through every store. Besides my loan payments, i need a job to buy some new clothes. I look like a bum compared to everyone else (cute skirt and all).

I left my aunt at Crate and Barrel (the Soho edition) and went to the publishing company. It was as I imagined, a bookworms dream!!! I had to get a name tag, and hand over my drivers license but as soon as i was guided up the escalator and to the receptionist office i was wide eyed and eager. I was a half and hour early, but i figured it was better than being late.

The Editor was much younger than i thought. I felt a little overdressed as she greeted me in some trousers and simple blouse. She invited an editorial assistant to lunch with us, and we headed up a few flights of stairs to the rooftop cafe.

When we all got out meals it was time for the meeting. I immediately wanted to ask the assistant more questions, because she has the job that i want. The Editor went to get her microwaved lunch inside, which gave me a few minutes to ask the assistant a crap load of questions.

I won't say that the editorial assistant wasn't nice (because she was) but you can tell she was very territorial about her job. She's into children's lit like a pro and my proclamation for an interest in adult fiction rubbed her the wrong way (there is a huge difference between children's and adult literature. One that extends to the editorial department of publishing companies) Though i thought the lunch was a forum for me to ask questions, the EA asked me all kind of questions about literature. Did i have interest in children's lit? If so, what kind of books? What's the last thing I read?

When the Editor came back she shot me the same questions. I mentioned a few books that i am reading now, none of which were children related material. Somewhere during the luncheon as i stared out at new york, i mentioned that i wanted to be a writer. This was only after The Editor asked me why i relocated to the city. When i mentioned the word writing, i could feel the EA give me the stank eye through her shades. The Editor, hit me with a little knowledge concerning my writing aspirations and a job in publishing. If i want to write, i won't do much of that in publishing.

I knew she wasn't trying to be a Debbie Downer, but the reality of the situation made me think. The Ea wanted to know why i was interested in publishing. It was one of the first questions that she asked me. I must admit that i really didn't have an answer. I mean i love books, i have a BA in English and i would make a horrible professor. Publishing is something i know i can do with the skills and interest that i have in books. I don't think that answer came off as well as it did in my mind. I sounded sort of nonchalant and like publishing was my last resort.

They described publishing as something you have to a passion in because the pay is so-so and the hours are long. Work extends into the weekends, and you read a lot of shit manuscripts before you get a good one. The payoff is that you get to follow the transition of a manuscript into a book. You get to play a pivotal role in publishing books, and seeing something beautiful reach the public. This is what the Editor said, and i kind of wished i would have said something like that.

The luncheon lasted for about 50 minutes. I didn't eat much of my lunch because i was trying to take in as much as i could. The Editor told me to give the publishing world some thought. Why take a job as an editorial assistant if it isn't something i am passionate about? Why fill some space that someone else really wants? The Editor and I rode the elevator down together, where i puzzled over my new conundrum. Is publishing something i want to do? And if so, would i sacrifice writing in order to break into the field? Is there any way to find a balance between writing and publishing that can give me a fulfilling and interesting life.

That is one question i do not have an answer to. The Editor said there was a potential internship available if i was interested in it. I would have to first read some manuscripts and analyze them with a critical eye. If all was to work out, i could apprentice with her and have the much needed experience i need. I think I've already made my decision but my heart feels heavy with any thought of the sacrifices i may have to make.

On the Prowl

Today i applied to ten jobs. TEN! It was a record breaking day by my count.

I dread having to work retail for many reasons. Though i am personable and friendly, it's only with people i feel comfortable with. Strangers freak me out, and having to be nice to people who may not be nice back makes me antsy. The only retail places i applied to were the ever so friendly Barnes & Nobel and Crate and Barrel (only because i hear you get a 30% discount and Christmas is soon approaching).

Besides those two, i couldn't stomach applying to any more retail places, and spent the rest of the afternoon applying to libraries and looking for a perfect interview outfit. Because of funds, i have decided to buy ONE interview outfit and reuse it until it is falling apart.

However, i am a person overwhelmed by small things. I was not the kid in the candy store who was dazzled by the gummie worms and chocolate raisins. I was the kid who walked into the colorful store holding my bag with no idea where to start. So instead of leaving the store with an array of candy to rub in my brothers face, i ended up with a bag full of one type of candy.

I have not yet escaped this affliction. I browsed H & M, forever 21, and Anthropologie (this one more for fun than actual shopping) today and was taken aback by all the clothes. I want something cute and businesslike. An outfit that's professional but displays some of my character. I guess because i don't have a sound clue what my character is like (indie rock/book worm?) i don't really know what i am looking for. I kind of looked suspicious in each store, walking around aimlessly with my big "organically grown" bag and shifty eye contact. After 30 minutes of "maybe this would look nice" i left defeated.

I found a store that i absolutely fell in love with (but cannot afford) which is called Martin + Osa, a casual comfort clothing line at it's best. The website does not do the store justice. Everything about the store made me squeal like a 3 year old. And by the end of the day i was telling my mom "I want to be an Osa girl". She had no idea what i was talking about but she was happy that i didn't sound depressed. The price is way (way!) out of my league but hopefully i can find something like their pieces at a cheaper store.



Some days i try to be as positive as i can about the job search. My mom ( along with you guys) ar helping me in the supportive area. Maybe because it's a Monday (which is a good start off day) but i was determined to get out there, instead of mope around (I'll save that for another time) and weep into a pillow ( i don't do this, but it sounds more dramatic than "lie in bed frustrated about being jobless). I wanted to be more proactive today.



I know that i won't be jobless forever, but this looking and feeling inadequate thing sucks. It's a big blow to the ego. I keep running through jobs that i can try if all else fails:



Beckett the train conductor: I would get to wear a cute little hat, and stamp people's ticket with a hole puncher. It's embarrassing that that is my sole attraction to the job but I really want a conductor hat though . I would work on the Metro North line doing the local stops throughout the day. I would get to view some of the pretty towns i wish i was living in, and tilt my hat to all the nice old people. Though i have never seen a women train conductor person, i play with the idea from time to time.



Beckett the Construction Worker: Yes, I'm small and dainty looking but i know my way around a power tool. Okay i don't really know my way around a power tool, but there must be some job where i can tell other people what to do. And maybe even get a hat. I really want a hat.



Beckett the Secret Shopper: I actually saw this ad on-line. I imagine it would be something like a candid camera job. I would go into whatever store was required from me. Buy an item, while internally rating the service. As soon as my change is handed back to me, i will surprise the employee with "I'm your secret shopper!!!" The well hidden camera people will emerge from their hiding spots to capture to surprise of the employee. And we would all I know it doesn't work like that, but in my mind it does.

Beckett the Coffee Shop Worker: I could see myself doing this. I love coffee. People who frequent coffee shop (not the popular ones) are usually intellectuals who love books. I will wear cute clothes and wipe tables down with a forlorn sadness that would propel a hot geeky guy to ask me what is wrong one day. And then we fall madly deeply in love. ( i love daydreaming).

Another busy day tomorrow. Job hunting, interview outfit shopping, and a visit from my uncle. Fingers crossed all will work out soon. I'm thinking of a small trip to New Haven on Thursday. I'm in need of some CT love.

Home Away from Home.

This homesickness is killing me.

It isn't even like i miss the location of my home but the actual house itself. The town i lived in sucked, along with the hot humid weather. And i had absolutely nothing to do there every day of every week. I just miss my actual home. Like my house, my mom, and my cats.

When you move in with someone else, you realize how differently their household is from yours (or at least the household you wish to build for yourself). My aunt lives in a chaotic mess of 3 year old toys and clothes she will never wear. Though she is a fabulous person and Michelle is fun to be around (when she isn't crying or screaming) her apartment isn't really home sweet home.

You know when you have the cool Uncle or Aunt who you think is so much better than your mom and dad because they let you eat snacks all the time and watch as much tv as you want. Then when you come home you can't help but feel like your house is so lame in comparison. You have to eat your vegetables at your house, tv time is limited, and there isn't a candy bar in sight. Of course if you lived with said Aunt and Uncle for longer than a week you'd realize all those luxuries become tiresome, and the excesses of candy, tv, and "fun" isn't what it is all cracked up to be.

That's exactly how i feel at this moment. There is absolutely no structure here. We eat out everyday ( i grab a salad), we watch TV (all day) and then when we aren't doing that we are walking around trying not to spend money we don't have (this is more her than me).

The food thing is killing me the most. I did not know i was such a proponent of healthy meals until i scarfed down my fourth pizza last week. At some point my mom called and asked me if i was eating healthy. I thought this was a weird question, because she knows that i don't over or under indulge my food, i eat when i'm hungry, i don't eat when i'm not.

Of course, my mom is more aware of my aunt's lack of cooking than i was. Which i am learning about the hard way. Yesterday my aunt said we were going to have steak, with rice and vegetables. I almost cried with happiness because i have been eating sandwiches all week. Of course by steak, rice and vegetables she meant lightly seasoned steak (salt and pepper) with rice and vegetables you can steam in the microwave. It's the closest thing i will get to a home cooked meal here unless i get in the kitchen myself.

Today is Sunday, and my mom and I usually make a huge brunch, enough for a firehouse full of men. I am usually in charge of making the pancakes or french toast, while my mom makes the eggs, bacon, sausage, and cuts up the strawberry for the fruit product. With a glass of orange juice and a side of coffee the huge breakfast lasts us through the day. This is my first Sunday without it, and my stomach is growling for "real" food, and hugs.

I wouldn't feel so shittastic about the job hunting situation if I had the luxury of home to soothe me. If only i could transport my home, my mom, and my cats to this location i would feel a little better about the future. But as i ate my season-less steak, hard rice and dry vegetables, the truth made my stomach ache.

I've been babysitting my aunt's kid the whole weekend, and when i am not on the edge of crying for my own mom, we are having an okay time. Of course this whole babysitting thing is preventing me from heading out of the house (or even writing a story or two for comfort) . By the time my aunt comes home from work, it is too dark to walk anywhere without a bodyguard. Tomorrow Michelle is headed to the babysitter (thank god) and i am job hunting again. Hopefully, as September gets closer and closer and jobs open up, i will have better news to write. Like "I got a job!!!!". Until there "hanging in their" is the caption of the week.

On Wednesday i am headed to Soho for a luncheon with an editor lady Frogboots knows. Thank God because I am trapped in the world of a toddler and will be happy to talk with someone who can count past 20. It's just an informational meeting, but i know she can give me some pointers on how to break into publishing, so i don't end up working at subway when I'm 40. Until then, the search continues tomorrow. I applied to Barnes & Noble on Friday and there are a few more stores that i have to apply to. I just need something while i continue to apply to editorial assistant positions.

Fingers crossed.

Still Here.

I have not abandoned this blog ( i could never do something like that), i've just been highly disillusioned, slightly depressed, and exhausted from my job search and writing endeavors.



It's stupid that you spend four years in college, earning a degree with limited ,though various, job experience but employers do not want to hire somebody who has recently graduated from college. Well sir, than what is the point of earning a degree?



I don't know what i was expecting when i moved here. But it most likely included finding a job right away. Excluding last week (because my mom was here) this week has been a total bust in the job market. No one has contacted me about any of the jobs i have applied to, and i am now a sitting duck with limited funds.

Having a job will a) put money in my pocket b) allow me to get out of this house and c) meet people my own age (because right now my BFF is a three year old).

I am most concerned about the money situation. I know any day now i will have to pay my first loan payment and that scares the shit out of me. Though i worked this summer to ensure that i would have the money needed for that first payment, i can't say anything about the 2nd.

There is something about this place that makes you feel like a total success or total failure. And i am feeling the effects of the latter. As a jobless, homeless (because i don't have my own apartment), moneyless, and car less college graduate with a social life that consist of watching Barney over and over again...i am not in the best of spirits.

My mom continues to cheer me up with her "have patience you just got there" speeches. But my optimism is waning. Fast. There are moments when i want to pack up and move back home. To my cats and big bed. I'm trying to remember the things that brought me here, but without something soon..i don't know.

Speciality Insurance. Really?

I am usually very good at interviews. If i could put that on my resume i would, but at the risk of sounding pompous and arrogant i refrain. But because I'm more of a one on one person, my interview skills are good. I'm personable, genuine, and funny when it's just me and one other person. I can't say I'm like that all the time, but when it comes down to talking with a professor or an employee...it seems to come out of nowhere.

Last Thursday i had an interview with this staffing agency. They place you in a job that fits "your" needs. When a representative first called me, i was super excited. I mean i need a job, and to get a phone call from some lady talking about a potential job opportunity out of the blue is wicked awesome. As the days got closer and closer to our meeting i became a little less enthusiastic about the whole thing. I looked up the staffing place on line and noticed that most of the jobs were administrative assistant work. Putting the word administrative in front of assistant doesn't hide the stench of a desk job and a life of boredom.

The meeting was in Connecticut, and the morning of i was not to happy about going. I couldn't figure out what to wear (since everyone in this town is dressed like a model from vogue which makes me look like a bum) because my clothes reek of college life. I bought an ugly shirt from H & M (which is shocking because it's a great store) that i refused to wear. It's nice but wasn't at all my style and i spent a good 30 minutes taking it off and putting it back on. After all of that I wore something more "me" which consisted of a cardigan and trousers.

My mom came along because she wanted to explore the town while i had my interview. She was more excited about the job then i was. She kept giving me interview tips the whole bus ride there, which drove me crazy to no end. After getting lost on foot, flailing down a cab, and arriving two hours early to the building way outside of the city, i was sweaty and hungry. Luckily there was a Italian restaurant right next door, which me and my mom dinned in until i had to leave.

For some reason, my interview skills failed me that day. If you could say all the completely wrong things to say during an interview, i did ("i plan on traveling in the near future' "there may be an internship soon" "my dream job is in editorial work" "this would be good though until something better comes up"). Though this is just a staffing place, and they were just interviewing me as an candidate for placement in one of the companies affiliated with them...i still sucked. By the time i arrived up there i was full (from the pizza and bread) sweaty (from the walking) and irritable (because i knew this would not provide me placement in a creative job).


The rep and I have been corresponding since early August, via email and phone. When i met her i wanted to stand by the impression i made with her on the phone. But as i walked in sweaty, limping (heels) and full, i knew this was not going to go as planned.

She asked me questions from my resume which i was not expecting. She asked me about my favorite class in college, my experience with Microsoft, and how much i wanted to make. For some reason i couldn't produce a good answer for any of them. I made up for that with some witty observation which she thought was very funny. But then came the part where she explained what job she had in mind for me:

An administrative assistant at Firm specializing in speciality insurance.

Let the boredom begin.

Though i am usually good at fanning excitement/interest for things i don't care about, i do not think i showed that during this part of the interview. I once listened to a friend of mine talk about a Sci-fi series the whole bus ride from school to his house. He would have never known that i did not like sci-fi things, and did not read the book he loaned me were it not for Marie and her big mouth.

As she started talking about speciality insurance, i felt my body go numb. I was trying with desperation to suppress a yawn, and my eyes kept moving from her face to a pretty object in the corner. You know when you're really tired and your eye lids become so heavy you can't even keep them up. Well...that's pretty much what happen. There was a point when she was talking about cow insurance that my head may have nodded a little. When it was all over and done with i thanked her for her time and limped back downstairs. Needless to say i don't think I'll be hearing from her again.

In the few days i have had to readjust the plans for myself. I want so badly to work in a related field, if not for the money than surely for the experience. My mom left today, and though i was confidant that i would not be upset, i literally wept on the Metro when she left . I was suppose to take her to Grand Central Station and then ride the train back, but she wanted to make sure i got on the right train home so she waited with me until my train came. I still had about 10 minutes before my train departed, so i quickly said goodbye gave her a long hug, and then sat on the stalled car.

As i waited, these tears just came streaming down my face. Like uncontrollably. I swiped at my eyes the best that i could, but to no avail. She of course was still waiting outside and came to my window to see me balling my eyes out. She kissed me goodbye through the window and then left. Which of course caused even more tears.

It's a little lonely here, even though i have my aunt, and two cousins (but the three year old doesn't count because she is still working on articulating her thoughts) . I am starting at the bottom and i have to build something new and fresh for myself in a town that has changed so much since i was last here. I walk around and i see people with their friends and i hope that i will have that too. I want some aspect of a social/work life. But i know the only way i can make friends, create some sort of career for myself, and get rid of this homesickness is to get immersed in the writing/and or academic world. I need to be around people with my same interest, and working at some crap job being an assistant for a speciality insurance firm will make me depressed.

No one has yet to contact me about a publishing job, and i have just applied to an fall internship (not the main internship which would start January 1st) at a small publishing company in the city. It is unpaid, but i figure 15 hours/week and a part time job on the side may do the trick. I have a crap load of stuff to do, but it's worth it. I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time and i can't let nerves, loneliness, and a little sadness deter me.

A Love Story

This is not my love story about NYC. I wish it was. I am headed to the city tomorrow to roam the offices of Random House, my internship, and try to find a small artist community somewhere.



I should have a new york state of mind since i am now so close to the city. But i have spent the last days in the arms of Connecticut. I f*cking love that state. I have a lot to post about, but my legs hurt (from all the walking) my head hurts (from lack of sleep) and my eyes hurt (from all the wide eye staring).



I had (have) a dream of living in New Haven and commuting to the city. I concocted this idea after learning that their is a direct line from the city to Connecticut. Though i am a New Yorker at heart, the constant noise, dirt, smell of funk, and concrete buildings...is not appealing. Not for writing any way. I'm a person who needs to be clutter free when writing. That also includes my exterior scenery. There is something about looking out my window, seeing a high rise, hearing a taxi cab and other miscellaneous noise...does not get me in the mood to write.



I don't know much about Connecticut but from online pictures, i envisioned it as a writing haven for me. Lots of greenery. Minimal noise. Near the water and boats. And down right pretty. Though i often exaggerate and create ideals that never pan out the way i want to....Connecticut was just as i dreamed.

My mom and i left for New Haven early in the morning. We had to take the bus to Stamford ($2.50) to catch the train to New Haven ($12.50 round trip/each) and then a cab to Yale University ($7.25). A pricey trip but worth it. Before we even got on the train i got a call from some apartment lady in New Haven. I don't have the money (or job) for an apartment but i wanted to at least get the ball rolling. She asked me what i was looking for, in what price range and about my job (my imaginary job in midtown. I had to make up something). During the conversation i mentioned that i would be commuting from the city to New Haven. There was a long pause on the other end, followed by a "You'll hate the commute". Of course i had to get stuck with the young, bitter Realtor.

She went on, for at least 5 minutes, about the evil commute. She had a dream job in NYC, she said, and figured she could commute from New Haven to the city. She said she quit her dream job because the commute was so unbearable. 2 hours back and forth. Rain.Sleet. Or Snow. "Traveling back and forth all day, early in the morning then late in the evening plus the cost of travel. You'll be spending 700 on rent, plus several hundred on commuting. That right there would be the cost of an apartment in NYC. But I'll be happy to show you some listings." She added at the end.

I was a little discouraged by this conversation. I know the commute is shit. But hearing that the commute is shit is different. We still went to New Haven, because i just wanted to get a sense of the town. As soon as we stepped off the train, i was in love. It's beautiful. There are bookstores on every corner, free museums, a crap load of 20 somethings running around and talking about literature and art. There is a level of pretentiousness (because um...Yale is the middle of downtown) that makes you want to pinch New Haven on the cheek and say "aren't you cute".

If we could have spent all day there, we would have. It was a little crowded due to several exhibitions, but i managed to see a few hiding spots for me in the near future. One being a book trade/coffee shop. It's the store of my dreams. Used books at a cheap price plus coffee plus cute coffee shop boys with tattoos. I almost cried.

It is a clean, friendly city where the girl dress nice and the boys are pretty. I said it..pretty. The whole time we were walking around i kept saying to my mom "i could be one of these girls. Book in hand, cute outfit, and lean legs from all the walking." The whole day was a dream.

As we left, the commute thing stayed with me. It is shit. We were lucky to commute on a nice cool day, with a few passengers and no time schedule. But add a job, a 9-5 work day (or even more if i get this internship), no car, and more than 20 bucks on travel just from New Haven to NYC sounds....ugly.

But New Haven is perfect for me and i don't want a long distance relationship with it. What will i do? i'm glad at this age, this is the only thing i have to worry about =).

The Last Time.

Not only is that the title of one of my favorite songs (by Shea Seager) but it is also a constant phrase i have been hearing lately.

Tomorrow i will be in the NYC area. I have successfully turned my nerves into excitement.But I cannot say that my mom and brother have the same sentiment. I understand that college life and the "real world" are two very different things. I won't have a fall or spring break. Nor will i have a month off for Christmas. I think i can swing two days for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but i won't know that for sure until November and December are here.

My mom and i have been driving all over the place, tying up some loose ends. She likes to make sure all the bills are paid up before she leaves, so she doesn't come back having to pay the electric, cable or water bill. I have been packing, deciding what is important to take (my Sufjan Stevens poster and GQ magazines) and what i can leave (books that i will never read but can't fathom throwing away).

During our errand run my mom always says "take your last look, this the last time you'll see this place". What? I'm not dying. I'm just moving away. I don't really see the difference (as much as my mom does) because while i was at school i didn't really come home much. I came home only during breaks, and all of my weekends were spent in my dorm or at the bookstore. I know that the travel distance has tripled, and my vacation time has diminished but that doesn't mean that i won't be able to visit (maybe not as much) or that this isn't home (because it sort of is, My other home where my mom lives.)

Even my brother has been acting weird. Yesterday, out of the blue, he gave me a hug. Like a real hug. I'm a hugger. My mom's a hugger. But my brother? No way. Than on the phone yesterday, he was talking to somebody about how much he'll miss me. That this will be the "last time" he will see me in a while. These last couple of days i have not been acting like this will be the last time i see this place. It's where my mom lives, It's where my brother and cats live. And that alone means it's sort of home.

I don't know.

I have a kind of job interview on Thursday. It isn't at all in publishing, but i need something temporary until i can get a job as an editorial assistant or at least until i get the internship. Ideally Random House would send me a email or give me a phone call about the positions I've applied too. But that has not been the case. Instead it's been a waiting game. Have you the beginning of The Devil Wears Prada, where Anne Hathaway is telling Meryl Streep that "it was this or Auto Universe". I feel like that at this point. I've applied to so many editorial assistant positions i can't even count them.

But i am patient and persistent, and if i do get this crap job as an Administrative Assistant, it will be another thing to include on my resume.

Time to finish packing. I've waited this long to leave and I'm still procrastinating. I'm thinking about buying a new camera before i leave. It would be a graduation present to myself and the last big purchase i make for a long time.

See in you "the city"

Blind Faith?

I graduated from college yesterday! What a crazy thing to finally write and see.



I had to wake up at 4:30 so we (my mom and I) could leave at 5:30, so i would arrive on time (8:30) for the 10:30 commencement ceremony. It was brutal. By the time we arrived i was in no mood for my moms trigger happy finger on the camera. "Stand by that fountain" "Smile" "A real smile" "Did i take the picture" "I didn't take the picture" "is this camera on?"



After 15 minutes of that i was done with the camera and any more damn fountains. Truth be told, i did not want to walk at my graduation. I'm not a fan of commencement ceremonies. I believe they are long, drawn out, and hella boring. This day was more for my mom than anyone else, including me.

Because it was a august commencement there was only 694 graduates (undergrads & graduate students). Luckily since my last name starts with H i was on the second row. Unfortunately i was wedged because a really tall girl and a really tall guy, and i looked small and out of place. I didn't recognize anyone from my class or clubs i was in(for a short time), so i played some game on my phone and listened the band butchered Hey Jude.



As soon as i got to the ceremonies i noticed that everyone had a some weird badge on their black robe. My robe was plain black with no nice badge or special colors. Apparently if i would have just joined the honor society (who has been sending me letters for 3 semesters) i would have gotten a stupid lovely badge to adorn my robe.



I couldn't help but stare at all the graduate students who had these nice robes with a color satchel around the collar. At that moment i realized that i'll have to apply to grad school again, so i can graduate in a nice robe. I know i shouldn't base my academic career on earning a nice color satchel, but hey on the pro and con list of going to graduate school: graduating with a satchel is definitely on the pro side.

The actual ceremony itself was short. The new president of the university(this cool guy in his mid 50's who made a wicked awesome speech) said it would last only 80 minutes. And it pretty much did last that long. After walking the stage, and listening to a crap load of other names being called out, it was all over. My mom and I planned to head back home, but my grandma said she planned a dinner for me with a bunch of other family members. I expected some sweet graduation money, so even though we were both tired and in no mood for a party...we went.

It ended up being pretty cool. Since my medical career was over before it began, i wasn't sure of the reaction from my family, since i've been talking about being a doctor since i was 3. Not that i particularly cared, but you get a different reaction when you say "I'm going to be a doctor" rather than when you admit "i'm going to be a writer". However, my great uncles (my grandma's brothers) were hella excited about having a potential novelist in the family. And not in that fake pretentious way.

Great Uncle Robert (the reformed bad boy of the family who has become my favorite great uncle because of his humor and wit) was grinning from ear to ear. He wanted to know all about writing and what i wanted to do. "You're going to be in the history books (I'm guessing literary history)" he said. That's a far stretch from the truth, but it was a good feeling, especially since no one from my family (excluding my mom) has read anything i've written. There was a blind faith in my possibilities which i didn't expect. I told him i'd send him something in advance for him to read. It's the least i can do since he did give me a nice card, encouragement, and money.

I spent the rest of the night entertaining a 7 year old. At 7 she can apparently do magic, is the strongest women in the world, and is going to open up a restaurant solely selling Lemonade. I helped her draw up a menu.

At one point in the evening she told me that she could magically turn into anything she wanted, like a shape shifter or something (my term not hers). A cat, a dog, a snake. She brought me some invisible powers, thrust them my way and i was apparently equipped with this ability too.

7 year old: Do you want to transform into a cat?
Me: I've never been a cat before. But okay.

Yes. I really am a college graduate. It's hard to believe i know.

All in all it was a good weekend. I should be in the NYC area on Wednesday, ending my chapter here and starting my new thing in a couple of days. I'm not as nervous now, i'm trying to transform the nerves into productivity. That's what i keep telling myself anyway.

I guess i have a little blind faith in myself these days too. Whatever keeps the nerves at bay.

Time to take a nap. I have some swimming and gymnastics to watch tonight and i have to be rested for that.

08-08-08

F-ck the *Olympics.

Today marks the day i got my license. Road Trip anyone?

More to come after my victory drive.

Next step Graduation.

*all kidding aside the Olympics is wicked awesome. I can't wait for the diving and gymnastic competition.

I Wake Up.

Everyday i wake up, and i can swear i see a visual countdown of my last few days here.

Nina (the grey cat) is always at my feet, the sound of my noise machine is whirling, books are everywhere, and Seth Rogen is staring at me from the magazine rack on my desk.

I wake up. I stare at the ceiling for a while, and then there it is ,like some scene from a movie, the visual countdown telling me i have only 3 days left. I know I'm imaging it, i know the letters and numbers are not really spelled out for me. Over my head like some mirage that i can't get rid of. But it's as real to me as anything else.

I pull the covers back. I get up. I pet Nina (the grey one) who is usually purring. I can hear the internal soundtrack of my life right now. Some James Newton Howard or Deborah Lurie score: a little moody, simple, and quiet.

I shower, brush, and moisturize. I check my email and miscellaneous websites. I read to get my mind off of things. I write to remind myself of things. I watch as much tv as i can without going insane. I nap with Nelly ( the other one, who snores) and Nina. I wake up. I get up. I pack or attempt to. And the rest of the day is just a blur.

I realize that my life here is boring and monotonous. I realize that i spent the last 3 years of college hating the experience until the last moment. I realize that I've waited for this moment since i moved here. To get out of this stupid town, and head out there into the real world. But now i cannot understand where this feeling of fear is coming from.

I do this often. I get nostalgic about a place and a time, blurring reality from what really occurred. I have forgotten about all the bad years wrapped up in boredom, self doubt, shitty friends, and people my age who are all getting married and starting families. In this town some people's only way out is through the false security of married life. There is no potential for growth here, you come here to rest, settle down into a complacent existence.

I have forgotten all that of course, for fond and often embellished memories of idyllic times. Good thing i have a documented history of the last three or so years to smack some reality into me.

I'm glad that i am graduating (this Saturday to be exact) but that doesn't mean i haven't fretted over why i was deteremined to gradaute in 3 1/2 years. Why i didn't just take the slow and easy path like Mike, Steph-en, or even Katherine. Of course i realize that all three of these people are struggling to grow up. That they have bombed classes, switched majors more than anyone else, and are looking at least 2 more years of college life. But that doesn't mean it hasn't crossed my mind that maybe extending a few more semesters wouldn't have been that bad?

These are just crazy thoughts ,i know, that are working as my defense mechanism. I am afraid of what the future has in store for me, because i haven't yet planned it out. I once had a dream that i was on this extremely fast train. It was so fast that i didn't know where the hell i was or where i was going. I knew that i wanted to get off, but that i spiraling to a place faster than i wanted to go. I had thoughts of jumping off, as it rocked back and forth with acceleration. I woke up before i could make a decision. I woke up.

With 3 days until graduation and 5 days until NYC, I must turn this anxiety into something productive. For it threatens me, with it's looming promises of false safety in a place i never really liked.