Low.

I didn't get the job in Bridgeport.



I knew I wasn't going to but for some reason it still sort of hurt. Rejection has a way of doing that to you.



I am able to deal with disappointment on my own. I mean last year when I found out I wasn't going to grad school it was easy because I had the time to feel shitty about it and then move on from there. I am a person who internalizes everything (go figure!). I find it easier to put everything on my shoulder , hide in a corner when the stress becomes too much, and then emerge when I am ready.



This year it is a little different. My failures have been a little more public and it irks me. Yesterday I had three people waiting to hear about this Bridgeport thing. Three people waiting to tell me that 'the editor doesn't know what she's missing', 'things will pick up for you', 'I'm sorry to hear that, do you want to talk it out'. Three people to look like a complete loser in front of.



It may make no sense but I like to keep my failures to myself (well, you know what I mean) because to me failure is sort of embarrassing. I don't like people feeling sorry for me. And as a loner, I don't know how to accept shoulders to cry on.



So yesterday, before I knew that I didn't get the job, I kept getting nervous text messages and voice mails from my skittish support team. Angie with her "so did you hear anything . I'm so nervous for you. Let me know what she says the moment you hear something".



Marie wasn't as subtle: 'Did she call you', 'You need to call her if you don't hear anything soon', ' I would email her I mean she said she would contact you today and it's noon...'



The worst came from my mom. I know from experience that if you get a job, you will get a call from the employer. If you don't get a job you'll get an email. I have had my fair share of emails. Around 5 I checked my AOL account as as expected there was an email from the editor. I saw no reason to open it. I knew what it said. And I was content with it. The whole day I was okay with it , expect for when my support system kept making a deal out of it.





My mom called soon after I signed into AOL and of course she too wanted to know if I had heard anything. I told her that I received an email but there was no point in opening it. Emails only mean bad things. But she wouldn't let it drop. "Just open the email. What harm can it do. Come on. Open the email. Open the email and then call me back. Don't call me back until you open the email"



So I opened the email. Read the rejection letter and then cried. Not because I entirely wanted the job but because I didn't want to be rejected again.



When I called her back I was angry at her because she was wanted me to open the letter so bad. She couldn't just let me deal with rejection on my own. She wouldn't just let me wallow for a awhile just so I could pick myself up enough to convince everyone that I was okay.



The truth is...I am not okay. I make it seem like I have my shit together. That I am perfectly happy with Plans A, B, and C not working out. But honestly I don't know what the fuck I am doing. I don't know how to make things better or how to not feel like a complete failure. And some days I don't like pretending that everyone else is missing out poor Beckett. That my life will pick up, that I will have a job and enough money to afford things other than food. And maybe this makes me a horrible person because in front of my family and friends I am much more comfortable pretending like I am okay so they don't have to worry. Because if I admitted the truth I would see that look in their eyes that I could never live down. The look of worry and concern that I don't really want to see because I feel it every day.



I have turned off my cell phone so I don't have to talk to anyone. I just feel like disappearing for a while. I don't want to exist in the real world. I'd rather just fade away.

Spending My Time with Other Peoples Lives

Hey.



So I am not dead. I have not jumped off any high rise buildings or gassed myself in any stove ovens. I have not crawled under any unmanageable spaces and threatened never to leave. I am not rotting away in misery. That's not my style folks.



It's been a very long week or so. I went on an interview for that editorial assistant job and I have also been packing in preparation for my move back home. The interview went well, the editor said I had a sparkling personality but that my inexperience was the only problem. She will let me know today if I got the position but I am kind of hoping that I can apply for their internship program instead. They are looking for someone to start immediately and I need a break. The internship would start in August (i hope) and by then I will be ready



I am not going to lie. Some days are harder than others but for the most part I am not devastated by the grad school news. I wasn't devastated last week or the week before , but the culmination of everything this year has worn me out. The cab incident set that off, but only because I bottle stress in and then let something stupid get to me later on. I need a break from the real world...just for a little while.



I am going home for 6 weeks. I need rest. I am all worn out. I came up with some excuse (a writing workshop near home) to account for my future absence at work. They know I want to write and a few weeks wont hurt anybody. I don't know what happens after then. I have talked to some people about rooming with them in August. Angie wants me to try and find something in the Washington D.C/Maryland area where she now works. I still am obsessed with Maine.



But I'll worry about that when the time comes. Until then, I have been reading up a storm to pass the time ( in between working). Currently my days are spent reading books my co-workers deem worthy. Ryder ( Jack Keroauc Jr.) let me borrow Action Philosophers. Don't be fooled by the title, it is exactly what you would expect. Philosophy + Graphic Novels.

Kathleen currently wants me to read A Long Way Down by Nick Horny ( a book about suicide. what fun) in exchange for my book Less Than Zero (a book about disillusionment. more fun). The exchange occurs today at 2:30 in the fiction aisle of the book store, followed by cake. Yes cake because Michelle turns four today!

Brittney loaned me The Lovely Bones and Lucky by Alice Sebold last week. Rape makes me queasy and I am sort of fumbling with both novels though the writing is good. Work Michelle wants me to read It by Stephen King. But I would have to buy this book so I'm holding off on that read.

That's four books so far plus the three I am already reading The Secret History, April and Oliver, and American Psycho. Luckily I blow through books like I blow through sweets (very fast) and in no time I will have these read. Other people's lives are becoming a little more interesting than my own these days.

So yeah. Not dead or dying.

I'm just...

The Last Straw.

I just walked home. At 1:30 in the morning. Because I was on call and had to come in today to close.

But towards the shift it started to rain. And after a horrible time making a messy store look not so messy, I called a cab ARROW CABS, to be precise, to pick me up. After waiting 20 minutes for the cab to come, some guy from out of no where gets in.

So I, tired-dejected-rejected...go up to the car before they can leave together and voice my concern. That I was the one standing out here for a long time, I was the one who called twice to ask where the hell my cab was, and that this asshole address is not the one she was sent to pick up.

She knows this. Because after I tell her where I am going she turns to him and goes "did you call cab". He lies and says he did. That he called this specific cab. She says "oh" and then looks as if she doesn't know what to do. Even though I am her FARE. I am the one who she is suppose to be picked up. So you know what she does. She asks me to wait for the next one. As if that will make it any better.

I slam the door, mouthing an "Ok douches" and start walking in the rain. They get stuck at a light, and just as I pass she realizes how fucked up this is. That some straight out of the oven, minty fresh, douche bag is not her fare and that me, worn out-dejected-rejected-crooked edges is her damn Fare.

"oh miss" she yells from across the street"come in. come in the cab". But I can't because there are tears forming and I am too mad and proud to get in. So I tell her I will walk. All the way up the hill, past the cemetery and the law school to my 'house'. I think I tell her this. I wish I told her this. When the light turns green they turn the corner briskly and out of sight and then I cry the whole way home because even though I am dealing with this graduate school thing well....for some reason it mattered today.

For some reason all of the bad from this past year, mattered. It mattered that my nephew I never got to know and love died. That my mom and brother are dealing with their grief separately with food or alcohol. That Marie is so miserable in small town USA I worry for her. That my dad needs me to be the daughter I don't know how to be. That my aunt is an idiot who has raised and is raising selfish children. That I was rejected from grad school, from my own Alma mater which makes me feel like god hates me. Because the shit never stops. There is never a moment where it gets an easier. Never a pause button so I can take a snack break and come back to all the action. It just unfolds rapidly and without care.

So it mattered tonight that ARROW CABS left me at my job to walk home so some guy who never has anything bad happen to him could get home to his nice life where babies don't die suddenly for no reason, where someone stops being an aunt and a father and a grandma all in one day. Where schools accept bright girls for their MFA programs and where there are enough pause buttons for him to evaluate or not evaluate taking a cab away from a girl and where hs cabbie foes not have to evaluate breaking a cabbie rule: take the fare you are given.

So it mattered to night with each painful step home. It fucking mattered. And it was easy for all of it to matter because in the rain who can really decipher tears from drops that fall from the sky.

And the Ball Drops.

I didn't get in.

Enough said.

?????

Yesterday I half-heartily applied to an PT editorial assistant job in Bridgeport CT. It was a complete fluke. I was just sick of tired of waiting around for my grad letter to come, so I decided to do a job search. I still have not heard anything back from grad school which is really beginning to take a toll on me. It has been four weeks since I turned in my application. Four weeks that I have been contemplating whether my ok grad, ok gre scores and story will be enough.


Because I go back and forth between school and the 'real world' I thought it would be good to start a job search. See what sort of stuff I would qualify for this time around. So that's sort of what I've been doing. However, I was still very shocked when I received a call today from a position I applied to yesterday. She wants to interview me and see if I am right for the position. It is only part time, and it is an hour away but it's in publishing. And believe or not it is for the romance department. I get to read smut all day long. Kind of awesome.



But on a more realistic note there is NO WAY that I can take this position (if she offers it to me after our interview next friday). My lease has pretty much run out at my aunt's house, and I don't know about the whole traveling everyday thing. More importantly, I really want to go to school. And I am praying (yes, actually praying. What a goddamn hypocrite I know) that I will be attending school in fall.



I have been calculating this bridgeport thing in my head ever since she called. And all I can think about is traveling expenses, whether my aunt will let me stay in her house any longer, whether I can handle working there if I am only making part time money which will not afford me an apartment and plus I hear bridgeport sucks...hardcore. This is weird. When I first came here I never got a call back from the publishing jobs I applied to, and now I am qualified to pursue publishing but I don't actually want to do that right now.



What to do? What to do? I am hoping beyond hope that i get some word back from grad school on the status of my application. I want to move forward but I do not know if this is the direction i particularly want to take. This was not the news I was hoping to hear about this week, surprising indeed but not particularly what I was waiting for.



What the hell am I doing with my life.

The Real World Was Pleasant Yesterday.

No shit.

Next week is my last day at the internship. For some reason I am very sad about this. I can bitch and moan about the internship because it's my internship. I can curse Lenny out in my mind because he is my Lenny. And I can laugh at and with Adam (the IT guy who got me off that damn roof) because he is my geeky tech guy who I have come to like more than I should. Because sometimes when we are talking, our faces get too close for my comfort and I get this sudden urge to lean forward into him, just because...

Yesterday morning I came into work and Lenny was super excited because he got an email from one of the models for the documentary we are working on. Her agent contacted him and set up a day that Lenny and the model can talk. It was nice seeing his reaction, because I had spent so much time researching said Model and now he has an interview with her. Things are happening with this documentary that i have spent 5 months on and for some reason I am very excited about this.

The truth is, I like my job there. I have figured out my role in the production world and I like it. When I am not being the goffer, I am mainly the research person. This means if Lenny wants to know every and anything about Iquitos, Peru I compile as much information as I can for him so he doesn't have to do it. I get to read a lot of cool shit, I get to search the web like a detective and when all is said and done I compile my info into a nice word presentation that I print and send to him via email. I was born for that. And if they would hire me to do that everyday, I would accept. Accept. Accept.

Yesterday, I got into the elevator [with the] guy who was fixing the air conditioner. For a few seconds we were really silent but than all of a sudden he wanted to ask me questions about what we did there. When I told him we made movies his eyes lit up and he started talking about how cool my job was. I was about to explain to him that I didn't actually work there (work entitles a paycheck, and I am not getting paid) but I didn't see any reason to. He then asked me how one would go about getting a job there. ???. I told him that it just depends on when they need the help and what you have to offer to the production company. I also didn't see any reason to explain that they really only have about 3 people working there, and that everyone else is an intern. Why let a man down so early in the morning.

After this encounter though, I too realized how cool my job is. How cool everyone's job is there. I still have no idea what they do or how they do it. But for the most part it is a bunch of 20 something year old people walking around with Mac computers wearing clothes that cost more than me. Trust me they get some work done, but they look happy doing it even when they don't get the budget they want for a film, even when they have to negotiate time for money, even when they are on the phone with the guy who is paying for all of this.

They still have an amazing gig. Creating art through film.

It was a nice sunny day yesterday, and I went on my normal snack run around noon. The weather makes everyone happier and even though Soho is a big neighborhood there was something quaint about it when I strolled back to work 30 minutes later. There was something completely amazing about the city in a whole. That this is the place where people come to find and or lose themselves in. And for a solid moment, just before I headed inside, I began to regret my decision to leave.

If the situation were better (job, money, and an apartment I could afford) I would stay. Angie and I talked about New York a lot and how there is a tension in this place that nearly suffocates you. Joan Didion says New York is only for the young. Some say New York is for the strong willed. I have yet to figure out what New York is for me. Sometimes it is all of the above, sometimes it is not. But yesterday, New York was a place I did not want to leave. A place that I could create myself in. There is a part of me that has no idea where I will be in 5 years. A part of me where the future is neither dark nor light. It is sort of ambivalent place where I hope I reside. But as I took in Soho, I was hit with a flash flood of possibilities for me there. That I could be one of those people having a nice afternoon in Soho because I had a life there which I had created for myself out of nothing. And this thought caused me to regret having to leave.

In a weird way I don't want to leave. I want to see where I could be in another year here. I feel like I've learned so much already, and I fear leaving prematurely.

Anyway. I have to close tonight. Yuck. Not looking forward to the hoard of teenagers fucking up the store.

Oh, and Cat Power is driving me crazy. Where was she four years ago. Or where was I that I never heard of her until now.

Swine Flu Care Package?

So on Friday my mom said was mailing me a 'special' package.

As i wait around for some word on grad school, telling me about any special packages is not such a good idea. I imagined it was going to be my acceptance or rejection letter in the mail. That she had received the letter on Monday or Tuesday of last week, and decided to surprise me with goodies along with the letter.

This is what I expected because it is what I wanted. In some weird way. Even if it's a rejection letter, I will at least have some closure on this thing. But of course the package (because it arrived today) turned out to be...a Swine Flu Care Package. No lie.

I should take a picture of this thing. Neatly packed over some newspaper is a dozey of hand sanitizers (should the epidemic become too strong?), alcohol wipes (pocket size, should I venture outside of my house into the post-apocalyptic world of the H1n1 virus), and cookies. Yes gingerbread man cookies (should worrying about the virus make me hungry).

It's pretty hilarious.

So my grad school worrying continues as I wait for some news on what the hell I am going to do in the next few months. But at least I have all these precautionary items to last me through the year.

That's what moms are for.

It's A Sunday Thing

So yesterday I was on call. This means that I get to wait around all day until a manager calls (around 4) to see if I am needed or not. Being on call usually means I don't have to work but there are some days when they do ask, and expect, you to come in if they need you.

I wasn't terribly in a good mood yesterday (allergies) so when 4 came around and no one call I sort of put my phone on vibrate and prayed that they wouldn't need me to help close the store. I thought I was in the clear until I got a call from work at 7. I answered only because I need the money and if that means dragging my snotty ass to work..well then so be it. But my manager was not calling for that. She wanted to know if I could take Lisa's schedule on Sunday because she is moving into a new place. Lisa was scheduled to work 10-6, I was only scheduled to work 6-closing. So naturally I told my manager that I would have no problem taking Lisa's time.

It's been rainy the last couple of days which is weird because last week it was 90 degrees. Friday it was a deadly shade of grey outside and the clouds sort of hoovered. Luckily Lenny and the French dude did not send me running all over the place, because by 2pm the rain came pouring down. Today it was pretty much the same, grey and cloudy. You would think this would keep people inside. But no. Not in Westchester county where parents have more time on their hands then should be allowed. Today was a weird chaotic mess of people who didn't want to keep their children inside and people who should have stayed inside.

There is this regular customer-I use that term lightly- There is this regular guy who comes into the store with a huge disco colored shopping bag. It is the most ostentatious thing I have ever seen in my whole entire life, and the first time I saw him walking around the store I could only think to myself "what a weird thing to use as a purse". It goes beyond a purse, it is this ugly yellow bag you would get at some party store. Putting two and two together we quickly figured out that this guy is really a kleptomaniac and the bag is where he stuffs all his shit. Every time him and his yellow bag comes in we are on high alert. It's sort of funny because the bag draws so much attention to him. When the store lights hit the bag it glitters and could literally cause a glare. Our heads turn, we whisper "oh shit the bag guy is here" and then take turns asking him if he needs help while peering into his bag. I think his bag holds the secret of the world in it.

Anyway, it was my turn to follow him around today. But for a bag guy, he is pretty quick. One minute I had the glare of the sparkly shopping bag in my view the next I couldn't find the guy for the longest time. By the time I did see him he was near the exit. Someone says he has weird padding in the bag and that's why he can stuff crap in it without the alarm going off. Nevertheless he is one of the more interesting guys who comes in. And in some weird way we look forward to seeing him because then we have something to do for a while.

I am super nervous about telling my managers that I will be leaving June 1st. I have finally decided on a date. I will get to celebrate Michelle's birthday and enjoy my last days in Westchester before I head home to Small Town USA. I have been conflicted about this in many ways. I love my job. I love the people I work with. And for the most part it is an easy gig. So yes, I have to keep listening to people ask for books like To Kill A Mockingbird without knowing who the author is. And I admit it, I give them a "it's Harper Lee you asshole" look before taking them to the book. So maybe I have to pretend like I care about a book I will never read as a customer goes on and on about how I should read it because it will change my life. But, I love my job. In a weird way. I do.

I never had a job in high school. My mom never pushed the issue on me and I never wanted to make money. Seriously. I barely know what to do with the money I make now. So in a weird way my time at the Bookstore has been a fun high school-isque job where I spend more time talking to my work buddies then helping customers. This does not mean that I do not take book selling seriously but there are often times when I am talking to one of my 'friends' and a customer comes up to us as if we should drop everything to attend to them and all I want to do is turn to the customer lingering at the desk tapping their fingers on the counter and tell them 'hey can you come back in a few. I'm sort of talking here'.

I will miss that.

My mom wants me to take a plane home because I will get to my house in a New York Minute. But I am not a fan of planes. In a weird way I would like to leave this place just like I entered it...on a train looking out the window feeling like I have so much possibility. It will be a long train ride but I wouldn't mind. I could get my own little room, and not have to fight over the window seat. It will give me time to think and process the last 8-9 months of my life. I could read and stare out the window and just breathe...something I have not done in a very long time.

I keep forgetting how nice it is to do that everyone once in a while.

Time to read. I am on my third Bret Easton Ellis novel. I may be a little obsessed. I flew through The Informers and Less Than Zero, but I am not really feeling American Psycho. I want to get into it, but for some reason I just keep putting it down. I have the whole week off and I should make a dent in it. I think I should also start working on some more stories. I hate when people walk into the store asking for writing books as if reading "how to get write a novel for dummies" makes them a writer all of a sudden. I should just start a whole new journal called "that irks me" because if writing is so difficult for me how can some guy or girl off the street come into the store looking for those books, get it done? I can't fathom it being that easy.

A Nation of Fear

I have an admirer at work. He is a usual. Some one who comes in to the bookstore so much he minus well have a cot in the break room and make a home for himself there.

A couple of a months ago I was walking down the aisle when said admirer asked me for help. He was trying to find a history book (American Riffles) that he wanted to purchase for his friend. We didn't have the book in stock so I said I could order him a copy and it would come in the store in a few days. During this time we chatted about everything. He was sort of smitten with me because I spoke well and was eager to help him. I was curious about him because he liked history. Did I mention that he is older then my mom. I should have mentioned that. He is well in his 60's but looked pretty young for his age.

As we were talking he seemed convinced that I was this bright intelligent person. I don't know where he got that idea from. He kept complementing and telling me that if he was 40 years younger he would be the happiest man in the world having known me. And all the jazz. It was very flattering and after I completed his order we wished each other goodbye.

A few days later his book came in, and once again there was this weird flirtation thing. Mainly him complementing me and me trying not to get all embarrassed. When he left he talked about me to the guys in the music department. I know this only because they told me about it later on. He gushed about me. Said I was goddess (Swear.To.Bob) and that he wished he was young enough to date me. It was weird but nice and that day I got a prize from my managers because of my superb customer service! All in all he is a really nice guy. Maybe a little lovestruck but you need that every once in a while.

So after about a month (or two) he strolls into today out of the blue. They put me up at the cash register (which I hate) today and I was literally daydreaming when I heard someone call my name. When I looked up, it was him. The nice but slightly weird older guy. He said that he hadn't seen me in a while and that he was happy to run into me. Not use to this type of a attention I am sort of happy to see him too. Not because I have any interest in the old guy but it's nice having someone interested in you. Now, the old guy is weird on many levels. When I talked to him that first day he sort of was going on and on about the 60's. Apparently he was a hippie and times have changed since the peace and love generation. He wanted me to know this, because even though I am 23 he knew that I was an old soul and understood everything that he was talking about.

Then he started talking about his fears of the present day. Which wasn't totally unusual because well...it's been a rough couple of years. But when I saw him today and listened to him go on and on again about the economic crisis, global warming and as he put it 'the end of civilization as we know it' I started to think that maybe the guy who has a crush on me, the guy who is a very attractive older man (that I could and would never date) could be a little bit crazy. Or paranoid. Or a survivalist?!?!

I am leaning towards a survivalist because then he started talking about having to arm ourselves when it got too bad and civilization collapsed all together. I listened quietly, voiced some superficial concerns and became captivated by how he transferred his fear unto me. It was not just about him anymore but about me and how I would have to live through this shit because I am young and yadda yadda. It was weird, how paranoid and pessimistic he was about life and about the future. And if I was a gullible person I would have been like 'yeah. times are tough take me to your weird cabin in the woods where we will survive off of berries and crazy manifestos'.

But I'm not gullible. And I am not really into eating berries, so I just wished him and his survivalist self a good day. After this encounter I had a few more conversations with customers who were voicing their opinions on the state of the world. And I realized that we as a nation, as a society are guided by our fears. We live by them. There isn't a day that goes by where we aren't bombarded with news coverage on a new epidemic or economic crisis that threatens the way we live our lives. And though these are legit concerns I don't think we should be building bomb shelters yet or colonizing in the woods waiting for the big one to come.

I don't know. This irks me for some reason. That fear governs our perceptions. That we are a terrified nation or generation instead of a resilient one. I am reading a lot of Bret Easton Ellis these days (totally finished Less Than Zero, now working on Rules of Attraction) and I often contemplate how to define the generation that I am apart of. And in a weird way, it's a generation defined by fear, terrified into inactivity, and just waiting for the rug to be pulled from under us.

I'd rather not live my life that way. It's just not for me.

Anyway. I emailed lenny today and put in my two week notice. I will have been there for almost 5 months and I feel like this is the right time for me to make my exit. I have done all that I can do and in a small way I appreciate my time there. But the end (not in the weird apocalyptic way) is coming. I mean I can feel it at my job and at my aunts house too. That I am transitioning into a new phase and slowing wishing this place goodbye. It doesn't feel so bad. It actually feels quite right. That there is this change coming, this window that is open only for a small period of time that will whisk me away to my new adventure. And if I don't step through it, if I don't utilize this opening now....then I will never have known my full potential.

Time for bed. I have a long day tomorrow. I need to take more pictures of the city. It's a beautiful place that I will miss.

"She Waits, Seething, Blooming"

I think I should title all my entries after stories (short and novel lenght) that I am reading these days. They are way more interesting then the ones I come up with on my own.

It's going to be 90 degrees here. OMG! I am on-call today which means I either get to sit in or near the sun and read a book all day OR go to work and sweat to death in a building that does not have air conditioning. Though I desperately need the hours (and money!) , I am hoping for the lounging day. I have my book already picked out (Less Than Zero) I already have my drink made (ice cold lemonade) and I have claimed my spot (any and everywhere).

Work has been crazy lately and my hours are being slashed drastically. Next week I am clocking in...count em'...TEN hours. This will not help me in any way, shape or form. I can't help but take a personal offense to the slashing of my hours, especially when I look at everyone else's. I mean everyone is suffering but at the end of the day I am the only one working 2 days next week. I know it has nothing to do with my job performance and more to do with the fact that I haven't complained about needing more hours or having huge financial responsibilities. I take my hours in stride part grateful that I have them and ambivalent towards not having them. But at the same time I would like to make money and working TEN HOURS sort of deprives me of that.

Angie may have told a co-worker that I plan on leaving at the end of may. On Sunday I came into work and Linda (a very nosey person) asked me why I was planning to leave?!?!?!. This sort of took me aback because I hadn't talk to anyone about this except Angie and I hate putting something out there that may or may not be true. I told her I wasn't sure, I have some waiting to do before I can make any sort of decision like that. But she looked sad. And spent the whole day hanging around me as if i was quiting that day.

My Uncle says plans are stupid. And though I do not like agreeing with him... he has a point. Plans never work out the way you want them too and because of this I have scaled back on the planing aspect of my life. That's what happened when I came here. I planned on becoming an editorial assistant, commuting from New Haven to New York. I planned on getting a car and staying with my aunt for a few months until I got settled. Clearly that did not work out. I had to adjust the plans quickly maybe for the better maybe not. In that sense I am sort of pissed that Angie talked to someone about a plan not even set in stone. That now it is forcing something into action. I don't want people asking questions about when I plan on leaving or why I plan on grad school working out. I literally am refusing to make any intricate plans outside of what will I do today or what book/short story should I read or write.

Thinking beyond that is too much for me. It's just too much. I want to enjoy whatever time i have left here. I will start that enjoyment by having a nice reading day. Enough said.

" I'm Going Going, Back-Back, to Cali Cali!"

Angie is officially moving back to Kansas this Wednesday. Argh!!!

After struggling to make it in this place for a whole year, things just haven't panned out in her favor. She lost her job in November, got a job at the Bookstore in December but has been unable to find anything to help her pay for rent, food, and sanity.

She has seriously been my BFF here, and often times we talk about how easy it was for us to just be friends. After training her the first day at work, we quickly decided we liked each other. I think we may have even said "so, we are like friends now?" "yeah, pretty much". Ever since then we have hung out, had a amazing academic and life discussions, laughed our asses off, and bitched. At this point I couldn't imagine the last few months without her. I mean we threw an Obama Party with cupcakes and chips. Amazing!

A part of me is sad that my only friend is leaving. I mean I know a lot of people here and I am not going to be lonely without her. But it will be different. Our late night drives have come to a close and no more eating out at all those damn restaurants (I'm okay with this one. My wallet has suffered because of this). But that part of me that is sad is very slim. I know that Angie and I will be friends for life, and because of this I am not so distraught. She is moving back with her parents while she waits to hear from two jobs that she has applied and interviewed for.

She went to school for library science, so she is applying to places that need an archivist (her official title). In a surprising turn some weeks ago a job she half heartily applied to, NB-Motherf*cking-C!, called about a potential job offer. The position is located in Los Angeles (which she wasn't initially a fan of but that quickly changed) and she would get to do archiving work for NBC. The other job is in DC, but in comparing the two positions and location....Los Angeles is just way cooler.

I have been in a Bret Easton Ellis mood lately. Which is weird because I have never read Bret Easton Ellis and after having read a book by him a Bret Ellis mood could mean a lot of things. I usually do not read books that are being turned into movies. If I wasn't interested in the book before I don't see the draw of reading it when a movie comes out on the book. It's just not my thing. But for some reason I have been drawn to The Informers. I have no intention of seeing the movie but I figured the book would be a great introduction to him ( I don't know if I can read American Psycho yet or ever). And let's just say...I love the book. Every chapter is a new character interconnected with other characters. They are raw, honest, and products of a shallow and unforgiving society. I love it. I love everything about it. And now I am in a weird California mood. I want to lounge on a beach, read, write, wear sandals and wallow in the bane of my own existence for a while. I couldn't do that every day, but it would be a grand vacation.

So when Angie told me about California, I was all on that idea. She had the interview on Tuesday and should she get another in person interview, Cali might be her new destination which would be awesome because then I would have a friend to visit in California. I am very excited for her.

As for me, no news yet. I have decided to do some of that breathing stuff and take it one day at a time. This grad school, plan A, worry here worry there thing, is making me forget about my sense of adventure. That i want a cool and interesting and fulfilling life. I want to take a lot of risks, I want to see everything and I have to keep that in mind. That the fine shade of gray that I am straddling is not so bad. It could be where I find myself or lose myself or figure myself out. And what's so wrong with that.

I am starting Glamorama today (and also Child of my Heart by Alice McDermott). I am still in a reading frenzy, which is kind of relaxing. I've decided to do some clothes shopping today (because the weather is hot and I still have only sweaters to wear) and maybe grab some lemonade for my day. This California state of mind is working (for now) I minus well ride the high while I can.

Dear Dr. Seuss

...the 'waiting place' sucks. I just wanted to remind you.

-Becks-

Unsettled....

I'm nervous. Very nervous.

As I mentioned, my grad school shit is done. Last Saturday I mailed off everything to my Alma mater. It was last minute of course. The application was due April 15th (Wednesday) I finished my story around April 8th, and then spent a few days revising and being very particular about stuff.

Though I have been very apprehensive about grad school, and have told myself several times not to put all my eggs in one basket...in all honesty I need this plan to work out. I don't know what I would do with myself for another year. I obviously can't stay in New York ( working at the bookstore and living with my aunt) I don't want to live with my mom for a year in small town USA, but I don't know if I can find a well paying job to live on my own for a while in another state. At least in school, I will have two more years to strengthen my weaknesses, network, and make up for my slack undergraduate career. I also won't have to worry about loan payments or worse....budgeting to the max.

I should hear something back soon. Probably the beginning of may. They will mail my acceptance or rejection letter to my moms house and then....who knows.

I am very antsy because I know a change is coming. I just don't know where this change will take me. Sometimes I am completely confident. Even if I don't get into grad school I know I am smart enough, bright enough, and strong enough to try my hand at something else. But some days, like today, I am apprehensive. Unsettled. A huge mess. I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know if I am brave enough to conquer the "real world" and I want to take a huge break from it all. I want to fold into myself and stay enclosed until I an strong enough to return. That could take days, weeks, or even months. Just to recuperate and try again.

I talked to my dad the other day. It's been 2 months. I did not even try to make up excuses as to why I hadn't called him in a while. I have been a very busy person. I can barely find the time to relax. But he didn't care about any of that. He wanted to know if I was okay. That not knowing is worse than anything. We talked for a while and I heard some of the same things over and over again. But at the part where he expresses that he wants only for me to be 'happy in life", he neglected to say that. Instead he said he wanted me to take as many risks as i can and to not let fear get in my way.

????

I think he might be a psychic. The real world sucks. I mean there is nothing glamorous about it. But at the same time, whether I go to grad school or not, I have to continue to make a life for myself. That is proving to be the hardest thing of all. I try to not think about it sometimes just so I can give myself a rest.

Anyway. Enough of that for now.

There has been quite a shake up a work. The Janitor was fired. Hours are being cut so drastically I feel a mutiny coming. Angie's last day is Thursday. Every one's super tense and attacking one another with verbal quips. When it's fun at work, it's fun. When it's not, we all feel it. Yesterday Lisa, someone I usually get along with well, was in a foul mood. She was jumping down every one's throat and taking offense to the stupidest thing. My boss was working at the computer I was standing near and said "Lisa is apparently not talking to me". I asked her why, and she said she didn't know but that she just felt like Lisa was mad at her.

My boss, the vegan from California who wears leather, is awesome. She is super nice and we all call her Sunshine because she is so happy, but not in that annoying way. So to see her upset was weird. And to see Lisa pissed was weird. So I said "I think Lisa's just in a bad mood" I mean sometimes people just don't feel like talking. Lisa was standing right near me as I said this comment and a couple of minutes later she came up to me and said 1) that i read depressing books (because I was going to buy the book 'We need to talk about Kevin) and 2) "Stop going around and telling people that I am in a bad mood. I feel FINE!"

I sort of just shrugged my shoulders as she walked away...clearly in a foul, bad mood. Whatever. I have to let them know, in May, that i leaving soon. I like my co-workers, and sometimes I like my job but I see how easy it is to get trapped there. Especially with some of the fears I have about the next few months. But fear at this point is like stagnation and I'd rather risk it all then settle for comfort.

Time to get ready for work. I am only clocking in 3 days this week. I need to get the F*ck out of this place.

I'm Not Dead...

Just tired.

Very tired. I sent in all my grad school stuff last Saturday, and have spent the better part of my week stressing, de-stressing, a lot of sleeping combined with a lot of reading. I wanted to take time away from writing just so I could re-group and relax.

I have no idea if I will be accepted. It is the only grad school I applied to so I just have to wait and worry. I fluctuate between wanting to go to grad school and not. I wonder if taking some 5 week workshops would teach me all that I need to know. I worry about going back to small town USA for the next two years. I worry about not going back to small town USA and what I will do if I don't get accepted. Maybe I could move to Maine. Who knows. That is how my brain has been working these days.

A real post soon. I promise.

First work, and then hanging out with Angie who is moving back to Kansas in two weeks. My only real friend is leaving. This kind of sucks. The winds of change are a blowing. I don't feel prepared for where it will take me.

Near the End

This song By Pete Yorn (from an album I did not like when I was 15, but that at 23 I cannot stop listening too) has been playing all day as I near the end of my story. Near the end. If you knew what I went through yesterday (more tears, and tantrums) you'd know how far from that reality that was just 24 hours ago.

It has potential. It's not nearly the story I want it to be. But it has potential. And with revision and help, it could be something. Potential. A word that I highlighted in the personal statement I finished today over and over again.

Here's to nearing the end, but not in that all so consuming drowning sort of way. Here's to finishing a story that i don't completely hate. A story that has potential. That's more than I can say about a lot of things these days.

Seeing A Pattern?

I am sending out my grad shit on Thursday. Not that I am any closer to finishing this story then I was last week but I have to send something. And potential is better then blank pages.

As I struggle to finish, I am realizing a sort of pattern. When it comes to story writing and deadlines I may or may not wait until the last minute crying my eyes out at odds hours in the night while I develop severe headaches that make me believe I am having an aneurysm only to realize that it's anxiety preventing me from writing a story and nothing more.

I bought a cool book a few weeks back called A Writer's Space: Make Room to Dream, to Work, to Write. It's actually pretty good. I'm not one for self help books, but this one teaches you about separating your conscious self from your writing self in order to write creatively. I had to read it last night, while I was panicking again because well...I always panic.

I put too much weight into everything and because of this I procrastinate and freak out. Marie and my mom have been a great support as I struggle to finish this story but the truth is they have their reasons for this invested interest in the completion of my story They both want me to be closer to them for a few more years so I can take away some part of their loneliness. Writing of course, again, has become an all too daunting task to think about.

I can't wait til this crap is out of my hands and sent off. But even then, if I get accepted will the next two years be this filled with anxiety? Or will I somehow learn to overcome all my mental road blocks and just learn how to write freely and without all the pressure?

I don't know but a miracle needs to happen in the next two days. That's all I'm saying.

Applying Myself...One Day At A Time.

I apologize for the lack of posts lately. With the days until my grad school stuff being due, I can think of nothing else these days except finishing this story and turning in all my materials on time.

I actually submitted my application today. Unlike most schools, where you can submit all of your materials on line, I have to mail in my story, statement of purpose, and academic paper directly to the school. This is a good thing and a bad thing. It's good because it creates a deadline for me, it's bad because...now i have a f*cking deadline. The materials have to be in before the 15th which means this sucker should be sent out no later than next Monday.

Crap.

The story is coming along, but because I am so self critical of my work I am doing way too much editing and not enough writing. I have yet to master the art of writing something all the way through and working with particulars later. It didn't help that I had the flu last week which took me out of the writing mood, and it doesn't help that there are some family issues going on now, which is sucking the energy out of me.

I of course have been living with my aunt and her daughter since August. For the most part it is okay and convenient because I do not have to pay rent and I get a room to myself. My aunt is a person who constantly needs someone around her and I don't think she gets that i am a person who needs her personal space. With my older cousin in school, I stay in the spare bedroom. This is amazing because I get to shut myself away from my crying cousin and my very (very) delusional aunt.

Apparently, this is an issue for her. She wants someone to talk too about decorating and clothes though she doesn't have the money for either. She wants someone to watch tv shows with and window shop with, which I don't mind but not right now as I struggle with this story. When I was sick, I of course stayed in my room for two days. This was both out of sheer exhaustion and because I didn't want to get Michelle and the rest of my family sick.

A couple of days ago, my mom talked to my grandmother on the phone, who wanted to know how I was doing in New York. My mom of course told her that I was sick for a couple of days but that I was recuperating with no help from my aunt. My grandmother, who must have talked to my aunt some time during my sickness, said something along the lines of "well Beckett was secluding herself in the bedroom (as she always does), how was 'she' suppose to know that she was in there sick". This is hogwash.

I understand that I live in her apartment, but at the same time I pay for everything else. I don't use her phone, I don't use her Internet (sorry to the person I am stealing the Internet from) and I pay for my own supplies (food, clothing, yadda yadda). I babysit all the time, I don't bring people over to the house, I clean up after myself, and I never (NEVER) borrow money. Ever since we moved into this apartment I have enjoyed my personal space, and with the whole grad school thing looming over my head, I need it more then ever.

My mom was very pissed by my grandma's comments. Especially since she knows how difficult and vain my aunt is. Regardless, I am trucking along even though I feel like an inconvenience in her home now. As if, she'd rather I be anywhere else but in her very dysfunctional home.

I don't plan on staying here much longer. My application is due in April the 15th, and then I seriously have to start making some plans. Angie, who cannot afford to stay here either, may be moving back to Kansas soon. She too has lost her excitement for this place and she is sort of looking forward to being anywhere but here. She is giving it until the middle of April, and if she doesn't find anything by then her dad is going to move her home. I will miss her, but I understand the choices we have to make for ourselves in order to remain sane.

I know that I don't want to live here. Right now, it is just not the time for me. Once my application is in and I see if I get accepted or not, i plan on going home for a while. If the grad school thing works on then I'll start my life again in small town USA, get an apartment and two cats (named Dylan and Jack) and grow as a writer in my program. If i don't get accepted, which is a possibility, then I'll try something else. I can teach abroad for a year, finally move to Maine, maybe write for a small newspaper (that hasn't gone out of print) or try my hand again at publishing. Who knows

The future isn't so scary because while I evaluate my time spent here, I know what I don't want in my life which means I am a few steps closer to figuring out what I do. I guess.

Fingers crossed that I don't drive myself crazy with this story.

Fingers crossed.

A Clean Bill of Health

I am getting better. Yeah.

I don't think I have ever been this sick in my whole entire life (or what I can remember of my whole entire life). Marie and my Mom say that stress may have played into the whole flu thing. I never once got this sick in school, I never once got this sick at home but for some reason the amount of stress here triggered something and this time my body wasn't even in it to fight the brave fight.

I took Saturday and Sunday off from work and by Tuesday I dragged myself to the bookstore still sick as hell and carrying a pocketful of cough drops. Tuesday was not a good day, I sort of screwed up a lot, couldn't find books for customers and did I mention I met Stephanie Seymour (the model) but was too sick to realize or care. In all honesty I didn't know how she was. She was passed off to me by co-worker who was helping someone else. I looked up and there was this attractive lady who wanted some books about Saturday Night Live. We didn't have much but I showed her the book I could find and then wished her a good day. A couple of minutes later she came back wanting to know where she could find 'Lolita". So i took her to the fiction section said i thought the book was okay and then wished her another farewell.

Minutes later my boss came over and said "that's Stephanie Seymour". I was like who the hell is Stephanie Seymour (knowing of the name but not knowing why I knew her name) and my boss was like "the sports illustrated model!". My bad, guess it was never my thing.

The Janitor, oh the janitor, took advantage of my weakened state. He kept offering suggestions on how to get better. My favorite was ' take a nice bath'. Baths are cool though I haven't taken one in a very long time (what, showers are more efficient). Of course he wouldn't be The Janitor if the conversation stopped there. 'You know my place is small but i have a really big tub". Nice.To.Know should I ever want to take a bath over his house. Gross.

I survived the night but I don't think I convinced anyone that I was any better. This has been a horrible writing week. I haven't gotten anything done and the time to submit stuff is coming soon. I was going to take the GRE but I don't have the money to take it again and the scores wouldn't get there in time. I mailed my old scores off and am hoping that my superb writing potential, letters of recommendation, and academic paper will make up for the score. I am turning in my paper on The Medieval quest because it was my favorite paper by far (and plus the professor for the class is the graduate student coordinator. If she happens to read it, she may remember who I am. Which is a good thing).

The fiction story is coming along but at the same time I am doing so much revision I don't know where it begins and ends. My writing mojo was put on hold for a while during my sickness and I literally had to bring myself back to that mental place where I want to write and create characters on paper.

My story is good. Well the story that I have in my head is good. Getting it down on paper is a very difficult thing, I am embarrassed by my words and I catch myself revising before I even type anything down. This has been an unhealthy writing thing for a long time but I don't know how to break out of it yet. I hope that I get accepted but if I don't, I still know that I don't want to live here anymore. The old saying is true "been here, done that" and I've realized that this is a place I'd love to visit on regular basis but living here just isn't for me. I have no interest in this banana filled rat race.

Time to get some real work done. Fingers crossed that all this late minute hard work pays off.

I HAVE...

The flu.

I don't know how I went from a coffee hangover to the flu, but I did. I have not been this sick in a very long time. Scarlet Fever and the Chicken Pox combined never felt this bad. I don't remember ever having the flu but it sucks. Majorly.

I have been bedridden (literally) since Saturday, a day I was suppose to work but had to call out on. My suck ass family continues to prove that they are inconsiderate assholes. When I went to get some juice my aunt asked in an annoyed tone if I was "still sick" and then spent the rest of the day ignoring said sick ass. My cousin, who was home for the weekend, couldn't care less that I could have been rotting away right next to him.

I think I hate my non immediate family.

I pretty much have been doing the whole drinking a lot of fluids, eating ever so often and sleeping A LOT, thing. I am getting better, but being sick has a taken a toll on me. I must finish this story by the end of the week (I have set this deadline for myself) and then I have to figure out how long I should stay here for if I do get accepted.

My head hurts, I am going to take some strong medicine, pass out and hope that i survive this thing.

Hangover?

I have 11 pages of my short story written! I mean right now they are scenes and such but with some nice polishing (and a few more pages) I think I will actually have something worth sending. For some reason I have some sort of writing mojo floating through my fingers and I have been pushing myself to finish this mess on time.

In all honesty going to grad school is only the half of it. I would like to return home. I miss my insignificant life there and my last year of college seemed unfinished. I was just getting into the groove of everything, I was just tapping into my potential and I feel like I left prematurely. This should not be a deciding factor but to be honest it is. I am not ready for the real world, or at least not my idea of it. At 23 I still miss being able to go to my mom's house where she caters to my appetite and lets me watch cable in her room. I miss it, I miss it.

I look forward to writing, and having an apartment. I look forward to seeing if this potential I have pays off and all that jazz. And because of this knowledge I am very excited and determined to get into school. So much that I have my mojo back. It feels grand.

Unfortunately, I decided a week ago that I would drink coffee to keep me up at night. The days when I have drunk coffee after six have been my most creative because I thumb out some good stuff in a very manic state. Yeah, I'm up until 3:30 in the morning but hey...what we do for art. Tuesday I decided to drink some coffee because Lenny is letting my have Wednesday off to write my stuff ( i told him about my deadline and he said it was cool for me to just come in on Friday's when the use me the most), and I figured I would have a productive writing day like I did on Monday.

I don't know what the fuck was wrong with this coffee (that i bought from work) but an hour later I was feeling ill, very ill. This feeling was not like my usual caffeine induced states. My body was unnaturally warm, my head throbbed like death, and I felt dizzy and nauseous. I barely hung in there that night and instead of writing late into the night I passed out in bed feeling like the world was ending around me.

The next morning my writing day did not go as planned. When I woke up I was paralyzed with a headache that was terrifying. By all accounts it was as if I woke up with a hangover. I was too weak to move, i still felt like throwing up and loud noises and bright lights were killing me. Turns out Coffee works the same way as alcohol in that it dehydrates you. This is what causes the headache and flu like symptoms or what some people call hangovers. I am suffering from a coffee hangover! Unfortunately I did not know this when I was chugging my coffee regular and if I would have known this I would have seriously considered drinking that coffee.

I still feel like crap. I would consider going to a doctor if I had the means or the money to do so, but I think he will just tell me that I am dangerously dehydrated. This f*cking sucks. I have to head into the city tomorrow and I hope that I have the energy for it. I may get some pages down tonight but this setback is a downer. I feel pathetic and sick and incapable of putting any sort of sentences together.

Blah.