taterhater's Blog

("On this piano, stuffed nervous with gold".... one of my favorite Wilco songs.)

My family came through again, bless them. 

We found a car for me with not too much trouble during the next two weeks of November. 

I remember sitting in the parking lot of the Firestone by my house with my dad, waiting for a guy to show up with the car for sale. 

I smiled, and was grateful for my father's thoroughness in the matter of finding used vehicles. How different we are, yet how similar.

It would have made my grandfather proud, although he famously advocated Ford cars throughout his life. 

Two hours later, the deal had been completed. 

How fortunate I have been, I thought riding my bike to work that night. 

Truly, luck had nothing to do with it. It was the tireless and unceasing support of my mother, sister, cousin, father, and everyone else in my family who kept on encouraging me to do my best. 

I'm determined to make them proud. And to make a difference in the world, and not allow myself to be afraid anymore. 

This concept struck me particularly, deeply, while listening to an old Gomez song that I'd heard a million times before.

I was soaring down a road which offers unmatched views at a certain hilly vantage points, and the words struck me truly for the first time - "Don't let it take you, like it nearly took me. Don't let it kill you, like it nearly killed me, fear."

I drove by the shaggy horses in the dry, private fields grazing next to unseen streams, and the cows which never lifted their heads, and the goat farms, and the mules and alpacas and the ranging hens, and the bonsai tree farm, and the muted, quiet valleys where I once stood looking at the surrounding mountains, and the giant ancient trees which have belonged for much longer than us. 

What can I say but, ok.

I started in December 1, approximately, at the newspaper I'd been working for freelance since April 2009.

I was mildly shocked to receive a phone call, seemingly out of nowhere, after sending just one email to my former editor saying something like,"hi, just seeing how you are and all, nothing's really changed for me with the car situation."

Imagine my surprise when he called only about a week later, which I assumed was a polite "how are you" kind of thing, and said "well, we actually have a full-time position here now."

And, "I don't know if you're even interested in this..."

I hesitated for about thirty seconds. "I'm going to say yes, right off the bat." 

Pacing around the whole time on the phone, of course.

So I went to the interview a few days later, feeling comfortable that there was nothing certain, as far as I knew, because they were considering other people and so on. 

So I didn't have to totally reconfigure my life all in one day, I thought. 

What happened is he gave me a hug, and we had a great talk, even for me, ha ha, and at the end of the usual "here's the job" description, I took a moment to be actually real with myself and the situation.

I put my Red Bull down on the desk and said, "You know, I've been really thinking hard about this, and I think that even after all this time, this was what I got my degree in, and I think I really should give it a try."

And I just thought that well, he's trying to give me a chance and "I have my foot in the door", as he said on the phone, but really they will probably choose someone with more experience.

Truthfully, I was so happy that we were still on good terms, and that I was even being considered for the job. 

I had been equally ecstatic about the good standing I seemed to have with the other editor who had just left for a well-deserved position at  nearby paper.

So I was sitting there enjoying myself and how it was great that now I could look for other jobs in good faith. 

I asked if any other applicants were being considered, as in my experience this was the portion of the interview where people always say this. (For the record, I know that this means "you didn't get the job", but that's the truth.)

"Well no, not really. We had a few responses but no real replies," he said. 

But I needed to work out the car situation. Figure out if I could physically make it there and do the job. We agreed to talk the next Tuesday, which was just a few days away, being Friday then. 

As usual, after any interview I refuse to even think about it for a good forever. Driving back, despite myself, and despite my extreme superstition that talking about anything with anyone will bring bad luck; I texted my mom.

She was way too optimistic about it in my opinion. I might add that I was driving her car at the time. 

That afternoon before work (at the restaurant) I had a dream that for once was not troubled. I woke up feeling like, there's no way that happened, and went to work and didn't speak about it. Couldn't talk about it. We all have our things. 

The next Tuesday as scheduled, I received a call from my editor. I was at work of course, and we were ridiculously busy. 

Nevertheless, I went into the bathroom, standing there and calling him back, I'll never forget that moment.

He was like, "Well, I've talked it over with the owner, and we are going to offer you the job if you want it."

I stood there, in my work t-shirt and apron, holding the phone and jumping up and down silently. Thank God no one was in there. 

And I sat on that information the whole day, never forgetting that I only had two weeks to find a vehicle for about, um, $1000. Yeah. I knew it was impossible. 

My cousin has finally quit her job at the bar and become a full-time employee for her friend's website design business.

Debbie;  a practical yet creative person with a cunning grasp of what people want for their business' image, has been a natural fit for the job of marketing, customer relations and general oversight of certain clients.

She's worked long and hard for this, and not without difficulty; she has said.

That just goes to show.... I don't know what. That hard work is really the only way to achieve anything? Perhaps it's more accurate to say that the effort towards one's natural ability is the best way to earn success.
However, she would be great at many things... I see her as the natural entrepreneur of the family.

We were able to hang out for just a few hours recently. I provided minimally  helpful information about her newly-acquired In Design and Adobe programs.

I'm like, but I went to school for this! But I still kind of suck at it.

Who knows. As for myself, I'm turning over an old leaf, looking (scouring, rather) through every, everything I have and have lost that I've done since graduating, and trying to also contact people and if possible obtain original copies of some things.

It's not nearly as intimidating as I once thought. It's like, well technology is not reliable, meaning things get lost, but I still have some good stuff and some good contacts, which is much more important.

I've been working on photography, which is hard, although my friend from school is a good artist and photographer and said he could help me. I've been accused of lots of things, but not accepting help isn't one of them, ha ha.

So my dad has a new puppy, and a now lives in town although I never see him, and my mom should be getting remarried sometime.

That has been a surprisingly understated part of her life.

I was in her room one day and said something like, is this a new necklace?

She got all quiet and was like, "That's my sort of engagement promise necklace, because I wouldn't let him buy me a ring".

I thought, well, duh, he keeps asking you! and I said "Congratulations", and gave her a hug.

He's been down to visit since then....  I can't say it isn't somewhat different, getting used to the idea of my mom being married again, but I am definitely happy about it.

My own relationship status has fluctuated very serious, to single, to back together, to now maybe the end for good. I am keeping a brave face?

I can say this - when I was standing on the stage of the decorated gym that served as my cousin Dave's wedding reception area, feeling somehow idiotic and lonely in my blue dress, I just kept thinking, he'll be here, eventually.

He had been there many times in the past six years. He had stood by me during times of great consternation, and had been an avid friend of my  family even now. I definitely miss him. It was certainly not the best day of my life when we parted ways right before Halloween.

Actually, he had been there even that previous weekend when we all thought my grandfather was not going to make it.

I was basically being all sad and ridiculous, all day, although I had lots of work to do. He came over, and I was sitting outside, and all he was trying to do was cheer me up, but I just didn't want to talk at all.

It's actually so painful to even write, this all has been. I am torn up about my grandfather, and the burden that I have been on my family. For all my false bravado, I have been shaken to the core, time and time again this year and last. I am trying very hard to be positive.

"I have been a prisoner of my past; entrenched within the memories of my failures."

So I must callously move forward, no matter what. I would like to say that I had made a quick decision that was rash and stupid but that would not be the truth.

My cousin said recently that nothing is ever all that bad, in the sense that the actions you take won't cause the end of the world.

I agree with that, or would like to at any rate, adding that one's actions  could determine the future of the world. Or one's own personal world, at least.

 

I am sitting here in the late hours, consciously avoiding work on my first assignment for a new freelance job for a not-so-new person I used to work for. For whom I used to work. Whatever.

I told my mom it is just "nerves" but I'm super apprehensive about doing actual, real writing again, I can't deny it. It always helps me to work things out here in this blog.

When I started this journey of "self-discovery", I wrote about the anticlimactic experience of graduating, and how disappointed I was with my own doubts in myself and the prospects I might face.

I now believe - and know from long talks with nearly every member of my family, friends, strangers, co-workers, bar acquaintances, books about writing, blogs about job searching, resume writing help sites, job interviews, actual writing for actual publications, conversations with those editors and other writers I encountered which ranged from personal to professional, the occasional "subscriber" to the various publishers I worked for, teachers, professors, preachers, old church friends, artists, musicians, restauranteurs, politicians, anti-politicians, and even Jesus Christ himself if he is listening still - that my long-winded anxiety has been a normal and even expected, even necessary part of this life-cycle.

To quote William Shatner in the immortal "Fear of Pop" album by Ben Folds, "I relived every page of self-help. I had read the same books. I'd learned to ape the motions of a sensitive human being. And, I went in for the kill."

Perhaps the "kill" for me is partially accepting that I may not be the dumbest, most awful, thoughtless, callous, selfish, and helpless person on the planet.

As my dad put it, "Maybe they (the editors) don't like you for 'some reason'. Maybe they actually think you're a good writer."

This made my heart glow in a way I haven't felt in years. My dad is actually proud of me?

It's news to me, as they say.

I guess a lot of things, as I was discussing with a friend who's also a Pisces, are obvious to others that are impossible for oneself to see.

He said, "I always find it easier to see what's right for others who are friends. But when it comes to my own life, it's much harder."

And I had been talking about how I fear my dreams - in the literal sense of sleep-induced visions - because they are nearly always extremely frightening or at least vaguely apprehensible.
(Apparently that's not a word but I've just added it to my computer's dictionary. Producing feelings of apprehension?)

I also tend to stifle or ignore "psychic premonitions", I was saying, because it used to scare me that I could sense bad things before they happened to other people.

I believe everyone has this ability, it's more or less an evolutionary adaptation which allows humans (probably less than most animals, though) to sense danger that is not immediately obvious.

I used to always avoid situations that would end badly through this ability. I'm not sure if my "intuition" is working that well anymore. I think blocking the bad causes the good things to also be blocked.

I've been over-complicating my life, I suppose is what I'm meant to learn from all of this, by refusing to live by the natural rhythms of the universe.

These things include compassion towards my friends, who are somehow still there despite my long and selfish neglect of them.

Listening for, and receiving;  the message that God and the universe has for me or for anyone has been impossible since I've been so afraid that the vibrations sent will be too much for me.

The Madeline L'Engle Time series that I've been reading has greatly helped me come to this seemingly obvious conclusion. You can't pick and choose what you want to experience through consciousness, she intones, it's an all-or-nothing kind of deal. But worth it.

To L'Engle, I think, the worst sin is the refusal to know - not ignorance, but deliberate indifference. Not seeing, not knowing, not believing, and ultimately, not existing are the consequences of a closed mind and heart.

This is profound, to me, in a way that transcends words. 

It feels similar to the ambiguous yet timeless philosophy of the Tao. It's like, the way is the WAY, if you fight it, you aren't in it. If you think you know it, you don't. If you think you can transcend it, with the arrogance of what you think you have learned, then you fall short of learning anything.

That also works with pure scientific thinking. There is no ultimate truth, we have only theories that must necessarily be constantly and unemotionally, challenged.

Blah, blah, right? I think too much, I'm often told.

And I read too much. Ha! No such thing. I'm fond of saying put on my tombstone "My only regret was that I couldn't read another book".

So I'm going into life, and this new challenge hopefully, with an (truly!!) open heart and mind. I will stop the arrogance and selfishness of thinking that I know what's coming or what's best, or what is in store for the world, and just truly let it flow through me.

As L'Engle wrote in her Newbery Medal acceptance speech for "A Wrinkle in Time", which is a stand-alone inspiration for me:

"Unless a writer works constantly to improve and refine the tools of his trade, they will be useless instruments if and when the moment of inspiration, of revelation, does come. This is the moment when a writer is spoken through, the moment that a writer must accept with gratitude and humility, and then attempt, as best he can, to communicate to others."

Blessed, beautiful sentiment.

September is the month encompassing  the birthdays of my sister, brother-in-law, two of my best friends, and my maternal grandmother. We also have a very young cousin (second cousin? he is the son of my cousin on my mom's side) who had his seventh birthday.

Another event preceded the tenth anniversary of 9-11, during which, as my good friend put it, "Central Texas is burning down."

She had said this as we were eating at my family's Labor Day barbeque on the 5th, and the wildfires after that day just continued to spread throughout the week.

It was a tragic, yet strangely unifying event as people across cities and counties poured in donations of food, water, and money to hastily-constructed donation sites in Bastrop and around Austin, other areas - I'm not even sure of all of the areas affected.

I remember the first time I heard about it, I was sitting at home working on my newsletter, I think, and my mom came home from my grandma's house and was like, "You don't even know what's happening, do you?"

I didn't, then. I felt very strange going to work the next morning, as if nothing was happening, on that next Tuesday. And everyone was watching football, as if the "real world" meant nothing.

I managed to turn one of the TVs on the news and watched the smoke from Bastrop County block out the sun.

Most everyone survived, though, and as one man in Bastrop who had lost his home said, life goes on.

When I ride my bike to work, up the approximation of a tiny mountain that is my neighborhood, I encounter all kinds of people day and night - bikers, runners, bikers, runners, and a bunch of dog walkers. They're all strikingly similar actually.

It irritates me when people fly by me, passing me in the bike lane as if this is some huge race that we're all in. It's like, I actually HAVE to do this, you are just some weirdo in a jersey with your kid who has one that matches you. I mean I'm all about keeping your kids in shape, but do you have to simultaneously humiliate them?

People sometimes ask me if it's safe to ride home at night (from work).

I'm like, if I stood outside for forty minutes hollering, "Please rob me," someone would probably come outside and say, "do you need some money?" or something.

I could have left my car unlocked, with the keys in it for a week and it wouldn't be touched. (I definitely did that at least one night.) I know it sounds naive, but I'm probably the most cynical person in the world, and it's that kind of neighborhood.

Of course now that I say that I am knocking on wood. As if someone with millions of dollars wants my chump change and my crappy bike. I actually love my bike, don't get me wrong. It has nearly killed me, but it's great and I'm forcing myself slowly into shape like a glacier moving towards the ocean.

I say sleep is the best medicine because I probably got the most simultaneous hours of sleep of this entire year- almost 24 hours straight- and God did I need it.

I felt almost like new, having energy I haven't felt in months.

Unfortunately, nothing panned out with my long-put-off emails to my former editor and another random, but possible contact for another internship type thing. He actually asked twice about it, I told myself, once the first time I was serving him and talking about my degree and so on, and he came in again and was like, "Why didn't you email me?"

I knew that I had actually sent my resume, and said so. I was like, so what if I'm unsure about it? I have to take chances, now.

Life goes on, apparently without me, as they say. One person said that in particular, which was my ex.

While working for the past month seemingly non-stop, and riding my bike, and sometimes going out for an hour to one of three bars in the immediate five-mile vicinity of my house and job, we started talking again.

It's not the most shocking thing ever. In six years or so, we've broken up and gotten back together lots of times. That's never been said, officially, right now (as of August).

However there's someone else I've been talking to .... part of me is like, well, I would like to see where this goes.

My cousin was like, "It sounds like you actually like him."

"Yeah, I know, it's weird," I said.

Have you ever woken up from a nap or a really short dream, feeling as if you had just been on the verge of discovering some ineffable, life-altering truth but that it rapidly fades away as you gradually become more awake?

That happened to me the other day.

Maybe it was the grueling, somewhat depressing weekend at work, or the fact that I really haven't properly, honest-to-god slept in several weeks, but I felt as I woke up at 12 pm that I something in me had subtly, yet irreversibly changed, forever.

I couldn't even say if it was a good or bad feeling. This image popped into my head. It's that scene in the Little Mermaid when she's on the beach with her new, witchcraft-legs, you know, and the seagull who's her friend is sitting perched on her foot and he's like, "There's something different about you, I just can't put my finger on it."

Yes, it's a goofy dumb joke meant for five-year-olds, but today it made me think about our perspective in life versus the views of those around us. It's like sometimes the thing we're looking for is so obvious, that we can't actually see it right in front of our faces!

If I was forced to put it into words, I would say that I feel as if it's no longer possible for me to juggle differing and opposing views of reality - either my own, or the "reality" which is the "rest of the world".

I guess another, more cynical way of putting it is that looking at where I actually am right now, it might be more productive to stop fantasizing about all the other lives I could be living and possibly make one, single conclusive step towards an actual definable, step-by-step goal.

Clearly this whole past year and a half has been a bunch of navel-gazing that has been irritating to people around me, (I say irritating...) but that was actually way more necessary than I ever realized.

However I need to move past that phase and take STEP ONE!!!!! whatever that is.

I feel compelled to write all this because I have to hold myself accountable. That's the whole point of this, right? Not (just) to complain or to feel sorry for myself or ramble on about my manic ambitions, or to even  feel empathy of other like-minded individuals. It's to empower myself to change for real (not in the new-age sense of "feeling positive").

As my hero, the late Molly Ivins wrote in her (update later)

Where did I find myself, after that non-Korea-going, semi-new-job-having, quasi-dating-situation month?

Indeed. Sometime in there Landen announced rather too sweetly that he was moving for sure, out of the state for school. He said, "Because you tell people that you love."

The newsletter has gone quite well, actually, despite certain distractions. I struggled with other writing, however. I can't really bring myself to even talk about that, even now.

In May, the 25 to be precise, I totaled my car and became subsequently car-less. Also the next day Landen left for good.

As my mom put it, "You just had a really bad week."

Yes. I was forced to quit the newspaper because I couldn't drive out of town every week, and that was pretty much the end of that. My "timing" that week coincidentally couldn't have been worse, as I found out, for reasons which I shouldn't discuss, but let's just say it added a lot of stress on them both.

Nothing else happened, all summer.
Oh, and I have a different job now.

Here's an excellent quote I ran across from Hugo Gernsback's essay "The Prophets of Doom" - a scathing criticism of writers and human beings in general -  in the science fiction short story collection "Science Fiction Roll of Honor" published in 1975.

"It is a measure of our times that just as the poor, misguided, unimaginative scientists whom we quoted failed to look into the future, so the present-day science-illiterate author cannot possibly comprehend the myriad of technical wonders still to come."
"He cannot understand -- nor extrapolate into future terms -- that each new invention and discovery automatically opens the door to a host of new ideas that proliferate countless others."

While Gernsback, in this essay, was defending his art form with a vehemence that I've often felt about journalism, I think this statement had a much broader and more profound impact on me personally.

It's like, don't ever let people discredit your imagination, or your ideas, because the future of humanity depends on that ingenuity.

He goes on to say that the principles of modern  aeronautics (again, still back in 1975) were denounced as physically impossible by respected intellectuals but space travel happened anyway.

He ends with this:

"Does this give you any ideas?"

"Are you sleeping? I wish I was..."

This was the text I sent to Landen on April 14 while driving back from a meeting in a small town about an hour away.

I had gotten the job, another freelance writing situation, from my uncle through his engineering firm and the non-profit organization he had helped to create about ten years ago. I was happy to do this work because it related to my interest in the environment, specifically water and flood management, and the meetings felt like a "real" job.

My uncle later told my mom that I was late to the meeting, months later, actually, which I was surprised by then because I sincerely felt that I was on time. But there were many things I still needed to learn.

When I was not occupied by working on weekly county stories, I did a couple of articles for another newspaper, and this new assignment presented me with a much-desired research project.

I've always been vaguely terrified of my uncle's disapproval. He's an intimidating person, because of his own rigidly enforced work ethic and so on, and because of his life-long habit of waking up at six am every single day, he has no patience for late-night people like me.

(His actual opinions about my life were stated in a later conversation in July).

This all came into focus with the newsletter. I had gone to him for advice on stories in the past; about topics in which he had specific expertise. Perhaps because of this, or as a result of my continued persistence towards all things environmental, he texted me one day about a "writing job".

He was mainly trying to give me a break, but I later thought that the project was also important to him personally. I also realized an aspect of his professional life that I had never considered - he probably should have been a politician. 

He has the powerhouse personality for it, certainly.  

The meeting was on a Thursday, I think, and i went home and slept for the rest of the day. The next day on Friday Landen came and picked me up and took me to his mom's house for dinner. This was surprising to me, although he said he was moving out of his shared college-housing apartment to live with his parents while he figured out his school situation.

I remember driving by his sister's apartment to pick up her cat, another unexpected thing. That was how he acted then, as if we were dating or something?

The apartment was really nice, but trashed out (not my own words) and it took a minute to find the reticent cat. We got him back in the car and proceeded down the highway to the middle of nowhere.

We stopped at a gas station and my recently acquired new credit card (because I had lost my wallet two weeks previously) didn't work.

When we finally made it to the house, his mom was super nice and down-to-earth. Landen said endearingly, "Yes, I'm a momma's boy". Ha ha.

After that weekend, things started to deteriorate between us. That's how I saw it, at least, and he did start acting differently. We had been talking every day, and actually the whole thing had been at his suggestion that we be serious.

It has been difficult writing this backwards account of this year, and I wish that I had kept it up daily as I attempted to do last year. It's so much harder to remember important details when they aren't fresh on your mind.

One day I do remember clearly as a very important confluence of events, in retrospect, of course, was April 2.

I recall the date because it was my cousin's birthday (the recently married one) and we had plans with the family to celebrate. Debbie, in her usual style, had planned a Nas-cart racing event (that's like NASCAR and go-carts put together) in Buda with her boyfriend the stock-car driver. It was supposed to be a surprise for Dave and he was indeed not aware of it. Delia had taken him on another adventure which I can't remember now, already.

I was intending to go with them but changed my mind at the last minute, mostly because I didn't have the money for it.

So I went home and started cooking some food for the dinner later. Debbie had planned chicken fried steak, which I knew I wouldn't eat being a vegetarian.

As I was cooking, I called the guy I had met on Friday (this was now Sunday) and felt very positive about the whole thing. Little did I know!

Also, as my green bean casserole was in the oven, my mom's boyfriend from West Virginia appeared for his first visit.

I was all prepared to give him the rundown, but he seemed okay, actually.

What helped my opinion of him most significantly was a large brown paper bag from Whole Foods containing a buffet of interesting snack items. The array of food laid out on the kitchen counter was possibly the best peace offering he could have made.

Who is this guy? Average looking, tallish, thin for a 50-year old man, glasses, a southern accent, a friendly sense of humor, not too invasive in the way of ideals at first, likes to use first names a lot.

As in "your name - here's what I think." Pauses for emphasis a lot. A person who's going to treat my mom well? Maybe!

He started talking almost immediately about the job in the oil field, which my mom had brought up. He had some anecdotes to go along with it.

Okay, I thought, munching on some jalepeno pimento cheese, this might work.

Here's how the conversation went with friend-from- work's-friend: He had invited me out downtown the previous Thursday, which I declined because I generally don't like downtown, also I have no money usually.

However I text messaged him the next day saying this, and we talked that Sunday. I felt instantly attracted after talking to him, although I had not apparently caught on to his interest in me at my job earlier.

Here's what his friend said: Yeah, he's  sort of weird on the phone.

I wish I had asked just a couple of question about him then, or even more recently. But I didn't want to make it awkward.

That Sunday was great, though. I remember making a joke about being cynical, and how most people don't get my sense of humor. But he was like, I get it, and I think he did.

He has this sort of aura, Aquarius, as I now know, that just sucked me in like quicksand.

How can I describe him? Tall, sort of skinny, brown hair and glasses, not my usual type.

After Dave and Delia's wedding, things progressed around me.

I was the silent eye within the storm, watching things happen while having a minimal impact upon them.

Debbie and Hawaii roommate Dora found an apartment quickly (they had been living with us for about two weeks).

My cousin is not the kind of person, generally, to be found sitting around not getting things done.

To follow the tornado metaphor, she would be the stormchaser, blazing ahead while many of us speculate about the direction of the wind.

Being a pisces, I traditionally just watch, get torn apart, or stay far away from the blistering winds. Never gets you that far, usually.

Her brief interlude at suggesting I move in with them was tempered by her normal good judgment and tact.

I remember specifically driving back from Derek's house after a long weekend.

She suggested I get my finances in order rather than burdening them with an uncertain lease agreement.

I said nothing but, "okay." I knew she was right.

I helped them move in and gave much of my furniture to them, which had been in storage.

I continued at the same job and the same writing assignments for a while.

In February, right before Valentine's Day and before my birthday, I had a falling out with my boyfriend of nearly two years and then we broke up.

On my birthday weekend I sang a couple of songs, disastrously, I thought, with my cousin's band for the Johnny Cash birthday bash which happens to be also my birthday.

No one noticed, actually, thank the Lord, and I really didn't do anything for my birthday this year.

It felt like a repeat of Dave's wedding where I was standing there thinking, why am I doing this?

That was the 26 of February, and it was more than a month before anything interesting happened in my life.

In the present day, relatively speaking, in January 2011, my cousin Dave had found a perfect match, and they were getting married.

Cousin Debbie was moving back for good with her friend Dora.

I was still situated on square one, or "first base" as my mom's boyfriend described it.

When Debbie got back her and Derek were having problems.

I was having my own issues with my boyfriend and of course with my family, for being a deadbeat daughter and struggling to get by in the tenuous position I held as a freelance journalist.

However, the wedding was a resounding triumph, in every respect.

Let's start with the pre-rehearsal dinner setup activiites.

I had managed to get off work for the weekend and everything was groovy.

Uncle "Dylan" was setting up an elaborate light rig based on, apparently, complex engineering maneuvers and website tips that aunt "Dina" had found on setting up a gym.

We all showed up to help and managed to time-consciously set up many, many strands of LCD lights that Dina had purchased just for this.

By the time me and Debbie were done with the upstairs, Derek was stranded hopelessly on a 20-foot ladder awaiting orders from Dylan.

Somehow it all came together -- the decorations, music, food, rehearsal dinner, everything was fantastic.

Everyone was there, including our very old grandfather and the grandmother of the Debbie and Dave, who is very sadly deceased now.

To backtrack a little more, the wedding dress itself was a cause of great concern for my mom.

I wish I could show you all a picture, it was so beautiful at the end. And I would not say that except I have seen many, very unflattering dresses.

I was even in the dressing room when Delia was trying it on, finally. I was like, yes, the train hand-held thing worked!

If you've never seen a wedding dress in the making, you might not understand how big of a deal these things can be.

It was perfect, mostly. Everything.

Dave sang a song on a portable mike during the reception: U2's All I want is you. (He totally pulled it off, even with the "dancing" factor.)

When my song came up, I felt ok just not screwing it up.

No one was really listening, I told myself.
Later, after the cleanup from the wedding, we went to the Chili's nearby. I felt relieved that it was over, although then-boyfriend hadn't shown up.

"Is it over then?"
"If you think it is," Debbie said.

After that we celebrated Derek's birthday out at the lake. It was really fun, the whole weekend, the whole experience.

I hated to come back to reality.

There was this one night when the whole deck was covered in snow, and we were all out there freezing our butts off. I'll never forget it.

I should backtrack even more, and say that I met Delia and Dave, now married for several month; as a couple for the first time at my graduation party in December 2009.

Here's a summary: Dave, my cousin, known all my life.

He's a musician, social worker, all-around helping-you-move-when-no one-else-will type of person.

Delia: tiny, pretty, redhead, outgoing and nice at the first meeting. Always polite, as far as I knew then and know now.

I also know other things since that time in 2009.

In January of 2010, I was invited to a skiing trip with the family. .

This girl came along, knowing none of us very well, and just fit right in with the family. Despite cousin Debbie's initial apprehension.

The roadtrip there was something of a story in itself.

We powered through the 15-hour drive with Debbie's then boyfriend (Derek) driving the whole way in my sister's car.

Which used to be my aunt's car.

That was the weekend of UT's football defeat, if I remember correctly.

I was sitting at my own ex-boyfriend's house that night before we left, being irritated at his continued happiness that UT lost.

I thought the whole trip might be off.

Then Debbie called - she was in town then, but at the time still living in Hawaii - and said it was still on.

This was now about 2 a.m.

I had all my stuff packed. She added that another friend was coming along at the last minute - fun times!!

So we made it there, all of us, cigarettes and all, not even getting lost in the wilderness very much.

I remember the transition to the mountains in New Mexico.

It's cold, colder, and high, higher.

And more beautiful every second.

We were so cramped and dirty by the time we got there, though, as Derek said, "I just don't know what I'm going to do first when we get there".

What we did, after winding through the breathtaking mountain roads, all covered in not-too-new snow and barely any other cars, just mostly silence and thin air; was tumble out and cover up in our boots and our coats which were newly purchased, and get out our luggage, and stretch out, and pile into the spacious and environmentally friendly rooms.

And say hi, we missed you! To our family.

And we did. Miss them, that is.

We went outside in the mind-numbing cold; so cold I couldn't take off my mittens to smoke a cigarette, and walked around arm-in-arm and laughed.

And we didn't feed the deer because it was forbidden.

And we talked about life and what we had missed as my cousin drank Crown Royal out of three huge bottles which she forgot to get out of the hotel when we left.

So the next day, still back in 2010, we went skiing. Or rather, everyone else did.

The point is, I had never been skiing and was scared to death of falling off the mountain.

Here's what my dad said, true to form: "Be careful, because you don't have health insurance."

Ha Ha.

Anyway, Delia, Dave's future fiance, spent an entire day coaching me, someone whom she did not know at all, down that mountain on the green slope, with me cursing and falling the entire blessed way.

She never once got irritated, or lost her patience, or stopped picking up my hat every single time I dropped it.

Stoicism does not begin to describe her attitude.

My own biological family members, Debbie and Dave, and also Derek, stopped along the awful trek (or long, sliding fall, to be more accurate) from their blue and black slope adventures - seeing as they were very good skiers - to just barely stifle their laughter at my state.

I think Debbie described it aptly: "Wow, you looked really scared."

I do not blame them, and just to be clear it was pretty funny.

I was still pissed at the time, but it was like shut up or get off the mountain.

I will not say that I did better, but again, we all came out alive.

If 2010 was the year for journalism, this is the year for art and music.

It began with an idea for writing a musical about my life, half-joking and half serious, and it became an inspiration that I cannot stop anymore. I could tell you that this was a good thing, but that would not be entirely true.

One thing that happened is that I opened my eyes to the people around me, and to situations from which I had willingly distanced myself.

Also, the metaphorical " floodgates" of creativity opened --  finally, finally, finally.

One night around January first, I was sitting alone at my favorite bar having one beer and writing things down that I thought were pretty silly at the time.

This place is a tiny reproduction of an "authentic" pub and it works because they have a million beers and the smell is right - beer-ish.
I only ever drink fireman's four, unless they are out, and no one ever bothers me. It's all restaurant people and psuedo-businessman, I guess, mostly just very unpretentious people. I like it for that.

So I had this idea about our "lost" generation and how ridiculously torn we are between ourselves and our "e-selves" and all the blog crap that I am certainly a part of.

Actually, as I am re-writing this now, I realize that we are the opposite of the lost generation of Hemingway and WW1 in that era.

We are actually too "found", if such a thing is possible. There is no such thing as a private identity anymore.

Are there words for this phenomenon? Too much? too exposed, too unhidden, too not alone, too surrounded? If someone knows, please tell me. There are still many words we have yet to invent.

I thought of how many people like me there are - so cynical, and with so little comedic outlet. No one to understand us, if you will.

Except all of the nameless faces....

The first song came to me, and the rest just made sense all over again.

Since then,  many things have happened. My cousin got married in January, and his sister, my cousin and closest friend, came back from Hawaii for good.

So when my cousin came back from Hawaii, other cousin's wedding was going on that week.

I had somehow talked my way into singing a song at their reception, which happened to be Ray Lamontagne's Best Thing. I regret that that whole experience was never recorded.

Cousin #1 who we'll call Debbie and #2 who will be Dave, had grown up next door to us (me and my sister).

Debbie was a bridesmaid in the wedding, and had brought her friend from the 50th state to stay here indefinitely.

Dora, as she will be named here, had jumped at this chance at the last minute.

They had lived together for several years back in Honolulu, by the way, and know each other quite well.

Dave and Debbie's parents, my aunt and uncle, sprung for the wedding in the church where they worked and worshiped.

It became a community event, with my mom the costume designer, custom tailor, and fomer custom wedding dress designer; designing and making the dress with the help of Dave's fiance "Delia".

Delia and her mother had also come over several times to work out the details of the dress including lace, fitting, and so on, as brides do.

However, unlike many brides which I have seen throughout my life, during my mom's home fitting years, she declined to "bridezilla".

On December 31, 2010, I was at my new job downtown. My mom was there with two friends from work.

My mother had not yet met her (foreshadowing!) future possible fiance.

They were a stylish couple, the girl being from Germany, very fluent in English with just a slight accent, and always pleasantly smiling and looking well-dressed. Her husband was also attractive, well-dressed and quiet. They were the best example of a great match that I have seen in a while.

They were all drinking a little champagne (little bottles!) and sangria as I finished my silverware and only just was able to change really quick and be done before they left.

We strolled down the street. It was very cold for this part of the country, although my black out-of-season dress was okay. American hubby was smoking a cigarette with a zippo lighter, which I remember clearly for some reason.

We went to a couple of places and it was pretty okay, considering I had no plans really.

Downtown was moderately busy. I had no desire to shove myself into heavy crowds near the middle of sixth, although my friends were calling and wanted to meet up.

The night was uneventful. I met up with two friends, had a couple of drinks, and went back to my car after my mom picked me up.

I remember how anticlimactic the new year's moment was.

How dull, I thought, not caring. I was similarly ambivalent that my boyfriend at the time had not called me or been present for the "new years kiss". No big deal.

I was just happy that everyone got home ok. Knowing my friends... Good thing.

What should I do, internet world?

Should I proceed along the path of what I want, and what I previously believed to be my calling towards "changing the world" or at least giving a crap about it, or just give up and contribute to the total and complete opposite of everything that I ever thought was worth fighting for, because I am sick and tired of the starving artist/writer/musician act?

If I had kids, I would say I was doing it for them (the writing/environmentalism). 

If I had a shred of self-respect or any idea of how to throw back the education I've so effortlessly wasted into the faces of those who would, with similar disinterest, laugh in my respective face; I would tell them to shove it.

Since I have neither, I will carry on. . .

If I had a bit of self-control, I wouldn't have this dilemma. I also wouldn't have a shred of humor or a lick of common sense, and so on and so forth.

I know I could do the job of helping everyone to understand the world, if not fixing it, but it's too little and much too late now. I have legitimate reasons for believing this, also.

One time about a month ago I was considering the finer points of dramatic theater, and the next I was staring at the shreds of my sad little car, wrecked beyond recognition. It was certainly in the top five saddest moments ever!

My cousin was recently being really upset about her ferret who's really old and about to die. That is delving into another long story which I have yet to even think about.

It made me think about how attached we can get to places and things and people and situations although we know they are over, or simply not right.

Here's another awful example. I'm still talking to my ex but in love with someone else who is far away both physically and metaphysically.

I know that the reality might set in but I'm still not sure.

Like, how many songs have I written now, about this guy? About four, I can tell you. And one picture I'm working on. It's dogs, Andy Warhol style. I wish.

So the lost cause of my life could be saved by selling out in the ultimate way.

Otherwise, I am kneeling in the smoldering ruins, dramatically speaking, of everything I every worked for, in the 25 years of my life because really that's how long I was in school.

And I don't care what any cab driver tells me, six years is not a super long time thank you very much, to graduate!!

My furniture is long gone, as are most of my other stuff that I sold last year because of not having any money.

I wanted to do the writing anyway, for some reason.

To stay up night after night because I just "have to know" and it all turns out that no one really cares anyway.

Actually, people care a lot when they are mad about something.

I'm as guilty as anyone. I have gotten into stupid arguments with my boss over things like --- seriously ----- the "sweatiness" of water glasses that were on a table, untouched, for just a few minutes when the people didn't show up.

It's a drought here, just so you know, the worst since 1895?

I poured those waters back into a pitcher.

Petty victories are the best. That's a joke, by the way.

So I have issues, but am I done? For good?

It's scary to think about trying to contact people I used to work for just a month ago.

Might as well be an eternity, as far as that's concerned.

If I do nothing, I'm just giving up for good - and even burning references that may have slightly helped me for grad school.

Emphasis on slightly.

If I leave now and go work on the oil rig, I might screw that up as well and also lose that teeny bit of soul that I had left.

But have money for food and gas. And, ironically, a huge amount of time to write blogs.

Terry Pratchett is a constant source of inspiration for me.

His analogy of the golden golem in "Making Money" symbolizes, to me, something which is both a blessing and an unshakeable curse.
It's also a way of saying that sometimes what you think you want can be what really destroys your life - or conversely, what actually sets you free from the crushing and dehuminizing constraints of "proper" society.

In "Money" the main character Lipwig is haunted by his criminal past, but unable to reconcile his new identity with who he really is.
He admits his confliction to the reader, and in the semi-omniscient narrative style that Pratchett uses; his moral battle is both very funny and very terrifying.
Lipwig wakes, nearly every night, to nightmares of narrowly escaping death, and yet fantasizes about returning to the excitement of the quasi-evil lifestyle from which the oppressive yet somehow merciful Vetinari saved him.
(Note: Vetinari represents streamlined, modern dictatorship, or in other words, capitalism. He gains what he can from any situation and otherwise is indifferent to people's lives.)

In Pratchett's Discworld, class warfare and racism are constantly acknowleged themes.

He jokes about political correctness, however;  imaginary  characters like "Igors" and Golems illustrate prejudice and the unlikelihood of overcoming societal constraints.

These exaggerated stereotypes are especially effective in "Money". Pratchett's characters are entrenched in questionable morality, yet are compellingly likeable.

Another main character is an weak-willed beauracratic elitist with a strange obsession with the "evil" dictator Vetinari.

I think Lipwig's character represents both who we are, and who we are REALLY in a classic freudian sense. 

However, like many characters in Pratchett's novels, Lipwig has no right to be redeemed by his new and "better" actions as bank president. Often, he betrays both himself and others through his inability to decide.
He says half-jokingly, "If you stand still, your mistakes will catch up to you".

I feel like Lipwig now, in the way that I've been false to myself and to others around me, but can't find a reasonable way to remedy it, or even a "why":
Why live the false life, in other words, rather than giving in to Mr. Hyde?

"Oh, that reason", he says, in reference to his ever-abroad fiance.

Is that my reason, for doing things? Is it a good one, or should I, like Arthur Dent in the Hitchhiker's Guide, spend all of time traveling only to find the "one" and then the world finally gets blown up again?

Who is my Lipwig for Adora Belle (from Terry Pratchett) or my Arthur Dent of Tricia McMillan-  or my Landen of Thursday Next (from Jasper Fforde) ?  Did i find him?

I just got a call from a lady at people recruit in South Korea. I had sent my resume recently, thinking we'll just see what happens.

They replied quickly with the basic requirements. Yes, you only need a degree (it says at LEAST an undergraduate) and be able to live there for a year in accordance with immigration laws. You do not need to speak the language or even have teaching experience.

Oh, and the job is teaching conversational English.

So we will see - she says the first step should be applying for the FBI background check, a process which will take six weeks.

"So, while you are waiting you can still think about it," she said.

Indeed.

I'm using this book "the Smart Woman's Guide to Resumes and Job Hunting." I know, it's like is that from the 70's?

Anyway, they tell us that anyone will benefit, etc:
Have little or no professional experience. Check.
Recent graduates. Check (although becoming less recent!)
Have gaps in employment history. Absolutely.
Want to move on to the next level in chosen field. Yes, and I'll take some of the "want to change career options" just in case.

So, what I'm wondering is what to focus on in this current resume. The problem I find, is that while I have some experience it doesn't look all that impressive or "top of the pile" to say, "freelance experience" and so on. 

The book says if you are having some of these issues, one way is to do the non-chronological format. 
So, the objective should be concise and "avoid the 'I'm anyone you want me to be'" approach.
Then for your experience it says list paid and volunteer experience separately, so I'm guessing internships fall into that category. Actually, it's either-or. 
As for the format itself, there's either chronological or 'functional' which seems like a last-resort kind of thing. 

AAAARRRRGGGHHH. 

Being, positive, not, getting, irritated.

This is great: "As a woman, you share many challenges with your working sisters. But you are also a unique individual with dreams and goals that are yours alone."

Dream on, sisters!

Hope I'm not breaking any copyright laws, so 
Copyright 1995 by Julie Adair King and Betsey Sheldon