The Meaning of the word "Broke"

I am now officially 'broke.'

I just sat down & paid most of my
bills for August, and I am left with
less than $100, with no job in sight.

I know this is probably obvious, but I
am, at this point, scared shitless.

What the Fuck?

This is the question I am asking myself today:
Why the fuck did I waste all the time & money
I've wasted on getting an education, one that
should, by all accounts, get me a better job,
one that will sustain me in the lifestyle I am
accustomed to (which is currently at the poverty
level, I have no income at all)??
No, seriously, what's the point of getting an
education when, once you graduate, you have no
hopes of getting a job, no way of paying back
your student loans, and you are still living
right on the edge? I swear to goddess, I am
this close to living in my car, I'm worried about
what will happen to my cats, where will they go??

I so want to blame our government for this, it seems
so ridiculous (but also true) that the gov't makes a
lot of money of this education industry, in the form
of student loans of course, all the interest, the
ease in which anyone who wants to go to a good school
can get loads of money in which to do so. That
person has the haze of higher education over their
eyes: they think that everything they are learning
is going to be useful in the near future, they
are going to get a job in their chosen field, they
will be successful in some manner. I know this
must happen for some folks but I know it does not
happen for us all. Degrees that train you for
nothing will get you nothing. Right now the only
people calling me back about jobs are diners and
cafe's, and I didn't go to grad school to work
in some goddamn cafe. But that's where I'll
be working, if they fucking hire me, because
that's what a MA in English will fucking get you.

PICKLE

The OCD Waiting Room

Job interviews: gotta love 'em.

So I had an interview today at a publishing company here
in Nashville, for some type of editing job. I didn't do any
research on this company before going to the meeting,
although I probably should have.
I get there early, my appointment is at 11.45am. I expect
to wait a few minutes, no big deal. The receptionist pages the
Dr.-----, who I am to interview with. I see him walk, several
times, around the balcony of the second floor, as I am sitting
and waiting patiently, tiring quickly of looking at the horrid
flowery oil paintings, and the tiny sliver of the bookstore I can
see from my seat, which is filled with African-American themed
religious materials. Oh, this company is a Baptist publishing house...
So Dr.---- sees me sitting in the sparse lobby, he knows I am waiting.
Around 12.05, he has the receptionist send me to the top of the
stairs to meet him. He then ushers me into his secretary's office,
and gives me a slight apology: they are still interviewing, they
are slightly behind, it will be five more minutes...
After another twenty minutes, I am steaming. I am furious.
By the time 12.30 rolls around, I cannot take it any longer. I
get up and leave.
The entire time I'm waiting, though, a million thoughts are
rushing through my mind. Sitting in that lobby, I realized
that I didn't want to be sitting in that lobby, waiting for someone
to look over my credentials, size me up, see if I'm good enough.
I didn't want to waste my time and energy trying to get a position
that isn't really suited for me. I know what I want to do, and sitting
there waiting for someone else is NOT going to get me where I want
to be.
I also realized this: it is not cool to keep someone with OCD
waiting for too long. I would have talked myself right out of
that job for some reason or another, 45 minutes is way too
long to keep a person waiting, leaving them to obsess about
this or that or the other.... and it's just fucking rude, to top
it off.
So do I feel guilty about leaving before giving this whole
thing a chance? Not really. And I hope it stays that way.

Three Things

Three things, three phrases, that have given me pause this week:

Read: "desire had kicked me in the stomach"

Email from sister, quoting Neil Young:
"I crossed the ocean for a heart of gold"

Etta James, singing: "I want a Sunday kind of love"

I am making connections in my head....

Hanging Up

Man is the cruelest animal.
Friedrich Nietzsche.

Why is that? Why is it, that the animal that is supposedly
the most intelligent, the most evolved, can also be the
most cruel? Uncaring? Uncouth?

I was talking to my sister yesterday about our lovely
childhood, how our mother would yell at us instead
of talking to us; how I was the bad kid and so my
sister was able to avoid most of the yelling. It was
mostly directed at me, because as most of my friends
know, I am a horrible person.... HA. So anyway, we
talked about how our mother will get angry with us
as adults, and she's picked up the habit of just
hanging up the phone, instead of talking through
things. I've hung up on her many times, but all those
times were when I was about sixteen. I think I've
matured a little since then. But seriously, if you care
about a person-- and one should care about their own
children-- then why would you treat them like some
unworthy stranger, and hang up in their face? It dawned
on me, during this conversation with my sister, that if
I really cared about a person, I wouldn't hang up in their
face; so what does this tell me about my own mother?