Monday, October 25, 2004

last week

last week i was getting somewhat irritated. it started with the rain and with a job opening at a gallery down in Cloud Mountain. now, the last thing i've ever wanted is a job that has anything to do with a gallery, but, being that it is and i was still being paid $6 and hour under the table and only part time by the glass studio, i made up a resume and dropped it off at the gallery in Cloud, with them telling me, their eyes full of suprise to see me, that the job doesn't actually start accepting applications for a month. They took the resume anyway. Two days later i get laid off from my job at the glass studio. Limetown is harsh, the majority of businesses honestly don't make it. My employer had to lay off everyone; funds are just too thin. She's done this before and something tells me she'll be calling me back sometime in the future. I didn't let it bother me until the following day when i began my frantic job searching on the web. I had been called back by a publishing house that i'd sent my resume to a few weeks ago, they had warned me that the job was an hour and a half away from me but i told them i was looking to relocate anyway, so they scheduled me for an editor test. i was able to get online to download the paperwork only just the day before the test, on which form i found that they wanted someone familiar with the Chicago Manual of Style and the American Psychological Association guide to writing or some titles of that kind. I checked out the two from the library and tried hurriedly to read them during a single afternoon, and in the Chicago manual i actually read something interesting: over and over in that book it emphasized "words worthy of going into print," "ideas worth printing," text that is "worth printing." The reason i found these phrases interesting, that whole vantage-point on writing, the vantage point of the publisher of text; was that it reminded me of something i'd forgotten, or hadn't thought of for a long time; that writing, in a sense, is both a luxury and a necessity; a luxury when looked at in one way, a necessity in another, the same way spoken language is. Printing words for everyone to see, in a way, is a vital task that must be done for certain words... why does it suprise me, sometimes, when it occurs to me or i am reminded of it, that written words still hold some kind of sacred significance, that it's not all just flashing black lines on paper and computer screens that people pay for sometimes and not other times? This, and the words of Philip Roth; that writing is a way of thinking, not a record of previously-had thoughts, have behaved like strangely invaluable reminders, waking me up, in a way, to what i knew before but which has been drowned out over the years, by a dominant culture which screams every thought as it comes into its head. I took the editor test the following day. Failed. My spelling still sucks ass the way it always did in bloody grade-school... They said i did better on the "more difficult" part of the test, which involved finding zillions of little errors in an error-ridden text, so they said that i could take the test again... six months from now. so, i'm suprisingly unemployed again. applied to work in this bookstore where i sit, and where i already spend a good number of hours... and searching online again, over and over and over day after day, wondering if any of the people behind any of these online job-postings actually exist, that publishing house was i think the second-ever response i ever got from a job posting, the first being a goth club that contacted me back to apologize that painting the walls of the place was actually not what they meant to advertize; but they wanted people to exhibit art there. that place actually became the first place i ever exhibited my art in, and my friends in SandGun later would both show their art there as well. The three of us would also, as fate would have it, later show up at the place just to dance, get smashing drunk, almost get into fights with smashing drunk goths and their friends, and have a number of freak-friendly experiences... Well, getting back to the story i thought i was telling when i began this, searching for money and for work of pretty much any kind has been the miserable obsession of the last few days, moving the other projects i was engaged in behind. it's really annoying how that freakish need to get re-employed shows up again every other month... just when i think that i'm set for one job or another for a while, then something happens and it turns out i'm not going to have a reliable income after all, and i have to panic again just because i guess that's what people are supposed to do when this happens... it's kind of hard not to... it's also kind of hard to understand how this keeps happening to me: how i manage, even after all this while, to still not have a goddamn job. Now Charlie Nightengale came home and told me that his daughter's friends who have a photo-develloping place are going to hire me and i absolutelly could not take him seriously. this would be, what, the 8th time he's told me he had a job-hookup for me that turned out not just to be bogus but to be hilariously beyond-bogus... he himself has been unemployed for a number of months now and is also applying to borders. oy. it's not that i need that much money, it's just that it's so much more reassuring knowing your funds are going up instead of down. sigh. i should have known the glass-shop gig wasn't going to last... maybe i'm not meant to find a job yet; the only thing i seem to excell at is staying unemployed.


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