zenithblue: (Default)
Wow it's been a while you guys. Let me get you caught up on my past three months:


Now you're caught up.

So obviously I've been bloody rotten at keeping up with you guys, and will likely remain so for a while. If you've got good/bad news to share, need to whinge on an empathetic shoulder, or miss me horribly and yearn for my glorious conversation, drop me e-mails at zenithblue@gmail.com. I am also bad at keeping up with my e-mail right now but I will do my best to stay in touch. I am also get-in-touchable via facebook. Just don't try to get me in on Mafia Wars, I am trying to graduate my program with at least a part of a novel.

I miss you all and hope someday I'll have a slacker job again whereby I can surf the net all day and read your blogs. Love.

end days

Jul. 12th, 2007 07:15 pm
zenithblue: (Default)
I have two more days in the branches, and one day to work at administration, and then goodbye forever Multnomah County Library. Surprisingly, i'm not getting overly sentimental. Maybe it's not surprising. After all, I'm not going to have to work, at least for a little while. I mean, I'll be working, but I won't have a day job for at least a year.

I'll miss MCL in a lot of ways. It's been a good home to me these past five years. As [personal profile] te_amo_azul says, it's the best of the slacker jobs. Decent pay for part time work, a chance to build community and get paid for it, a chance to be surrounded by books every day. There are ever frustrations in any job, and the library has its share. My exit survey was not shall we say kind or gentle. That said, my boss is awesome, I've met lots of great people. And it was the job that allowed me to get my life back together after the Panic of '03.

Plus, a major selling point that it's not Spartacus.

In any case, the only time I sort of teared up was last week when a shy woman who I've always loved working with, who I've always had a sort of gently empathic working relationship with, gave me a hug before leaving for the day. Not one of my closest friends at the library, but a woman I like and respect, with her own private pains tucked behind her eyes. I just remember thinking, "Who's going to know how incredible you are when I'm gone?"

Which is a thought that has all the major zenithblue flaw groups covered: vainglorious, narcissistic, nosy, and too involved in other people's bid-ness. I rule.

In any case, three more days. Three! I've been very well behaved, but all I can say is that on Saturday patrons should probably be warned at the door. "Okay, don't...don't leave scraps of paper on her desk, she hates that. And don't ask her to shred your personal paperwork. She will very possibly put that on the internet today. Um, and please don't ask for her to waive your enormous fines simply because you're an entitled yuppie fuck. And...well, just don't make eye contact, all right? Yeah, that's probably for the best."
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A woman walked up to me at the circulation desk today, a prim middle-aged women with a tight lipsticked line for a mouth. She looked at me sort of embarrassed for a minute, then said: "You know, wearing a shirt like that really just encourages people to look at your chest."

A number of possible reactions zipped through my head.

REJECTED COMEBACK #1: "Really?" A pause. "So are you saying I should be charging more per hour?"

REJECTED COMEBACK #2: (getting jiggy behind the counter) "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard..."

REJECTED COMEBACK #3: (grabbing a handful of tit and shrieking) "Stop looking at my dirty pillows!"

REJECTED COMEBACK #4: "Yeah, I like to lead the eye to my lady lumps, if you know what I'm saying. Keeps people from catching wise that I'm stealing their credit card numbers. How did you say you wanted to pay for your fines?" 

WHAT I ACTUALLY SAID: (sweet as sugar) "Thanks for the fashion advice!"

...which I thought was very well-behaved of me, all things considered
zenithblue: (Default)
My attitude at work has improved exponentially now that I've found out I don't have to be there every day for the rest of my life. It's much easier to be cheerful now that I don't have to feel deeply bitter about my marginally crippled hands and elbows. I am totally one hundred percent disengaged from the incredibly poor decision-making coming down from the top (sorry to all of you still hitching your wagon to MCL, I don't mean to pour salt in the wounds). I am no longer taking any of this foolishness to heart. Oddly enough, instead of feeling bored and angry all day, now I just feel very cheerily functional.

The unfortunate side effect is that I'm feeling kind of cocky. Not cocky like "I'm the smartest person in the world" (even though it's obviously true), but cocky like the cop on any given crime show who has nothing to lose and plays by her own rules (imagine that in the cool grizzled voice-over voice you hear in movie previews). I've caught myself walking with a swagger a few times. Picture me in suspenders and a badge leaning over the desk of the commissioner yelling, "I don't care what those fuckwits at city hall say, Stromboli is going down! I don't care who he's got in his pocket!" That's the equivalent of how I feel every time I see, say, the Neighborhood Libraries manager. Or the Access Services manager. Anyone on the X-team, honestly. This is totally bitchy of me but every time I see one of those individuals all I can think is, "You don't fucking own me. And I'm better than you."

I'm not particularly proud of feeling this way, but it's also kind of fun. Human beings get to spend so much of their time on earth feeling helpless and annoyed that I'm comfortable indulging myself for the tiny fragment of time I get to spend feeling empowered and earth-striding. The library has been, overall, a tremendously good thing in my life these past few years, and I came into the job desperately needing what it had to offer (money being the least  of it--also some self-respect, peace of mind, and the opportunity to pay my bills while becoming a writer). But these days I just feel immensely done with it, like I've outgrown it--by that I don't mean it's a waste of my time or I'm too good to work for my supper, but only that the part of my journey that includes MCL is over. As [personal profile] te_amo_azul says, it's the best possible slacker job. But it's not exactly a career, and it's a less viable long term option with every passing day (thanks to a number of shitty planning moves, mostly).

So, yeah. I'm feeling pretty good. Hopefully my sass won't get me in trouble. I'm not ready to turn in my gun and badge yet.
zenithblue: (Default)
So initially, when I got my grad school applications in, I was too tired/bitter/frustrated to care about the outcome. But a month later, well-slept and recovered, I'm starting to get anxious about replies. Not frantic or anything, but eager to hear the results so I can then plan for the next several months.

There is a possibility that I won't get in...I'm not being self-deprecating, but these are selective programs with subjective panels. It could happen that my work doesn't resonate with the readers, or that they hate magical realism, or that they hate characters named Peter, or that they had indigestion when they read my story, or what have you. So here is my backup plan.

1) Burn rejections with fire.
2) Drink for a few days in my underwear and most expensive jewelry (retail value: $30). Note to self: Elizabeth Taylor wig?
3) Plan trip to Europe.
4) Work on establishing a freelance clientele, maybe copywriting or something.
5) Find twenty hour clerk position at regular branch, for some security whilst freelancing.
6) Look into purchasing home with Hodge, somewhere in Portland if we're lucky and suddenly miraculously rich.

That is all.
zenithblue: (Default)

In the coffee shop down the street from where I work, there are a handful of genial young men about my age. I will hereafter refer to them as "coffee shop louts." They sit in a circle laughing and enjoying themselves. They have dogs, all of which are very cute. These louts are there in the morning when I get cup number one. They are there at lunch when I get cup number two. And on those appalling days when I am desperate enough to need cup number three, still, still these louts are there. I've even seen them eating meals from time to time.

Do they ever go home? Do they go to work? Is someone PAYING THEM to sit in the coffeeshop with their pets and talk with friends? What is going on here? 

And how the hell do I get in on it?


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