xeryfyn's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jobs, jobs and more jobs.. So, I am working retail right now and I am only getting one shift a week. Not so cool. This job hunt needs to step up the pace a bit. I am getting tired of looking at the classifieds and even more tired of prying the good jobs from the schmucky ones. At this point I know that I should just accept anything that comes my way, but there is something that is holding me back...pride, maybe...or the five years I spent sweating my degree out of myself? Well...I am slowly putting my resume into various places and am beginning to dread the awful interview processes. Like being scrutinized and judged all in the same second of walking in the door. I am also reading language arts manuals and grammar books for fun right now too. Can't be too immersed in your field, say I. Still, it would be nice if we could simply waltz out of the university into a cushy teacher's lounge and duke it out with the unworthy teachers who are too stagnated and old to see that they are no longer reaching the present generation with their Lord of the Flies novels or stuffy essay topics. Not that I am bitter or contentious, I am sure that one day, the future graduation classes from the Faculty of Ed will feel the same about me. God help me see that my time has come and step from my job with grace and humility. Right. Enough ranting, it raises my blood pressure and my heart rate. Not exactly the thing to do before bed. And once there, in bed, I mean, I will be bombarded with dreams and nightmares the width and breadth of which I can never quite remember come morning. I just wake up with a twingy kind of melancholy and a strange feeling of lack. Lack of what, I am not sure, but I think that over-analysis of what I potentially dreamt is not going to do anyone an ounce of good, much less me. I feel like I need to write a story, but can not bring myself to do anything more than scribble words on a page and doodle frilly flowers on their borders. There are no words that form cohesive lines of thought. Something is holding me, as surely as though I am being sat upon. I know, I know, the answer is probably linked to the entry from a few days back. Excuses. I am strong enough to force that behind me and move forward with both my thinking and my life. Right. I think if I continue to tell myself that, I will one day come to believe it. And I suppose that is one reason I am reading language arts books. They are filled with techniques for eroding writer's block and dancing around sentence structure to pull out the marrow of the writing, to suck the creative juices from my pen and sink them, clearly and unabashedly onto the page. And there, they stare at me, like accusations unspoken. Daring me to do something with them. And I tear them from the book, pulversizing the paper into a ball and screaming inside for my lack of backbone. OK. Breathe. In and Out. Alright. I am going to bed. 12:15 a.m. - 3/12/2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- How to Face the Upstairs Neighbours... As I sit here, I wonder how I am going to go knock on the door upstairsin the morning. Every day they drive me crazy (next time we move, it will be with NO ONE above us!) because they run around like a herd of elephants and use gallons and gallons of water, all the time. And now it is catching up to them. The ceiling around the bathroom is beginning to crumble down here. there is a sizable crack and water dripping everywhere. Now I dont sleep easily or soundly on good (read: silent) nights, so the fact that I have a homemade Chinese Torture chamber built right in isn't helping matters at all! So, I got up, determined to make this night somewhat productive by sitting down and writing on the computer, but no, they are up, right above me in the living room (not even in the bedroom, where I can't hear them) moaning like donkeys in heat. And she is LOUD! Christ, I often wonder what their children are thinking on these nights (they have two little kids about 2 & 4). She honestly sounds as though she is dying a milliion agonizing deaths. Do they drug their kids before they go at it, or what? If it is so loud down here, I can't imagine being in the next room. Ok. enough of this. It is bad enough but, having to knock on their door in the morning will be downright embarassing...I dont think that I'll get much sleep tonight. *Sigh* Sorry, I had to vent somewhere.. 11:50 p.m. - 2/6/2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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