I guess it's time to start sending them out again. Yep yep... here are the ones that have floated in, all likely due to... but interestingly not only part of, The One-of-Many Postcard Project.

My heart still beats for such arrival. glamorous eyeflutter sigh.

Postcard 21



Postcard 22



Postcard 23



Postcard 24

Labels: postcard project

Good thing H is the most beautiful dog in the world, because thing's have been odd for certain.

Granted, I recently managed a winter teaching gig at the local cc, which is nice, also because it's a new class for me - up a level this time, which ought to be aboveall, new. Also, today tutoring was crazy - two and a half hours of paper writing (me learning more about reading comp and helping too and etc) and environmental science.

But man. I misspelled Ballot last blog. I brooded.

Other than that, I've wondered lately. Trying to figure out how to set new goals, since all my old goals have either been vetoed-by-maturance, or accomplished. And in that line of focus, rrrrgrrrr to the specific idea of community for being an extreme difficulty (I guess the 60s weren't an anomaly) but real good-O to art schoolies and knowledge dedication, and/or crew or misfits- for being peaceful, sometimes kind and fun crazy. Congrats to individuals for being so ruddy beautiful, but grrrrrrr to those same individuals for being spread so very far. Congrats to me for working intensely for so long, but a big "you suck" for being, after all that, undisciplined and very panicky/unclear afterwards.

I notice this country I live in tries, grandly, to support certain kinds of growing towards adulthood - the kind that involves male bachelors, marriage and/or family. Being outside the three is potentially weird, I think, but potentially important as well. I don't mean to harp on it, and keep yapping about it, or at least by that I mean to apologize for not having found a place to be proud of, but what archetype/template exists for alternates, alternatives, and aliens - those whose sense of belonging or happiness is predicated only on our dreams?

In recent research: did you know that 1882 immigration regulations barred America from, specifically, "convicts, lunatics, idiots, and persons likely to become public charges," and that later "loathsome" and then "idiots, imbeciles, and morons" were caveats added to legislation? Perhaps, were all these mandates applied to those already (via vaginal migration) considered Citizen, mass deportation might have been the result? From my perspective of course. But of course from my perspective, abortion opponents, bible thumpers, rich people, or heterosexual marriages wouldn't be... no, I guess I'd accept them, not being one to define everything legitimate in direct alignment to my own fascination with... myself.

I mean, "Idiots, Imbeciles, and Morons" and later racial quotas that barred Asians? Ouch, that was rather embarrassing to read. I don't know why it shocked me so much though, considering our history. But really, according to the story, not much is pretty about the battle to mark out and define belonging to this, the American soil.

Via what simple young-adult nonfic I've read, it seems that everyone new has made it more difficult for everyone next to be new. In light of all that, I can't help but either growl in the faces of those who bar odd passage, or wrap my arm around others' shoulder and say, hey, who do you think is next?

Hmmm. Anyhow, any of ya'll who know something about 1950 Mexican-American immigration or illegal border crossings: feel free to email me. I'm interested.

In the meantime, how did this friggin' pup turn out so much like his mum despite absolutely no genetic inheritance? (and no, I don't mean how adorable he is; just how lazy)

Hallelujah.

I finally, after a visit to the local courthouse, after three failed 'registerings', have my ballet. And I know what to do with it.

I hope firstly that Obama is elected.

I hope secondly and more importantly that the difficulties and disasters and economic shitholings, all despair-raiding issues and more- this man and the intelligent peoples he chooses to cabinet, can and will rise rise and help us all to change to survive. Too much focus lately on divisions, not enough on how to make our lives and others and other creatures a go.

Herald endorses Obama. So do I. But more than that, we both endorse the idea of long-term inclusion, thriving bodies, artistic, physical, tough-riding and intellectual achievement. Possibles in a nation that has recently spent so much energy slandering possibility and humanity in honor of conquest... we can perhaps make something sustainable, greenish or greenly and greenhorn, force Obama, Senate, Reps, Ourselves to live up to what our world certainly, certainly needs.

Hmph. What can I say, other than I'm scared more for the fabric than for myself. I am confident in my primitive self but consider the rest a delicate mechanism like a floating web at dawn.

I think I'm going to have to leave Bville. There just aren't any friggin' jobs here. Yeah, so: I didn't get the group interview job with the bunch of crazy peoples who had 15-20 years more experience than me and were still applying for a job that paid 26K a year, full-time no benefits.

Depressed again. Trying to get psyched up to find something wonderful somewhere else. How is it possible to feel more unqualified the more experience and education I receive? Is America set up to make sure everyone has to move away? I know I learned tons at SAIC, so how can I overcome the "Artsy Fartsy" bias I think I get from businesses and schools? How do I explain that experience so the intensely practical and constant-action learning character of it comes across? Where should I look (how many places at once)? Should I be saving every penny right now to pay a pet and security deposit?

Sigh.

Cute Puppies:

A Friend: "So, you asking me that question is basically like a one-armed lady going up to a limbless person and asking for advice on..."

Me (interrupting): "...how to climb creatively."

Same Friend: "Your compliments are like receiving an Easter basket and scraping through the contents only to realize it's all green plastic grass."

And so it goes, and so it goes. It is fall, you know? It is fall. I can't believe it; I tried to deny it for some time, but it's true, this summer was a greased loogie, shot out a nostril and onto the dinner table in two seconds flat.

I probably only got to swim outside about five or six times, and usually I'm out there about every other day. It just never got warm enough. The last several times I went swimming, I gasped when the water came anywhere near me, it was so darn cold. Sigh. Swimmy swimmy need swimming non-Clorine'd.

I should've known it was fall when my birthday came and went, or I should've known it was fall when my Grandparents migrated south, but perhaps I should've known it was fall when the leaves started to turn and the tomato plants caught blight. Breaking out the hats, tucking away the shorts, thinking about Halloween, the pumpkins and gourds at the local fruit stand, putting my snorkeling gear into storage, the first wood fire in my mother's house, Herald getting some thicker curls, all the plums gone from the tree, all the apples nearly gone, and that smell. Or perhaps my recent activities should've tipped me off, but really I think it was the light rim of frost last night as I paced around talking to my friend over the phone: it's Autumn, true.

*

Eeeyaaaaaeah, so things have been going pretty nicely. Now that I'm reconciled to having had the briefest summer ever, and a cold Fall setting it, I'm feeling rather fond of its crisp scent, that little edge it puts on everthing. Autumn feels like a brisk schedule, a full sheet of paper. It makes me feel purposeful even if I'm not. But perhaps I am.

I had an interview this Thursday - it was a relief simply to have one, so much so that I almost forgive the interview for being what it was. Which was something of a wash. Or maybe that's a little too vague, and it was far more informative than vague.

It was a Group Interview.

Which meant that there was little ol' me, three bosses, two employees, and... five others being interviewed simultaneously. We went around in a circle, duck duck goose. I was the goose rather frequently, but the inherent nature of the game allowed us all the opportunity to honk about awkwardly.

On the negative side: the dynamic was horrible; nobody settled out of their nervousness at any point, and if anything, it got more unbearable as time went on, and when I said stupid, stupid things, I wasn't able - as I usually am - to catch myself, go back, and explain better, because time was so pressing and twenty thousand eyes were looking at me. I think I managed to: make fun of bosses, misuse the word 'defer', avoid saying anything about my actual experience, and fail to make eye contact with the person I'd be working directly under.

Back to the positive side of things, I learned what big BS-ers the vast majority of people are. I had to stop myself from snorting out loud at least twice - once when someone listed and described "their perfectionism" as being one of the greatest challenges they'd have to deal with on this job (I think I read that answer somewhere), and the second time when someone said he dealt with the stresses of multi-tasking by "ignoring everyone." Then I got to watch perfectly skilled and experienced people melt down in front of my very eyes; one guy who seemed pretty awesomely qualified, and old enough to command a little age-respect, quivered whenever he spoke, and was extremely mousy. And I also got to hear the difference between "good on paper" and "psychotic in person" when one lady described the recent empathy-training classes she had been taking, and how it changed her life because all of a sudden she could relate to people. Heh-heh.

Actually, it was pretty neat seeing who I am potentially up against in any applicant pool for a job that pays almost nothing. They were all more experienced in the field than I am, but my impression was that I'm a bit cleverer and socially able. Pat on back, sigh.

But back to the real world, after a night of bad interview dreams, things are still going okay here. I seem to be busy most of the time, am still enjoying tutoring, and am being pretty diligent about working out every day to take off some of the many stress-pounds that I've gained. I have a plan for most days, and will be starting on a short-term landscaping project with a friend who kicked some work my way.

In between it all, I had time to take Herald to the vet to be snipped, and also the beach to suck up for my treachery. He charmed everyone at the vet's office; they all rushed out to say goodbye to him, and so I also pat myself on the back for that one, as I have trained him to be extremely, extremely cuddly when he's waking up from a nap or nighttime or drugged stupor. He is actually really friggin' adorable. Good thing or I'd have to take him back.

I went on an art walk last night, all by my lonesome, and enjoyed it despite feeling a little lonesome. I hinted around to my dad that he might join me, but he had to attend another literary event (with someone I introduced him to four years ago) that he didn't invite me to join. Hmph. I was supposed to meet up with a buddy, but she had life run amuck on her, so that didn't happen either. But I'm getting a bit better at doing things alone again, after getting used to always having a friend to meet up with in Chicago. This has been a weird adjustment (back), but I also realize that it potentially encourages me to talk more with the people I meet out there, and less to the person I already know and am hanging out with.

I wasn't a big fan of most of the artwork on the walk; too frequently I saw either 1) traditional landscapes with lightening, 2) replicas of Picasso, Miro, or O'Keefe, or 3) artwork that was interesting in either concept or material, but not both. However, I did like some knitted works I saw (perhaps a NW strength?), some of the youth art & books at a skateboard store, and the collage-photo-etching prints of a Native American artist (I bought a poster from him).

Whala!

Anyhow, more about the local life and my When You Know You Are in Bville, WA During Fall list:

I went cider-pressing last weekend. Actually, I very clearly weaseled my mother's business partner into throwing a cider-pressing party. Success!

Past cider pressings I've been to have been a little more wild and intoxicant-driven, not to mention helped along by hydraulic apple chompers to make the mash for the press. This one involved more cutting and slicing of the apples, which was more tiring than one would think.

Towards the middle of the afternoon, the buddy I went pressing with last time whom I had invited to this one, showed up... making me cheer... then backed his truck up into the driveway. What you see over to your right is what he had in the back of his pickup. I thought I was going to need a few defibrillators to jumpstart the hosts' beaters and get their jawbones back into socket.

I just about laughed my head off. Rest assured, we didn't even make a dent, although he garnered 10 gallons of cider, some of which is supposed to find its way towards his wine-making brother who makes fabulous wonderful fruit wines of all kinds. I hinted strongly (actually, there was no hinting) that I would like a bottle. I also made off like a bandit, and now have frozen cider... waiting, ah waiting for the annual pumpkin-carving party.

*

The brolaw fern yeti took me mushroom hunting... Well, actually, Chanterelle hunting. Since he is off to Scotland in a month or so, my finagling finally paid off and he showed me his super-D-dooper ala Peter D Trooper sneaky, super-sneaky, private off limits, secret secret mushroom hunting spots. Now I am the guardian of future fall mushroom hunts, and I'm pretty sure I know which ones to look for.



!!!NO!!! Do you see the crazy colors on these pupplies? Yes, the do look like your prototypical Safeway safe mushroom, either that or an acorn lid atop a finger, but they are not safe! They invert the natural color scheme. If you eat them, you will never liken McCain to the abstracted allegory of Moby Dick again. You just won't get it. !!!NO!!!









!!!BAD!!! These will make your lips turn neon. Not just super-blue or red, but actually neon. Your lips will glow, and we'd have to tuck you behind a diner window. You don't want that, do you? Then don't eat these things that I don't know the names of or really know anything about. !!!WRONG!!!











!!!YOU LOSE!!! This is not a mushroom, silly. This is a lichen, which is not the same thing. At least I think it's a lichen. It doesn't look like a mushroom, does it? Anyhow: !!!YOU LOSE!!!











!!!SUCKS TO BE YOU!!! Man, if I need to tell you about this one, then you've got a problem. Seriously, this thing just looks like what the South American head-shrinkers would have pulled out of a recently opened skull, post-shrinking. And that's what it does. It makes your brain the same general size, heft and texture as your average Dubya. !!!SUCKS BAD TO BE YOU!!!











!!!HA-HA. DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH!!! Dizzy yet? Just look at it a bit longer. Still not dizzy? Then go ahead and eat it; you'll see what I mean. Again, lichen I think, not mushroom. !!!HA-HA!!!








!!!ERRRRRRRHT!!! This one almost had me convinced. I think it was the smoking red-black fuzzy caterpillar I saw on top of it. But after the brief conversation forthcoming from that puffed up junkie, I think I'd say: !!!ERRRRRRRRRHT!!!












!!!SO WRONG, SO WRONG!!! If you have to climb a tree in WA to get to upside-down mushroom like thing, you're probably on the wrong path. Probably you're climbing after some fungus or lichen, or what we fondly like to call Bear's Bread. You see what I'm talking about though? It looks tempting. !!!WRONG!!!












Viola! La Illusive PacNW Chantrelle -- more common than a sweet, good-looking lesbo, but less common than a Jesus Says sign.






*

And last but not least on the How You Know You're Living in WA During Fall list:

You might say, um, what is that? And I say: that is a rough, rough replication of my car dashboard on the morning after I left my car door open as an genial invitation for my new furry driving friend to make his happy exodus.

You see, I was driving down to the vet clinic the other day with Herald (to get him snipped) and was on the freeway when out of the corner of my eye I saw a mouse race across the passenger-seat foot area. I just about swerved off the freeway, but regained my equilibrium quickly when I remembered that I'm not a 1950's housewife with a stool. But between this and that, worrying about the puppy mainly, I forgot about the mouse until two days later, when again, I was driving and a mouse ran across the passenger-seat foot area, this time pausing to look me in the eye - deep, deep into my soul - and smirk.

At this point I decided to come up with a method of removing the mouse from my car as soon as I was at a stopping point.

Thus CR's suggestion that I leave the car door open one night so the mouse might be able to leave instead of crawling into my car wiring, dying, and then rotting.

But after looking at my dashboard the next morning, finding empty bottles of tequila, shit, seed kernals, and mirrors with angel dust tracings, I feel secure in saying that my car mouse must've misunderstood his invitation to leave as an invitation to have a party.

I threw his nest out the door and raked it apart with my tennis shoes. At least he might've invited me.

Also, as a side message to all my friends, without whom I am a miserable wasted useless and senseless hulk of an old maid: I make good nesting material. I may not be the partner in your nest, but I'd sure love to be one of the twigs. Include me, call me, ask me to babysit...

*

In case you're wondering, Herald is still the most wonderful, sweet adorable perfect puppy with curls. He's huge (about 53lbs at 4.5 months old) and is starting school this Wednesday. Both of us are excited. He's been sharpening crayons all week long, and I've been putting my hair up in curlers.

Peace. Go Obama/Biden, Ballyhoo Connecticut Supreme Court, Alleyoop Economy, Hephephep World Community, ZippyZap Alternative Technologies, and Hwacka Vision and Faith, Dedication, Intelligence and Dreams...

-How do you know if your shipmate is gay?

-I don't know. How?

-Because his dick tastes like shit.

I have no idea why that joke hit my funny bone so much, but it did.

Perhaps it's because the brolaw told it in the middle of the Palin-Biden debate, after Palin meandered on endlessly about some indecipherable demi-perspective (i.e. when she wasn't repeating obviously-scripted speeches, an occurrence that visibly lit her internal fire, but instead when she couldn't figure out how to wrestle the topic back to her own pleasure and so nattered on in circulations only non-embarrassing because she didn't weep [I lost a $1 bet in that she didn't cry, but I won $1 bet because she said "Ahmadinejad," in uncontrollable celebration of speech therapy, the number of times I predicted]). Also, my mum was in the room with said bad, bad joke and the Brolaw was obviously intoxicated in order to make it through a potentially (but not ultimately) decisive moment in American politics.

By the way, I've decided to go about job interviews just like Palin went about her debate: "While that is a question I may come back to, time permitting, I really think it's more important for me to talk about something else, like..." Puppies. My Little Ponies. My Support for Israel and Deep Thoughts on Talibananis. Flowers and Baby Butts.

Now that I'm rambling, before I get on to the optimism, I have to say straight-up that I've taken a particular dislike towards Palin. But recently I was asked to join a Facebook "Women against Palin" group and after contemplating it, I declined.

Why should I highlight my dislike of Palin in tandem to my gender? It is not only because I am a women, or even severely in collusion with my femaleness, that I dislike Palin; I would dislike her as a man, as a hermaphrodite, a moose, a foreigner, an academic, an economist, an intelligent artist who cares about life, a soldier, or even as a yellow/blue butterfly. All those, and so forth. But I especially, especially dislike Palin as an Alaskan.

11 Reasons Why I Strongly Dislike Palin specifically as an Alaskan (or Partial Alaskan) Woman rather than as just a Woman:

1) That stupid, inane accent. Um, how many people have I grown up with in Alaska who speak like that? None. So why is she talking with an 'Alaskan accent'? I don't know.

I was happy that Palin dropped said bogus Alaska-SouthernBelle accent somewhat in the recent debate (I lost a $1 bet with myself that I would erupt in anger at least 2x simply over her stupid, f-ing accent), but the whole thing still irritates me.

There is a slight lilt in Alaskan speech that bears some resemblance to a Canadian lilt, but it's not the Midwest Canadian (very emphasized). Rather, it's a West-Coast Canadianish accent with a slight elongation of certain vowels. The sound is abbreviated in comparison to Midwest accents; like, "I went oht and got some salmon." Very quick, oht not ohhhhaaat, and having more to do with an uplift in the second half of the sentence than an overemphasis on the 'oht nd a-boat.'

Anyhow, what I'm saying is, Why does she need to invent a bloody accent to emphasize her rural credentials? Nobody talks like that in Alaska. They just dohnt.

2) I hate that she used weird names for her kids because I want to use weird names for my kids if I ever have kids or at least pets, and now I feel like I shouldn't out of simple solidarity with the rest of the world.

3) Field dressing a moose; c'mon. Now it's a metaphor instead of a means of killing something not even palatable.

4) Palin is thumping that line between rural and urban that is misunderstood and perhaps even painful. This is very clever of her, I'll give her that. Rural America votes far more conservatively than do cities. Since Carter, nobody and I mean nobody, has tapped into the folkie anger about under/mis-representation; given a chance, Alaskans might consider dumping coffee into bays in lieu of tea.

Rural folks chafe against the airs given off by city people, and that's one instinct I myself have felt. If city lads were half as smart as they seem to think themselves when in the room with a genuine hick, then they'd be Einsteins indeed. Cultural differences between the city and the country have (for as long as folk tales have existed) always been a boundary, perhaps a roadblock, perhaps cheese instead of grain. The city has never communicated effectively with the country, or vice-around, and this has hurt the country's feelings so badly they pretend they don't care and that the rough-hewn edge is mightier than the urbane tip.

Looking at this differently, it's a real boon to have so many approaches to the world. After getting over my intimidation, I never felt at a disadvantage in Chicago for being something of a intelligent hick. Actually, because I loved Chicago so much, and loved Alaska, I felt that I had some advantage of both, and the means to communicate something new, particular in each place, despite whether either (or more often neither) accepted me.

Both situations are inconceivably beautiful.

Back to Palin: she is not playing on the positive differences between her state and the rest of the US. Rather, she is criticizing the city, blaming the city, criticizing the "Lower 48" as if Alaska should be some kind of model. But the solutions of Alaska are founded on the fact that it's enormous, enormously wealthy in resources, and extremely un-populated. It has multa mula at the tax level, and poverty and alcoholism at the street level, but in comparison to almost everywhere else but pre-September Wall Street, much more government realignment because that oil is on friggin public land; thus, its educational and social struggles are different than the rest of the states. It's ridiculous to hold Alaska up as a paradigm of anything but itself really, and that perspective comes from someone who really loves it.

I love AK because it's young, undeveloped. Because people there are more lonely and strange due to their isolation, or isolated due to their strange loneliness. But it's a problematic moment indeed when Palin uses Alaskan beauty, Alaskan success, pushes it up against the world of sophistry and bad, bad East Coast people. Palin is an example of the particular Alaskan corrupt; given time, she could be so much 'more'.

5) There's really not that much hockey going on in Alaska. Wasilla, for instance, doesn't have a children's hockey team that I know of, so how can Palin be a hockey mom? Wait, I've just been told how wrong I am. There is hockey. But Kodiak AK didn't ever have hockey, unless one wished to fall through the ice; perhaps Alaska is too friggin big and maritime as well as inland. Anyhow, I don't know what I'm getting at, besides: hockey without ice-making is just plain suspicious.

Anyhow, to make a real point: I'm not interested in Palin or anyone's "tolerance" - fuck that shit - acceptance, tolerance, cute-fuzzy or not -- we all fit under the basic principle of equal rights, equality, for all. And if Palin doesn't agree, I'd be willing to play hockey: Alaskan women via another type of Alaskan women.

6) My mother was a true Alaskan mother. That doesn't mean she had six children, or banned abortion if we had sex as a teenager, so we'd get married and be just like her, or had us walk on the stage late at night, toting out her other babies for photo-ops way past their bedtime. What it meant was being a single mother, working her ass off and trying intense adventures, having us carry firewood and scrape walkways clear of snow, only so as to support herself and her daughters, to offer them any possibility they wanted.

7) Alaskans are straight up being used by Republicans, all Republicans not just those Washington ones as Palin would have us believe. They and their philosophies wouldn't support anything my mother, my sister, or I have actually done out there in the world, not to mention anyone else wily and independent. Modern Repubs don't support single parents, small-business owners, singletons, or even poor workers - all that actual 'detritus' of the rural. They don't support the research that has helped make the fisheries more sustainable, nor the limitations that would make it lasting. Palin and her users would be happy raping and pillaging as long as they gave us that camera wink, the nod and a tossed penny from their glutted wallet.

I remember when the Exxon Spill happened in Alaska and the Kodiak community bolstered, yeah sure: to protest, but to also spend years cleaning up the mess. Turning over rocks, capturing oil-slicked otters and loons, seal pups; cleaning them, washing, giving-up fishing for a year, figuring out how to respond, and working together to fix the shit that they did not fuck up... well, in ways other than taking that refund check every year.

I'm a part of that huge fishing group suing Exxon for money lost due to the rough work Exxon's actions and inactions did on the environment. And I'm also part of the group who has been tossed down by the Supreme Oil Court, who recently chopped the oilspill settlement down to 1/5 of what it was originally, thus awarding Exxon [in addition to the tax breaks both Palin and Biden talk about] millions of actual blood money. Exxon is even now continuing... pressing to get the interest cut off that same settlement (for the years they've stalled for that 4/5 refund); never before has a company done this and gotten away with it, but new ground might be broken right now with this partisan Supreme Court.

For me, this means maybe a thousand dollars of fishing money that I would have spent on college anyway, were fishing not so aversely affected. For others, it means their self-employed business records even more of a loss.

How can Alaskans support Republicans, who don't support the individuals, the communities, the small towns, the small businesses, the community action that makes Alaska so wonderful, that makes it really what it is because it is so small, so lucky even? Is the refund check really worth so much; are they bribed so easily by the fox? If I went into a small town and promised everyone a $5 bill right now if they voted for me, would they take me up even if I were planning on tricking them out of $500 later?

At least the Democrats are honest when they say: I'm going to take $50 from you for the good of the States, but $15 of it is going straight into my pocket.

Palin is part of the Republican Fuck-You Wagon Ride. Or Boat Ride, since it's Alaska.

8) I'm not sure I've ever seen an Alaskan woman in high heels. Let me think about that one and get back to you.

9) Alaskan women are actually more beautiful than she is, mostly because they've got tons more slurry on their sleeves.

10) Really, that accent's just horrible! No, just kidding. But it's related. Alaskans aren't the purveyors of every cliché colloquialism ever. Their speech is more interesting than that. On the water, I've met some brilliant people and tons of assholes. Sometimes they're brilliant assholes. Alaska deserves to give their best the positions of power, but that's something almost all of America has forsaken, including this particular northern state. I guess we just want a pub John or Betty to run the nation?

11) That rape-kit payment that Jon Stewart keeps talking about means something different in this particular context. If women, who are very much outnumbered in Alaska, making up much less than 50%. If women, who live in Alaska, which has a higher percentage of violence against women. If women have to pay for their own protection in Alaska, due to legislation supported by Palin, then the rapists are very much in charge of Alaska.

Naw, man, I sure hope I got it all wrong. But seriously, hopefully: America is beautiful, like and unlike many places I've been.

Anyhow, I think I promised some positivity.

I think I've also mentioned multiple times how freaked out I've been - no job, back in lovely Bville with its hiking trails but so little social, gaining weight, friends mostly in other places (missing them, missing them like a heartbeat), still (always) single, people I thought my supporters in Bville disappearing, writing slimming to a nothing - well, anyhow, I've just been feeling a bit more positive than that lately.

It's actually been okay.

I'm now tutoring a college student who has passed on my info to others since she likes me as a tutor (I like her too unlike that evil artist I still work for from time to time and feel like maiming in spite of liking her art, just because she's so.friggin.condescending and just because she.blames.me.for.two.years.ago and just because I.hate.hypocrites. I mean, this new student is a growing kid; it's nice figuring out how best to help again, and actually wanting to do so). But I've also heard back from a couple of folks at the local university.

I'd come to think of that U as somewhat Evil. No, not evil exactly, but in an antipathetic relationship with me.

For so long, I've gotten hives whenever I set foot on the campus. It's where I got my M.A. and heart broken. By heart broken, I mean smushed, my brain too. And it's also where my dad worked when I was a kid, and where they broke his heart, what coincidence. True, for him it was because he slept with a student and was shunned deservedly, whereas for me, it had to do with other events not so much my own fault although somewhat.

Anyhow, and not even paying attention to that emotional panic surrounding this U, it just seems like I've relied too much on particular friendships that have just stopped for unclear reasons - is it because I asked for too much from them? Is it because I wanted to come back to Bville, land of underemployment and visual opportunity? Is it because I'm in a different field, but don't see fields as barriers (because they're not, technically speaking)? Such have been some of the questions, with my brooding and panic as the unhelpful answer.

But recently, I've heard back from a couple of the many I've tried to contact, and that really has made me feel way better. Optimistic. Hopeful. And silly about (some of) my paranoia. I've realized something, and it's neither empowering nor otherwise - but I need some kind of positive response back from folks or else I am easily deterred. I don't need to be given a job or promised an interview or lavished in any way, but if I hear nothing, I get really depressed and sad. This is a weakness I guess; often no response is the result of even hopeful action.

Regardless, I have recently been given tips for applying, and I have a new interview lined up in different field, plus Herald is signed up for "Puppy Kindergarten," wherein he is supposed to learn how to not jump up on wheelchairs (etc), and I'm feeling really okay. Like this might be a good year, and I'm not a failure, and people mean well. And I've started writing more again; returning back to the Swallow story, but starting completely new, more systematic.

Plus, four postcards in the past week, three books from my friends in Germany, a friend coming in December to visit, and (a job interview!) my sister's going to play Scottish rugby tomorrow (heh heh heh).