Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Shifting gears today. Yesterday got weird – hot and sunny and discontented, feeling like I had to be chasing after things. Maybe I do. But it just didn’t look or feel good yesterday. I spent a few hours looking for local jobs online, at the Ypsilanti Public Library. Disheartening. It seems I’m a square peg for which there are few round holes out there. Too square for some, too round for others. And all I want to do is just find a little work, make a little money. So, I’ll keep writing. Just want to live my normal life.
One bright job note yesterday is that I got an email from the department chair at Oakland Community College. She’s already offered me a fall writing class, and might offer me a second one. Also really has my back on that pesky winter semester plagiarism case. A student who was a very bad plagiarizer indeed. At any rate, OCC is earlier and more dependable than my other so-called job. This counts if the pay’s a bit less – not by much – and the BS is way less, so it evens out.
Somehow I feel encouraged about my future prospects there. Didn’t expect that. But it was a decent first semester and I had some cool students, so there’s that. Just when I think I want to be jumping this sinking ship forever. Just when I thought I got out, they pulled me back in …
Do I really want to work in an office again anyway, at this stage in my career? For the money, yes, sometimes I think I do.To have more structure. To be daily back in the “real world” again. But why? My thoughts and feelings on this subject seem to change daily. But no one’s letting loose an opportunity my way, anyway. Still at times, I think I’d grab a chance and run with it if it presented itself. And then again, I ask myself – at what cost?
<Pause for radio listening> – hey, great timing. I’m listening to CBC Radio, and the host is talking about how Beethhoven was staying at a prince’s house, taking his money and eating his food, on the promise that he’d find steady work soon. He never did. Things coasted along until he refused one night to play for some of the prince’s friends, and he was immediately cut off. Beethoven was so angry he smashed a plaster bust of the prince in his rage.
The moral of the story? You gotta sing for your supper, baby.
So, I’ll sing. In whatever ways I can, whether someone’s letting me do it for money or not. I may sing and not get any supper. But isn’t the song the most important thing down the line, anyway?