Sunday, January 29, 2006

Insert Title Here

Yup. Still here, just haven't had much to report. The sense of calm of my last post evaporated quickly into extreme boredom and a sense of personal worthlessness, a lack of identity without having a J.O.B. to categorize myself under. Sick and sad, but true. I started job hunting with more of a vengeance. I can't even count how many places I have applied to.

So far I have interviewed/am interviewing for the following positions: art school office manager, writing camp project coordinator, ISP administrative assistant, real estate agent assistant, eye wear sales and marketing person, environmental consulting agency executive assistant, financial consultant, and luxury hotel design firm office manager. Is there any rhyme or reason to that list? No, not really. Has it all been very interesting? Oh, yes. My, my. What a big city full of terrible things to do! No, actually, I liked the ISP and am hoping that they call me after our pleasant 2 1/2 hour interview.

Stupidly, I accepted a part time job the day before at a "wearable art" gallery, ie. psychotic jewelry and pointy clothing items, up the street because I felt I wasn't getting alot of interviews, and the gallery was desperate to have me. As is always the case, I then got a flood of interview calls and am now trying to balance the two. The gallery is terrible- the owner is on an ego-trip, totally disorganized and somehow micro-managing at the same time. I could stay and fix her business for her and get her organized and stuff, but there's nothing in it for me, other than its location, which is within stumbling range.

I am waiting until the girl I was hired to replace has her last day on Tuesday and then I will break the news and ruin this woman's social calendar for several weeks as she tries to find a replacement replacement. The girl who is leaving is cool as hell, though obviously emotionally exhausted from her 8 month stint as this woman's gallery slave. Now she is running away to work in fashion design, which she wil be brilliant at. I think the only reason I ended up in that place was to make her aquaintance. That seems to happen to me alot. When I moved to SF, I took a job in an art gallery for two weeks and met my friend Tammara, who I am still in touch with. We move in circles and those circles move, no?

What else? Sam is coming home from Munich tonight, it has been awfully lonely without him and I cannot wait. In two weeks, he will go back. Then onto Moscow the following month, perhaps? He is a very fancy travellin' man. Perhaps I can accompany him on one of these jaunts eventually. I'm hoping for the spring, though. Freezing temperatures + foreign city + husband stuck in steely office all day = not much fun.

Even in Southern California, which is not exactly cold, I am hoping for the spring to somehow come early. Moving in winter, as mild as winter is here, has somehow made me feel like my soul has been trekking through a chilly Siberian expanse. I long for golden rays of sun and naps on the sand. Barbeques and sunsets and drinks with umbrellas! Liquid sunshine! Sweaters be damned!

Ah, maybe I'll just have a mimosa...

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Busy Doing Nothing

Here I am. Hoping you are all having as good of a New Year as I have. The move from SB to Santa Monica was suprisingly smooth. The nesting process is pretty much complete. The apartment is cute, my husband is wonderful, the cats are calming down, the neighbors are characters, the water is near.

I have been detoxing from the theatre. Rummaging around in my brain looking for remnants of who I am and what I want. Constructing my stories from old postcards and forgotten mementos. Reminding myself of where I have been. Today I went running to the water, something I have been promising myself for weeks, months. It was just as good as I had envisioned. I'm going to do it again and again.

Sleep has claimed much of my new year. Recharging. Hanging pictures, draping scarves, building a bed, buying lampshades. If only life's efforts were all so immediately rewarding, the results as readily apparent. Maybe I should be an interior designer, and then I could be constantly asthetically fulfilled.

Hey, do you all remember when I was trying to figure out what I wanted to be and decided I wanted to be a journalist? I was wrong about that. I didn't really want it, and I didn't really try to do it, once I figured out the niggling logistics of it all. It just sounded good at the time. I am reminded of that looming "what am I going to do with my life?" question again as I try to reinvent myself with minimal detriment.

I am applying for jobs of various and sundry descriptions. But for the first time in my life, I'm not stressing it much. I'll find one, I'll do it, I'll love it or hate it. It doesn't much matter, as long as I don't let it eat me up like the last place. And frankly, I don't see what is really left for a job to consume. Only because I've learned now put it away in a special box, and lock it. I may only access it for making art or to give to those I love- a promise to me from me. My resolution. (That and losing 20 lbs.)

Because you only get so much spark, so much talent, so much inspiration, you get a non-infinitite number of ideas. At least, I do. I'm not so sure about all of you. And a little bit of all of those things is all I've got, at least at the moment, and I've got to make what I have last for many years to come. I've got to stretch it out, without putting so many holes in it. Holes made from following other peoples' vision, and other likewise unworthy pursuits.

Does this make any sense to you?