Unheard Music

And I said, "Totally bored and not challenged now, so I'm craving some real learning experiences."
And he said, "Sorry you're bored. Working can be boring sometimes (like it was here for you sometimes) - it's just life. Make your own excitement."

Later in my travels I read this:
Don't you hear it? she asked & I shook my head no & then she started to dance and suddenly there was music everywhere & it went on for a very long time & when I finally found words all I could say was thank you.

Big boo-boos

I am wounded. In refinishing our hardwood floors, Vince and I moved odds and ends all around, some taking up real estate in strange unlikely places. Of these odds and ends were vent covers hanging out off to a corner on our steps. Last night I walk my laundry basket down the steps and not really watching where I'm going (except to avoid the TV conveniently placed on the landing and strategically plan the hoisting of a very heavy laundry basket OVER the TV), I step right down onto some piece of metal.

Ow. I have a high tolerance for pain but man, this is hurting like nothing else. I'm just standing there howling, cursing son of a bitch to anything that hears me and Vince comes charging up the basement stairs wondering what on earth just happened. The initial pain is sort of subsiding, but I'm still flustered, agonizing and handing him the basket of clothes while I regroup and explain what I just did. Then I look down. Oh my god, there is blood. Quick, move. I hobble up the steps and into the bathroom and proceed to investigate the damage and holler to Vince to get the Resolve from under the sink to spot treat the now blood stained carpeted step.

Now. Anyone who knows me or ever lived with me knows what a freak I am about cuts and wounds. It's bad enough whatever happened happened. But I moan and whimper and make a huge production out of cleaning and dressing my boo boos. It could be a tiny scrape or in this case, a cut the size of a dime with a pretty deep punctured area.

For 24 hours now I've been dousing this area with peroxide, bandaging it, wearing fluffy socks around so to not apply too much pressure and cause blood to come spilling out again. Tonight I covered it with neosporin and a big ol' gauze bandage that's strapped on with the special tape. I made a trip to CVS for all this first aid. I'm a freak, I know. My sister would be making major fun right now.

It hurts like a mofo. So much for revisiting the gym this week. I wonder if I should get a tetnis shot? Damn, it's late...I was going to see if Vince would feel sorry for me and my pathetic state and make me cocoa with some whipped cream on top. I just can't figure out if Ghiradelli has caffeine in it.

Power Suits

I remember when I graduated SJU and the entire spring and summer of 2000 I was interviewing for jobs. All my brothers and sister's friends would make fun of me, call me a "woman" in my power suit. Off I'd go to an interview. Off I'd return to Deck the Walls. It would be late September when I'd land the Marketing position with Broadreach.

Are all the power suits and associated careers over-rated? How cushy are those jobs, really? I ponder this seriously now. I want cushy, nice salary, kick ass benefits, upward mobility, challenge. This pipe dream - does it only exist at big firms? The Duponts and Astra Zenecas of the world? The PWCs? Deloittes? The places that only recruite executive level or MBAs. At Harvard and UPenn. There's no room at these places for someone like me. My resume and online profile go into some black hole when I hit submit along with millions of others. I'm not even sure that knowing someone at one of those firms would secure one a job.

Do you the people who return my emails? The unsolicited introductions to people I'd like to meet and/or work for? The Executive Director of Montclair University's Arts & Culture Department. The President of a NYC production company. Is this where I am supposed to be? Surely, I can parade around in my power suit at the conferences :) But I worry. If I am able to go back, how do I circumvent the lack of upward mobility that exists in the arts? All I know of this career world is to leave to get ahead. I hate that. I want to stay. But my "career" reads like a small business employee. It's unsettling that large companies don't see beyond that...don't see potential and A player in someone that is.

At least I would be able to pull my suits out of the dark corners of my closet if I return to performing arts. My current supervisor once told me I needed more funk in my clothes to work at the gallery. Seriously. The last time I checked "qualified" and "hardworking" meant more on a given day than what one was wearing. I was wearing black trousers and a chunky hot pink sweater. It could also be that my last supervisor told me I made him uncomfortable in my funky summer tank. Maybe I was scarred for life after that :)

Sigh. The search continues...

For $1100...

Who cares if I want to wear it a few more times?

Leftover Stories

Hmmm. I found out today who ratted me out to Marc last year when I was looking for new employment. Of course, a year later, it doesn't really matter anymore. But I'm still irked by it. It's one of those things where at this point, who knows how it really came out, what the context was, etc. I never like feeling as though one person has that much control over people, situations, the industry. If I email other industry professionals now, how do I know they won't pull a similar move? I don't even work for him anymore...technically, it shouldn't matter, to me or anyone else.

I can't let it matter.

There's always a leftover story when you part ways.