Stupid, so stupid. God, I don't know why I ever thought I could be happy. I don't know what ever made me think, even for a second, that I was in control.
It all starts with my mom, like it often does. I've talked about her before if you want the full story, but it's not really all that complicated.
She pushes. She nudges. She insists. She wants me to succeed so badly. For the last week she's been bugging me about this job fair that a local university is hosting. Didn't want to go. What could I possibly get from it, a job in sales? The thought of me trying to sell something would be funny if it weren't so pathetic.
And the problem isn't just the embarrassment of being surrounded by people years younger and profoundly more qualified. It's not just thought of me holding my flimsy resume with my lack of college degree and conspicuous gap in employment. Even without all those things, there's a big problem.
Business suits. Everywhere, all crammed into one building. I'm deathly afraid of people in business suits. It's like sending someone who's afraid of snakes to a herpatology convention.
But she was insistent. "You never know until you try, Madison," and "You complain about your job all the time," and "There might be something you never even thought about." So I went. I did go.
I put on some big girl clothes. Long blouse, pencil skirt, modest heels. Even put on jewelry. (A necklace AND earrings, when was the last time I did that?) Put my resume in a nice binder and even laminated it. Wrote a cover letter, attached it. Showed up at the Holiday Inn, heart in my throat. Told myself I'd be fine. Told myself I was strong.
And then I walked into the convention room. There were three-piece suits everywhere. Black ties, white shirts, pressed pants. Terror can make you completely numb. I just stood there blocking the doorway, unable to move.
Everywhere I looked I saw the creature. He was pressing a sticky-backed nametag to his lapel which said his name was "Marv." He was sneaking a look down the shirt of a woman with frizzled red hair as he handed her his resume. He was ladling punch out of a crystal bowl by the stairs and trying to talk about the Red Sox to an uninterested conversation partner.
Manning the booths, running to catch an elevator, complaining about the weather, laughing at a racist joke. Then just standing in the corner watching, watching. Everywhere. I saw him absolutely everywhere.
Tall men in black suits surrounded me. It was like being back in the forest and hearing those limbs crunch through the brush with nowhere to run. I started to have a full blown panic attack.
People finally started to notice that I was freaking out. Someone touched my arm, asking me if I was okay, and that brought me back to reality. I spun around and ran back through the door, pushing people out of my way as I did. When I got into the lobby I shoved myself into the ladies room, locked the stall door, and called my mother crying.
Fortunately, she answered right away and she managed to call me down. She apologized immediately, she didn't know how bad my phobia of business suits was. But it was still embarrassing.
After all this time of convincing myself that thing wasn't real, all it took was one job fair to destroy my psyche. I feel so weak. I know it's not my fault. We've been over in therapy that I can't help what I see and what I fear, but it doesn't make me feel better.
Those diamond earrings will have to wait. I don't deserve them yet.
My Life's Calling-FOUND!
And the surprising answer to the question of life is . . . crafting.
Hello lonely blog, it's been a while. My last post was, well, not emo but certainly not positive. Being positive is hard. Takes mores muscles to frown than smile but it takes fewer brain cells to whine. Purely scientific. Look it up.
Things are better. Much better. Still not sure about life. College seems impossibly far away, but I've been looking into trade schools. Don't know what for. Something with few people. I like people I just don't like hanging out with them. Make me feel strange.
No man in my life. Still. (Don't worry singletons, this ball of crazy is still completely available.) But the only man I need is Ryan Gosling. Went to see Driver because he was in it. Really violent. Really scary. Not my thing, but I watched loyally. Saw Crazy, Stupid, Love at the cheap theaters a little while ago. Buying that when it comes out. For sure.
But though I have no love and no future, I have a hobby. Many hobbies now. Crafting. As in more than one craft at a time.
You see, I was standing in the middle of Wall Mart (as sometimes happens to lonely single people) and I was looking at fabrics and beads and paint trying to decide what I should try. Then it dawned on me. I can try all of them. There is no limit except my imagination. (Well and my paycheck.)
Four projects at once. Rank and file.
- Quilt of Old T-Shirts- I know I'm fifty.
- Self Portrait- Got some nice paints. Using a piece of cardboard (canvas is expensive, I sprung for color instead.) Coming along well.
- Sculpture of a Fish- Little bit a clay, lotta bit of love. (Nearby place will fire it when I'm done.)
- Beading- Not just a little. Serious BEAD-ness. (Get it!)
Number four is my favorite. So far I made a bracelet with little turquoise stones and silvery divider thingys and a necklace of amber. Looks funky in a good way.
Beading is different. The others occupy my hands. Busy hands=blank mind=no bad thoughts. But beading is for me. For me personally. I make the jewelry. I wear it. Got my eye on this set of diamonds at the back of the store. I want to make them into earrings with a little bit of silver wiring, but they're pricey.
In high school we read a story from the renaissance or the middle ages or something. It talked about a woman who had these beautiful diamonds on her neck. Our teacher told us that back then women didn't have money to buy their own diamonds. When they wore diamonds it was like wearing a dog collar. It was saying, "I am owned. My man owns me." That and he has enough money to buy me diamonds.
But these diamonds will be different. No one needs to buy me diamonds, I buy my own and I will wear them out in public and proudly proclaim my ownernship. No man on the other end. No ex-bofriend, no fear, no creature.
Right now I feel like I'm living, not just squatting, in my own skin. For once I will be the watcher and not the watched.
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