October 14th, 2004

Coffee Squirrel

Who Knows? -- No, really: WHO knows?

again, i have to declare: i don't have any answers and neither does anyone else. what's with the judgment? will i go to hell when no one has answered in word or deed or sign to my literally BEGGING for a clue? i feel like i've taken a step and gotten yet another smackdown. the teacher thing is SO involved. i'm still going to go for it because, well, i feel like i have to do something. i'm trying both routes still: the "teach for america" thing and the teacher certification program at the U. i think that i have a better chance w/"teach for america" at this point. i have to get 100 hours of volunteer classroom time in, i have to have most of the prerequisites done (i MIGHT have most of them from my undergrad, but again: Who knows? they'll tell me later), and i have to pay the $55 application fee all by January 15th (my birthday, no less). it doesn't sound like a lot, but i just got the money together to get my transcripts from my other schools sent. then they have to tell me how many prerequisites i have and how many i don't and if i have time and money before next summer to get the prerequisites taken.

at any rate. i tell myself not to, but i still look for signs that i'm doing the right thing.am i going in the right direction? am i doing the right thing? WHO knows? i don't like kids. i can deal with teens for a longer period of time. why not teaching? it's steady work and a skill i can take anywhere. but is that a substitute for knowing that this is my passion? i don't have a passion that's called to me except writing and i don't even do THAT as much as i should because i'm so self-critical. i feel like nothing i put down is good enough.

intellectually, i say: fuck the universe and everyone if i'm going to be criticized (even silently) for being confused and shy and awkward when i live in a place that sends me so many messages and tells me i'm a weirdo when i don't want messages anymore. inside, though, we all want to feel as if we're welcome and wanted and useful here. i don't feel any of those three except when i'm with a finite number of people, only two or three of which are here in Minnesota and even those i feel so...fragile about. i don't want to be off-putting, i also don't want to impose or insinuate. so i stay out of the way and out of the picture most of the time. i was looking forward to going to the pagan meet-up and bonfire yesterday. until the day arrived and i had to work only 5 hours, but it's five hours i feel have been stolen, even though i'll be paid in money. what's money, though? my boss here at the clothing store is nice enough. she is actually trying to get me connected with other writers. very decent of her. but for now i'm still working in a children's clothing store...and a coffee shop... what do i do with that? how do i reconcile that with the fact that i'm virtually a misanthrope?

it's such a losing proposition: needing social life as much as i do and yet hating the fact that i need to connect with these people who don't want me, who don't need me, who aren't attracted to me, who i don't know how to speak with, who aren't charmed by my company, who will never willingly touch me --even if i were crying. kiss my ass if you don't want these things, too. go ahead: lie to yourself. it won't get you anywhere. yet i hate my need... i know it's just internal, but i feel like this city, the state and the country are saying: "you stupid, useless, fat, ugly, dwarfish little nigger bitch! get out of my personal space!" i hear it every morning when i wake up. i feel it at work at the coffee shop, no matter how much "Minnesota Nice" is smeared around to cover it. if it's internal, how come i don't feel it when i sleep? if it's internal, why is it complaining or prying to ask people questions about their perceptions of me so that i can figure it out and kill the recording? if it's inside, i can stop it, right? then why can i only stop it until i leave the house, then i feel all these negative perceptions just shooting at me from everywhere. and i take them in. and i incorporate them. i make them mine when i shouldn't. how do i stop?

well. i should go.

later,
Lula.