Happy cats make for happy homes

 
adolescence Alabama beliefs blogging calm change Chicago crisis crushes dreams family fear flint hills food friends happiness health being a hippie holiday home internship kids loss love magic memories money music parties perfection plants projects relationships relaxation reminiscing ritual school social work issues spirits sports stress style the South violence weather weather worries writing

CURRENT MOON

 

Go now. Go.


There’s something about Sunday night
that really makes you want to kill yourself
Subscribe to this blog
for e-mail updates
 

Monday, June 09, 2008

Too late. Too loud.

I forget sometimes, how much I love live music. I don't like standing up for a long time, and I don't like crowded, smoky clubs. I think I'd rather lay on the floor of my own home, listening to the CD instead.

And then I went out to this odd little venue called Heart of Gold.

It was hard to figure out at first. The top floor of what appeared to be a business, it looked like an art gallery. The lobby was filled with a variety of stunning art. Maybe it was a performance space; there was also a door that said "recording studio." But inside this colorful room, people lounged about, smoking, and the bartender refused to take my money, pointing me instead to a fishbowl filled with cash for me to make my own change. When my friend B and I waited for the bathroom, a guy filled us in: it was a loft converted into a living space for about seven or eight people. What a living space!






Everyone there seemed to know each other. Three different bands or solo artists played, as we tried to identify the person we were there to see: Bleu, someone a friend in L.A. knew. The night dragged on, and my feet hurt. We sat down, and they still hurt. People milled around me, blowing cigarette smoke freely so my contacts started to burn.

And then Bleu started playing. It was just him with his guitar, a drum machine, and a feedback loop. As we approached midnight, the sound system got progressively louder. His voice coasted on the beautiful edge of hoarse, of cracking. He played his own stuff, and Tears for Fears' "Shout," and the crowd sang with him. I closed my eyes and sang along.

It was too late. Too loud. The vibrations of voices, soundwaves filled my body. I couldn't tell where I ended and the music began. I melted into the night.

Labels:

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

On my own

This week, I got called to interview at my dream social service agency. I was fair in shock. I really never expected them to pull my resume out of the stack of hundreds. I didn't know anyone at the agency, no one who could put me in touch with the right person or vouch for my skills. Lately I've been feeling like it's almost pointless to apply for any jobs when you don't have a connection like that. There's no way to stand out from every other unknown person with the same recent graduation qualifications as me.

But they picked me. That alone was enough to make my week. Forget about the job yet; they just thought I was good enough to consider. Hello self esteem, welcome back.

And then I hit a home run with the interview. Or at least, it felt that way to me, and that's good enough for now. Or . . .

The dangerous part starts now. I haven't felt this way in a while, so I start to question myself. Like at the end of the interview, when I asked about the timeline for hiring, and would I be contacted both if they wanted or didn't want me to continue in the process. "No, I usually only contact those I am asking back for second interviews," she said (which, duh. That was a pretty stupid question for me to ask on only the first interview). "But you can always call me to check." In the moment I said goodbye, but hours later, I start to think, "But you can always call me . . ." Did she phrase it like that as a subtle hint?

I'm ridiculous beyond belief. I know that. But I'm also insecure to the max. I wish I could spend a few more moments basking in the pure joy of feeling good and confident about myself and my abilities. I got to this place by myself. On my own. And that's pretty great.

Labels:

 
This page is powered by Blogger.
Get awesome blog templates like this one from BlogSkins.com