My Cardboard Balcony

All right, let's look at how the job search has been going so far, shall we? Within a week, I have applied to a multitude of jobs with little to no response, been offered a substitute paraeducator job mistakenly and then had it revoked because communication broke down and they hired someone else before they hired me, been prepping for a walk-in interview at a bookstore, and re-applied for AmeriCorps, even though I'm late in the game because I had no idea they had a job in Marin, and I would have to struggle with a smaller income. The only guarantee I have, right now, is an orientation date on Wednesday for a retail job. Yep. I may just be regressing work-wise to 2008, becoming a cashier. It's like I said last week: I'm not keen on leaving the education field, even if only temporarily. That's why I've been clawing for any kind of education job, even just a part-time after school gig, even if it pays me less money. Being able to both write and teach, while...

Writing Exercise #1 by Belinda Roddie Epistolary – 249 words Dear Peter, I don’t remember what happened the night before, or how you had offered me to drink. I don’t remember if we told any stories, or sang loudly to the songs on your iPod. I don’t even remember the guests you must’ve invited and introduced me to. But most importantly, I do not remember the woman that I saw when I stumbled off the bus this afternoon, my head screaming at me asking why, why did I have to get up from Peter’s oh-so-comfortable linoleum floor. Peter, who the fuck was that woman who smiled at me? And why did she tell that she had “such a hot time at your friend’s house the other night”? I mean, Peter, what the fuck did you convince me to do with this woman? Look, I’m a man who loves his Bacardi. I’ll admit that right now. But you know that no matter how shit-faced I could possibly get, it has taken and always will take an excessive amount of teasing or probing to get me to snuggle up with t...

On a scale of one to ten, the pain is up to twelve. I can't use a scale to define the fire burning up and down my right leg. I wish I could remember how and why it happened, but there's nothing but static in my brain right now, and no matter how much I can try to twist the knob in my lobe, I'm not picking up any stations. Just put me on as many painkillers as possible and send me on my way - I don't want to recall anything. I don't even want to recall my own name.