April 19th, 2006

BacklitBald

for hire

I spent all day in berkeley trying to beat the bushes for jobs. I missed one stop but will go back there next week. I really have a month and a half to find summer work, but I found out that the fellow I will probably be a reader for isn't teaching till the second six weeks which leaves me penniless in june so I need to hustle for something for then.

after asking everyone there for employment I took an hour to answer craigslist ads for which I've gotten one reply from a site that looks like a weird pyramid scheme but I'm going to see exactly what it involves before writing it off as a complete scam.

I still think I should sell my wares on my own website but who the hell has time to set such a thing up and yet that is one of my "skills" that I am trying to market and it would be good to have something set up for myself as a sample of my work.

it would help tremendously if I could work up more than four hours' worth of productive energy per day. I don't know if it is the combination of meds or my native crappy metabolism but this has been an ongoing problem since I was, like, 15. the only med I was taking then was beer, and that only on weekends. I drink coffee all day and then I cap it off with my rockstar stuff and I'm ready for bed at 8.

I suspected back when I started this venture that the post-partum depression from my dissertation was going to be enormous and I think that part of the problem right now is that it is already starting. here is this big thing I've worked ten years to accomplish and what it will get me is a pat on the back from Judith and Lyn, a lollipop (seriously) from the Grad Division, and then an unceremonious dump on the sidewalk to make my fortune with a rhetoric phd.

see things were supposed to fall into place and I was supposed to have some idea of what I wanted to do by the time I got this far but I'm beginning to feel like I just invested fifteen years of my life in order to return to the same feeling of being unable to take care of myself and unfit for adult occupations. now I realize this is irrational thinking but just work with me for a minute. I still won't take a 40-hr per week job unless it involves me sitting here in my room doing something with computers. I can't write for 40 hours a week but could put in 20, I think. unfortunately the US is not a place to get paid for writing.

the one thing I do have going for me that I didn't used to is the realization that I can't sit around and wait for people to ask me for my work but I have to put it out there as an offer. on the other hand I can't stand the idea of going through any more job interviews. they were humiliating in 1979 and I can't imagine they've gotten much better especially with the privacy-invading drug tests and personality inventories.

as I was walking towards BART feeling like a 14-year-old who was about to be thrust into the world of adulthood without a crown to his name it did occur to me that there might be a future in grant writing. not only for myself--if I can learn to write grants for myself I can get other people to pay me to write theirs too. I should, I suppose, look into a workshop. I can't believe there aren't classes for this at berkeley. the art institute at least offers classes in the gallery system and how to publicize your work. academia is so puritan that it prefers not to think of intellectuals groveling for spare change but we have to live in this world.

I might have to live off the generosity of my friends in june but maybe I could get a grant to do some weird ass writing project. like the one I've already got going, for instance. it's art, after all.

should I move to europe? canada?
  • Current Mood
    worried worried
hat

little old man

it's funny. long about 8:30 I start thinking it's getting late. better start on my way towards bed. at 9 I think oh it's not that late and I get caught up with something online and then suddenly it's 10 and I've stayed up way too late.

it is 9:07. I am going to post this and go to bed.
  • Current Mood
    sleepy sleepy