Playing at It

I am just now working on finishing up things for both magazines and have gotten to the inane little things that happen monthly. I remember at one point during grad school having an argument with my mother about why I chose literature. I proudly yelled at her, "I'm not getting an M.A. to sit in a cubicle." Oh the irony.

Some days I feel like I'm six again, and playing office with my sister. We amassed a stash of office supplies from my grandfather and father. I'd pretend to fill out forms we'd made up and answer silly phone calls. I'd type up nonsense and file it away.

Today it feels the same. PR people calling and leaving messages. Ad reps asking me to fix things for their clients or not sending in the right material. My soul dying a bit each time I say "Webinar."

But no worries. It will all start over again next month.

Opening the Door

Feeling mortal at the moment. I'm looking at 28 in a few months, and I hardly feel settled. I have a child and a husband. But, being in publishing, I only have a job. I'm terribly unsure of a career for having been so career oriented in college. I feel like Paul Kemp, having a surreal ending to a sort of tropical paradise gone wrong, heading off to start all over again.

Since I started working full time after finishing the M.A., I haven't stopped looking for another job. Nothing feels secure when you're lowest on the totem pole. Nothing seems to have worked out in the search as well. Is it the universe's hint to stop looking and invest in a real job? Or is it that the right thing hasn't come along.

I went to school to teach literature, only to find adjuncting, and nothing permanent.

Things are in flux.

Photo from here