irregular pulse

“… we should always start by attributing it to our own lukewarmness, and leave it to our spiritual director if it be of God’s doing.”

Today, I took my resume and filled out an application at another job. I had an interview at a christian school that started off well then thudded when the headmaster came. He kept asking, “Why, why, why?” It was incredibly asinine. I really liked the principal and academic dean. I figured he preferred another candidate and was miffed that I was taking up his time. I don’t think I’m interested because it looks like they put emphasis on conversion, and I don’t even like churches who do that– let alone schools. Really, I’m not interested because of my interaction with that off putting man. He reminded me of all the things I loath about the southern church. I can think of few places that would be worse to have a theological degree. But, I’m disgusted with my reaction to him; I let him rattle me. Just because he was a disturbing monster didn’t excuse my behavior. I’ll simply write my thank you note to the principal and tell her it was a pleasure to meet her and the academic dean, which it was. I can write that job off.

I gave blood this afternoon, literally. I have an irregular heartbeat, but everything else was in the very healthy range. My blood pressure and pulse were impressive. So, I got to contribute in some way today.
Today, I also realized I left my beautiful hand-painted scarf in the hotel in Winston-Salem this weekend. Dang it. I hope whoever found it enjoys it. That scarf my mom gave me while we were in Vancouver; we bought it on Granville Island.

After the disastrous interview, I swung by the Benedictine monastary down the road and chatted with their secretary. Fr. Anthony called me but got my voicemail. I’m in desperate need of some spiritual direction. I’m floundering, second-guessing every decision I’ve made. Tomorrow, C and I will climb Mt. Crowder; that will be good for my wilting soul.

cunning notions

Can you tell I’ve been reading a magazine called Sew Stylish? The world of sewing offers new vistas of ideas and things to buy– lots of notions. Sewing my green dress has stirred musings of possibility. Gorgeous clothes seemed out of reach due to expense, but, maybe, if I develop the skill, patience and eye, I can be stylish after all. And, questions of morality of clothing choices is somewhat diminished through my role as laborer.

My next dress will be cobalt blue, midweight cotton with good drape. And, I bought an invisible zipper… cunning. As I was shopping in the cloth store, I discovered certain colors draw me. Certain blue, greens, purples and corals woo me. Whites, tans, oranges, yellows, reds leave me alone. And, I’m drawn to textured cloth; the linen and wool tables attracted me. I like nubby. I like sheen too, but I like sheen with some texture. And, I’m just not a pattern sort of a girl; maybe, it’s because I have a really hard time visualizing the end product. It’s odd that I find patterns annoying but love bold colors.

*****

So, hopefully I’ll have a job that will provide me with a venue to wear my new threads. Next week, I have an interview at a bank. I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Great fit… I’m talking about your, um, teal dress.” So, not a job that would play to a single strength, but these kinds of situations build character, eh?

I was discussing with a friend about the possibility of interning at a church to figure out if that’s an undiscovered mine of vocational opportunity. She got back to me that they would love to have me for an unpaid internship. I get to use my masters for free, too bad I still have to pay back my student loans. Maybe I could write Fannie Mae and explain the situation: yea, they’re excited to have me work for them, but they don’t want to pay me. I’m getting to use the education; I just won’t ever be gainfully employed. How about I pay you with some organs and harvest my eggs? My parts are worth more than my sum. Will that work for you? Too bad I no longer live in a college town where the pay to do weird research on you– the real reason to move to Chapel Hill.

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On a less morbid note, a little girl I tutored today gave me a butterfly she made. It’s quite cute; she’s a talented artist. Her choice of hue and shape choice. I put it on my fridge; I get paid in paper butterflies. I wonder what would happen if I sent in the butterfly in lieu of a check to pay a bill.

It reminds me of a conversation I had with my aunt who’s owned her own firm for over thirty years. A principal asked me if “I’d still help them” although he refused to meet my salary requirement (I’m a greedy bitch, I wanted over minimum wage.) I asked my aunt if she thought the principal would have asked a man if he’d “still help them out.” (One of the problems with the service professions is that market and social norms are confused, especially when you are a woman. Women still make around .70 to a 1.00 a man makes.) My aunt responded, “Well, stores give you a discount for being a woman, right? And, insurance gives you a break because you’re a woman, right? You get a break on your rent because you’re female, right?” Then, she started laughing. I didn’t strike a cord with her.

*****

I read one of the writing books I’ve invested in. Maybe, I’ll incorporate the ideas into my blog. What did you say? Sometime soon, please?

Ah, be kind.