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.
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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.
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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.
