Thursday, February 12, 2004
i'm a perp, part II.
i got fingerprinted. i told the very nice man--probably about my dad's age, with gigantic fingers--that i felt like i was a perpetrator. he said, "you're just going to perpetrate the classroom. that's a good thing!"
and when i walked out of penn station with enough time to get a sit-down coffee before heading up to Current Employers, there was a herd of tiny school children swarming the sidewalk next to a parked yellow school bus. they had hand-colored art project Elmos hanging around their necks by yarn tethers. the teacher had one, too, although her Elmo was missing one of its very prominent eyeballs and she was saying loudly, "angela! vickie! hold your buddy's hand!" about half the Elmos were missing an eyeball. those were the ones i liked the best.
i went into the coffee place, got my drink and turned around to see someone who had a sort of comical knit hat with earflaps on. i knew this one guy in seattle who wore sort of comical knit hats with earflaps. then i remembered, he just moved to new york. then i realized, that's him. so i had my sit-down coffee time sitting down with an acquaintance and his pal, who randomly had all sorts of good advice for me. (for the curious, it boiled down to: there's nothing much for it but to relax and take risks.)
there's a new theatre company in manhattan looking to hire alums of my grad school. a fellow alumna needs part-timers at her restaurant. there's a happy hour at rudy's tonight. a dramaturg i know and love just sent me a wonderful email full of heartening idealism. i'm going to see my family next week, and i've spent most of this week inside the warm bosom of my family here, my warm warm home.
this very morning, the worry about this job jump was spreading and leaping in bizarre ways, so that i felt concern well up in me about all sorts of unlikelies. i told the monkey, "i'm worried that the great depression is going to come back. we'll have to eat water soup and stand in breadlines. what will we do?"
listen, you. if you were any more all right, you'd be hurting yourself.
and when i walked out of penn station with enough time to get a sit-down coffee before heading up to Current Employers, there was a herd of tiny school children swarming the sidewalk next to a parked yellow school bus. they had hand-colored art project Elmos hanging around their necks by yarn tethers. the teacher had one, too, although her Elmo was missing one of its very prominent eyeballs and she was saying loudly, "angela! vickie! hold your buddy's hand!" about half the Elmos were missing an eyeball. those were the ones i liked the best.
i went into the coffee place, got my drink and turned around to see someone who had a sort of comical knit hat with earflaps on. i knew this one guy in seattle who wore sort of comical knit hats with earflaps. then i remembered, he just moved to new york. then i realized, that's him. so i had my sit-down coffee time sitting down with an acquaintance and his pal, who randomly had all sorts of good advice for me. (for the curious, it boiled down to: there's nothing much for it but to relax and take risks.)
there's a new theatre company in manhattan looking to hire alums of my grad school. a fellow alumna needs part-timers at her restaurant. there's a happy hour at rudy's tonight. a dramaturg i know and love just sent me a wonderful email full of heartening idealism. i'm going to see my family next week, and i've spent most of this week inside the warm bosom of my family here, my warm warm home.
this very morning, the worry about this job jump was spreading and leaping in bizarre ways, so that i felt concern well up in me about all sorts of unlikelies. i told the monkey, "i'm worried that the great depression is going to come back. we'll have to eat water soup and stand in breadlines. what will we do?"
listen, you. if you were any more all right, you'd be hurting yourself.
