Alone and content in a blizzard

I'm not sure how I'm so content here in Lafayette to stay home all day instead of venture into town. It's so different from who I used to be when I actually lived here in high school. I never wanted to be left alone. I was desperate to have a social life.

Now, in the blustery late winter that has settled over these two cities, I am fine to sit at home and watch the flakes fall all day long. My days are peppered with snacking and sleeping and the occasional flip through the channels, but mostly I just write. My complacency would make sense if the writing fulfilled me, but it doesn't.




It's bad writing. It's public relations, it's fluff; meaningless words meant to make someone look good who's really not. And yet, it's all the work I can get right now. Before I graduated, I had never written a press release or worked in public relations. I graduated with a degree in journalism and a relatively strong portfolio of news clips. I even have an award for one of my stories.

I've applied for hundreds of journalism jobs. I'd estimate I've sent resumes, cover letters and clips to more than 125 publications, both online and print. I've been called back for two interviews, which would make my success rate below 1%. But consider the fact that the only two jobs I've been interviewed for are in copy writing and PR, fields I have no interest and even less experience in. So if you feel like being a huge pessimist, you could say that my success rate in almost landing a writing or reporting job is at 0.

Moreover, I applied for fewer than 10 copy writing jobs and maybe five public relations jobs. That means my success rate at landing interviews in careers I have no experience in is 13% higher than in the field I studied and excelled at.

How's that for a picture of the economy? It doesn't help that my field is slowly losing momentum.

Maybe my complacency stems from knowing my unemployment is not for lack of trying. Maybe it's because I've given up. But I don't think so.

At night, I eat dinner and I sit and watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune with my dad and his wife, Lori. Maybe I've just slipped in to an easy routine that has been handed to me on a silver platter, one that requires little effort. The company is good. The wine is cheap. The room is free and the house is warm. And responsibility evades me, whether I like it or not. Maybe I'm just trying to enjoy my free time.

But I miss my friends and adventure and challenge. I feel like I'm retired, or something.

Just waiting for the next step. But I'm starting to wonder how long I'll wait.

Movement

So, I've moved back home to my dad's house, and this is the room I'm sleeping in. It used to be my sister's room, and it's since been turned into a guest room. So, I'm a guest. But I've added my own touches, like the hanging lamp and the dozens of pillows that tend to follow me into whatever bed I'm on.

It's strange being here; coming back to the place you spent most of your childhood can make you feel like you are that child again. I spend a lot of time at the house, which is okay for now, because I don't yet have a job. If I go out, I wind up spending money I shouldn't spend, and so I'm better off here. I'm doing a lot of writing. It's much less artistic than it sounds. I'm doing freelance work for AuthorHouse out of Bloomington. So, I read the books they're publishing and write press releases to accompany them. It pays well, and it makes me feel productive. For my first assignment they gave me three weeks to finish three press releases. I've already finished two in five days, so I'll probably have a new assignment by next week. I make $75.00 a release, which, after taking out taxes (since they don't, I have to), it amounts to roughly $50.00 a release.

I'm actually not doing much personal writing, but I'm trying to fix that. I think it's really hard, once you've been away from a pen and paper for long enough, to pen things out again. It's like working out; once you stop, it's hard to get yourself back into the routine of lifting and running (which I'm also trying to do).

I have an interview at a local restaurant on Monday. I hadn't wanted to work in the food industry again, but I will if I have to. I've also applied at a bead/music/book store on campus, and it would be nice to have two jobs for a bit.

So, I'm making progress. Despite all my doubts and worries about coming home, I am starting to think it's the right place to be at this time. Since being here I've gotten two writing opportunities (the other is with HELEN Magazine here in Lafayette). Let me repeat that: I've been home less than a week, and I've gotten more writing "jobs" in that week than I've had in the last year. I don't know if this is because of my not being in Bloomington or, more cosmically, my decision leave Bloomington, where I was emotionally and creatively (and monetarily) stifled. I'll keep you posted.

My hope is I'll be out of here by the summer and on to my next adventure elsewhere.

Freshly cut. Adapting.

My friend Malorie cut me some lovely plants the other day and delivered them to me as I was leaving work. She pulled in just as I was pulling out and waved urgently for me to stop. Aren't they grand and unassuming and winding? The post card below the jade green bottle is from my friend Catie. She was one of my two blessed roommates in Rome. I miss her and Liz both so much sometimes.

These plants will make the move with me. I leave in a few days. I'm not going far - not yet. Just home. But that's the first step in my escape. I think as their roots extend, mine will too, and eventually I'll plant them wherever I decide to plant myself. That will be a good day.

Roots and bobcats.

We went Bobcatting tonight. Bobcatting is tradition. We've been doing it since my freshman year, at least. It's when we drive to Brown County to watch the sunset, run around in the woods and have a blast. Sometimes we get yelled at by passerbys. Tonight, the chosen phrase was, "White power!" They yelled it twice. That's all it took to remind me that Bloomington is still part of southern Indiana, and if you leave the city, you're in unfamiliar waters. Dangerous waters.

Today I also started my volunteer work at the community garden. I spent two hours turning soil, raking and planting grass. It was nice to be somewhere new, doing new things, meeting new people. The weather was fantastic for digging in the dirt.
My plants here at home are surviving quite nicely. I'm growing basil, tomatoes, aloe, sage, chamomile and a number of other things. I love watching them poke their little green heads out of the dark, damp dirt. All I can do is encourage them to keep growing (and I do so, audibly). People must think I'm a little nuts, with all the time I spend on my back porch, peering into the pots, obsessing over temperature and sunlight. It started pouring a few days ago while I was at work and all I could think about was how my plants were surely drowning. Silly.

Also, I cut a few pieces of spearmint out of the giant batch that grows in Spencer's yard. I brought them home and put them in water and a few weeks later, they've begun to grow roots. They're reaching out, adapting, making it work. Soon I'll plant them and they will have survived.

If you wait long enough, you'll grow roots anywhere.