The rain and wind continue unabated here in this city. March apparently broke rain records and April seems set to do the same. The weather is warming slightly but still . . . . brrrr and dark and cold and etc.
Neverttheless, I have returned to the bicycle after a long winter not cycling at all. As such, my legs are feeling rather wooden. This morning, bored and bored and unemployed and you know the drill, I decided to go out in the rain and wind (I really should get proper cycling in rain gear) and cycle up to UBC and back. I stopped in at a library or two and found this book in the fast reads at my local branch – “Strangers in Their Own Land,” by Arlie Russell Hoschschild. She is a well regarded and awarded sociologist who ventured into ‘arch-conservative Louisiana bayou country’ to talk to and learn about the lives of Trump voters. She doesn’t write it as an indictment but rather as a sociological look at the rise of the right. Apparently it is more comprehensive than the recent “Hillbilly Elegy” book. Should be an intellectually stimulating book to read and one my dad would no doubt like.
That’s right – some of my non-fiction choices mirror his. The horrors. Although I don’t think he reads People magazine, the New Yorker or Soap Opera Digest. He also avoids fiction for reasons I’ve never understood. He used to mock my mom for her fiction choices and that ticked me off. My mom had to drop out of school in grade 11 (from a small town, certainly multi-grade school house) and yet read voraciously her whole life. It was to her great relief once when she found out that my sister’s erudite and extremely intelligent father-in-law enjoyed one of the same writers that she did. And what of the classics? Silly old man.
Sorry, I got sidetracked. So is my bored and understimulated brain.
“We have compassion fatigue,” noted my friend T. “You’ve been talking about being unemployed for so long.”
“Shit or get off the pot,” suggested my long distance friend, D. Not sure what pot I am on, ha.
I did send out my resume to another downtown school and got a response requesting an interview. The phone call was odd from the director of studies, even odd for an ESL school. Then I got to reading reviews of working there from Glassdoor and realized that that work situation would be far worse than what I have (or have not) now. Ugh. Apparently endless hours of unpaid work (marking and what not) and poor to no curriculum and etc. Typical of ESL and I know I complain of unemployment – but that didn’t seem like anything near a good situation. I had all ready replied in an e-mail just now that I would happily come in for an interview but my gut (and bowels certainly) were like, no. So I maturely simply blocked the interviewer’s e-mail. There will be undoubtedly a time to work at (another) terrible downtown ESL school but now is not that time. When my EI runs out in the middle of June – then will be that time.
I know, I know. The industry is so so bad . . .
Is it better for me to be sitting around doing nothing nothing? Probably not.
The one other ‘decent’ downtown school isn’t responding to my numerous ‘here I am!’ e-mails.
I have also applied to Costco, the art gallery as a cashier, and a few other various and sundry. No responses. What’s a gal to do?
Did I mention I’m going to Ottawa to visit family for four days in May? I think I did. If nothing else, that will get me out of my brain and out of this city for a few days.
Oddly, doing nothing for so long I find rather physically exhausting. Go figure.
I do regret a lot of things but not going to that downtown school interview is not one of them I don’t think. Of course talk to me again in a few months.
Oh! There is a bit of sun. Someone run out and take a photo.
I’ve had my hair dyed a great rich colour and my hair shortened to a kind of curly bob. Haven’t had my hair this short in years. I still look 51 but I like looking at the colour – a rich brown. Am I repeating myself? Probably.
No work and endless blah blah is making me crazy.
I must cycle off soon to see my weekly high school tutee, V. We are working on a very difficult essay. Poor fellow.