There's no more need to pretend cause now I can be
When I first started this blog, years ago in an after party of my own, late one night at my parents' house, setting up my LiveJournal account, I entitled my new world of internet wonder: "The Beginning is the End is the Beginning" (or was it the other way around? I forget.) Anyway, in all dramatic Billy Corgan fashion, I had started on a little endeavor that was without a real direction or purpose. Here, today, with the rain and sleepy gray feeling out town, I have past across an actual finish line.
I finished the work for my degree (insert fanfare here) and officially applied for graduation at my school. Seems the degree part won't be awarded until October 19th or something, but nonetheless, the workload is completed. After finishing those three, final, English literature classes back to back, one month at a time, I set my mind to finishing my thesis work (I had some piddly things that I had put off for months and I wrote each day in some sort of list or notebook; finish this, would ya?) I'm such a dumdum for not doing that stuff sooner but, alas, procrastination gets the better of me every time. It's the way I've always been and I honestly don't see any recourse from it only that it makes me feel guilty. Since guilt isn't something good and feeling condemned by something that you create in your head (or, as in my case, as people have told me to feel condemned about since I was old enough to sit in a school desk - something I tried to wiggle out of as much as possible) I don't see much need for concern. If it's not something that really matters when it gets done, then, sheesh, who cares?
Anyway, so now that all of it has been turned in and I'm awaiting my final grades to be put in, I've already been on some interviews for teaching jobs. Now, I've not worked for over a year now and I'm still awaiting financial aid to send me a scrap of cash (something they can't discuss until all the bills are paid - bills that include a $100 graduation fee. Oh no, I didn't make that up.) If this job I applied for yesterday works out, then I'll be able to start working next month, now that I have my degree. If I can't work then, more than likely after Christmas I'll have something.
However, now that my deadlines of school has finished, I feel out of sorts. Nothing to stress about that is in the means of productivity. Nothing to mark in my little day planner as an important date. Just me and the cat and the sound of the air conditioner running. (That broke during the last hurricane, by the way, and it took three attempts before the maintenance guys finally got the "small" leak repaired. Nice.) But while this stagnant feeling has taken over me, I see that it is an end to my last hurdle. When I started my work in the writing program it was because I was sitting at a desk in a public school, hating my job and stressing about it so badly that my body was eating at itself to create illness. I realized then, that teaching was something that tore me from my real love of writing and I wanted something for myself to work towards. Otherwise, each day was devoted to trying to stay in cohorts with the evil administrators and Lord knows that's just not part of the plan for anyone. So...online and upwards in education I went.
The funny thing is, now that I have the degree to get away from the horrible teaching days, I'm getting lulled back into it. Granted it makes sense that someone with an English degree and a Creative Writing degree would only be able to sit at her own desk and type away at a little machine, or go into a classroom and teach her wide range of knowledge just to keep herself in a home. But as I realized yesterday, being shown the new hopeful classroom (it has windows!) and given books (free books) and materials, and being introduced to people at the school, I got the distinct feeling that I was going to be able to head out for another change in my life. And yes, it freaks me out, but no, I'm not going to shy away from it. For starters, I need the money; that's obvious. For seconds, I need some new deadlines, goals, objectives and, hell, people to talk to in the physical form who are not close relatives. I couldn't stand most of the teachers I worked with and at the interviews I went to these past few months, I saw that negative, ready to strike, overly critical look in some of their eyes. But I also met some very nice ladies, like the one yesterday, who would be lovely to work for. Nice, friendly, chatty, helpful and polite. You can tell when things are right for you or when they are not. Some interviews I went to, I thought, "Oh hell, no, I'm not going through the kind of pain they're looking to dunk me into." But others I felt at ease sitting with them.
I have also realized that teaching is a bit too much of a social task for me. Granted, I don't know if I'll feel like this once I get into the college arena. I may love that. I know I loved college after I left the horrible high school years. I know I loved the university after I went through all the bull in my early years at the community college too. Without the regime of the state standards and the women who preserve it, I may have a much better time at the private school or at the community colleges. I'm not dismissing that possibility at all. However, I don't think I'm going to stay with that career move for long. For one thing, when I was at an interview last month, I was told that more than half of a college's staff is part-time and it's "extremely hard" to get full-time work over being an adjunct. My interviewer's advice, "Go back to teaching high school." Um...okay, no. Not unless I had a certificate and experience and full metal armor, would I go back into that arena. No, I wouldn't even go back even if they couldn't find some way to gossip about my faults; it's not worth it. You waste your whole life and never get to fulfill yourself. Not that helping people is bad and not that I didn't love working with the kids. I'll love working with the "kids", fresh outta high school hipsters who join my classes. But public school in Florida. Nope. Never again.
So my option for moving out of the education realm came across my mind earlier this year; to be a librarian. Now I don't recall exactly how I came up with this idea. I think I was looking around at education websites or career websites or something and I saw jobs for librarians. I started musing about the idea but never really mentioned it to anyone because, well, I'm tired of mentioning it to people who make some negative comment about what I say, just to give "advice", so I kept this and a lot of other things to myself. But anyway, so I started investigating what it takes to become a librarian saw that you only need a Master's Degree in Librarian and Information Science, so I started looking up potential online programs. Some of them were asking for high GRE scores which I never could get after attempting that test three times. (Even though, at the time, I still had that chip on my shoulder that has since dissolved) and some were just way too expensive. So I found a handful of schools that were reasonably priced and that had admission requirements that I could manage. I applied to some, got some professors to write me some letters of recommendation (I'm still waiting on three and the deadline is in two weeks - yay!), a letter stating why I'd be such a good librarian, and the money to pay for the application and transcript request fees. It's that money bit that gets me every time.
And that's all I can say right now about the outline of my life's events. These are the things that I chalk up to "professional" or "work" sense even though I'm really thinking about posting an actual website for my "real" me stuff (you know, use my real name, talk about my personal life, talk about my writing, lift the veil of half anonymity) and I will soon enough. There's more I need to write in a real sense instead of in an escapism sense. Still, escapism is the purpose for writing anyway so this here little bloggy will have to stick too.
Photo credit: florian.b
http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=93
Don't be surprised. This change is my design.
I wrote this in my notebook as I was on my porch, smoking these old Camel lights that have been in one of my kitchen drawers for, oh a year now. I am like those stupid Become and EX commercials that talks about re-learning how to do certain things without cigarettes. For me, unfortunately, it's writing. I've tried to write an entry for a while about the internal stuff that's going on with me. There are some past actions and reaction, aside from writing without smoking, that I'm trying to unlearn.
Some months ago, I was lying in bed, wondering if I was going to be the girl who was always alone. Every past action indicated to that assumption. But I realized, that night, that it was me that was causing the empty bed and the lack of a friend-based relationship. I was alone because I had trained myself to believe that I was "supposed" to be alone. (What does that Interpol song say? "I'm sick of spending these lonely night, training myself not to care"?)
Now Lord knows that after having one guy say and do the worst, manipulative and dishonest things to me at a young age, when I thought that was all I could get, even thought I knew it was wrong, I was still hurt and discouraged. The idea of what "love" was to a man because a separate definition to what I defined the word to mean. Love meant calling me up, after tons of unanswered messages, telling me of his past conquests and hatred for my crying, even though "you know I still love you." So once I figured out that everything I believed in his words were empty, I went on to try the same routine with two other guys directly after my divorce. Each one turned around one day to say, "I don't understand what the big deal is" when they did something just as cruel. Hence, I became cemented in jealousy, anxiety, depression, guilt and disillusion.
And since those years long ago, I've sought after crushes who had the same kind of attitude towards me. They reeled me in, tossed me out, reeled me in, then berated me for having an emotional reactions to their inactions of care. Never once did I think I was choosing the wrong guys. Never once did it occur to me that I was setting myself up for failure on purpose because I didn't think I deserved anything else.
By being a single woman in my modern world, I have had plenty of firsthand experience on the long, arduous process of relationship discussions. We have books and movies and television shows and music and friends who all talk about men. We have to be "smart" girls. We can't put up with any man's crap. We have to (as Dr. Phil says) "teach people how to treat us." Men will do anything it takes to screw a woman over and we have to be on guard at all times. Basically, I have been fashioned into a bitch.
And since I have always been the one to be hurt, I never thought anything was my fault past not being beautiful, not being thin enough, not being like other girl who had husbands. I wasn't bitchy enough I supposed and Lord knows I got plenty of resentment in myself when I was called "bitter."
In the past month or so, something changed in me drastically. It was as if I finally saw myself on the inside and I found out that my past had been an excuse to carry a chip on my shoulder. I assumed all men were liars, cheaters, manipulators, skirt chasers and all-around jerks who delighted in nothing more than to push every button I had to make me crazy with anxiety and insecurity.
I started seeing that all this time, I was expecting people to say, "Oh, she's had it bad before, so she has a right to be distrusting." I had it said to me by women for years. I was set apart because I had this crappy past that I kept on call to use as a tool to week out any possible errors in a man's character that would potentially make him "just like the others."
But now I realize it's been me this whole time that's choosing to be bent out of shape over things that should be boxed up and buried. I am the one who accuses and assumes that every man is never going to be genuine or trustworthy or kind. So I set up fights and wait for an opportunity to pounce and say, "Ah ha! I knew it!" I lash out and keep myself "protected" instead of tearing down my wall that I took years to put up. I use to think, "I'll try with this (wrong) guy, but if it doesn't work (when I knew it wouldn't because he wasn't right for me), I'm putting another brick up and sealing myself off for good!" I wasn't going to be anyone's fool.
Nope, I've been my own fool all along. I saw mean and hurtful, unjust things. I get angry and jealous and worked up over nothing that is the actual truth -- I make up reasons to not try and let anyone in.
So unlearning all of this is what I've been trying to do recently. I realized that all of the things I have gone through is my reason for writing. I always figured that I'd be able to tell my future audience the things I learned along the way. What I wanted to write about is how I figured out, at age 32, that shutting the door in any man's face before they even try to know is anything but smart. I learned that it isn't that someone is going to have to save me from being hurt; I have to save myself from being someone to does the hurting. I've learned not to repeat my patterns, but to grow out of them and evolve.
I apologize for any rocks I may have kicked up as I tried to set myself on my path.
Photo credit: remotd
http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=88
Your southern can is worth a dollar a half a pound
I have to step up on my platform, and call all of my Orlando pals to hear my speech regarding our "City Beautiful".
I found a random slide show on Youtube entitled Downtown Orlando that depicts the daytime colors and buildings that we're all accustomed to, have grown familiar with and connect with as our place of "home." That's why when this wanker made the comment of, "don't go downtown at night . It's a very dangerous place" I had to take a stance.
While we have all discussed time and time again about how we miss our days at Cairo and our trips through Church Street, we still are trying to keep our night life and our culture alive. And I'm not just talking as far as music culture, I mean the "real" substance and history of Orlando.
But this guy, who lives in Windermere mind you, made comments about how only idiots go downtown and the only "culture" we have is tattoo parlors (incidentally, didn't they close that one down on Orange Avenue by the old Laser Tag place?)
So with this scare tactic mindset put in place, I had to retort by giving examples of what downtown is really about and how tourists are not going to be randomly shot while on Spring Break, trying to check out a club or a show on a Saturday night. I think what he's perceiving as downtown Orlando is the now defunct Church Street that we've all been moaning about for years now. That's something that hopefully will be renovated soon. Not that I have any interest in going down to any college pubs and watching naked women hand me a Jell-O shot, but, yes, we use to have a lot going on down there. But if you'll all recall, we also had the law passed that said the homeless were only allowed to stand on certain, marked areas of the sidewalk. The younger generation (as I was part of back then) was harassed by being pegged as a "gutter punk" who wanted nothing more than to loiter. After that happened we lost anything substantial on Wall Street Plaza and now we have the Cantina that targets, woo hoo, tourists.
By this man not living and being a real part of downtown Orlando for the past ten to fifteen years as I have, as everyone in town as been, the real essence of pride and home and culture and pride that we've been trying to support and promote time and time again, is being refuted by now putting fear into tourists minds that downtown is totally unsafe. Well, there's crime but there's crime in every city. That's common knowledge. Actually, the only time I had a problem with a break in of my car (and a handful of other people I knew who were targeted at the same time) was ten years ago when this nesnman guy is saying was safer. So much for what he knows.
I just wanted to send my opinions out to anyone in town who may read this and see what had gotten me so worked up about. All of us are trying to build up our town and to have someone say that only the theme park areas are "safe" just makes me irate. Unfortunately this is probably the opinion of many cash heavy snow birds who put money into big corporations and leave the smaller businesses to crumble. This is why we have lost so many clubs, restaurants, pubs and decent shows to the overly expensive Disney/Universal/MGM machine.
I've made a list of links and historical and cultural items that make up the real Orlando that we're proud to have thriving to this day. As I stated in my YouTube comment, "Walt would be appalled at what Disney has become these days."
Orlando is also home to the University of Central Florida, which is the second largest university in Florida in student enrollment and has the 6th largest enrollment in the nation.
Orlando is home to the Orlando Magic, an NBA pro basketball franchise that plays at Amway Arena in downtown Orlando. Led by Shaquille O'Neal, the Magic made it to the NBA Finals in 1995. Orlando's Amway Arena, opened in 1989 is already one of the oldest arenas in the NBA. It will be replaced around 2010 by the $480-million Orlando Events Center.
Orlando Public Library, the main downtown library of the Orange County Library System, which features 15 locations system wide. Situated on an entire city block in the heart of downtown Orlando, the library is an epicenter for arts and cultural events, educational and entertainment resources, and solitude.
The Kerouac House, in the College Park neighborhood of Orlando, is where writer Jack Kerouac lived during the time his novel On the Road was published and released, making him a national sensation and Beat Generation icon. He lived in the house with his mother Gabrielle from July 1957 to the spring of 1958, and wrote his three-act play, The Beat Generation, a 51-chorus poem called Orlando Blues, and the novel The Dharma Bums during his time there. In 1997, the Kerouac Project of Orlando formed, and restored the Kerouac house. It is now a haven for aspiring writers who can live in the house as they create their own work.
Eatonville is a town in Orange County, Florida, six miles north of Orlando. It was one of the first all-black towns to be formed after the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863 and, on August 15, 1887, was the first such town to be incorporated. Zora Neale Hurston grew up there. Every winter, Eatonville stages its annual Zora Neale Hurston Festival of the Arts and Humanities and the Zora Neal Hurston Library.
Harry P. Leu Gardens, which is an inner city oasis covering 50 acres (20,000 m²) and features colorful annuals, palms, an orchid house, a floral clock and a butterfly garden.
The Orlando Museum of Art is Orlando's largest modern art museum. Located in Loch Haven Park, the museum has ongoing exhibitions of American portraits and landscapes, American impressionist works, and art of the ancient Americas. In 2003, the museum hosted the world-renowned full exhibition of the famous glass sculptor, Dale Chihuly.
The Orlando Metropolitan Area is also home to a substantial theatre population. Several professional and semi-professional houses and many community theaters dot the area including Orlando-UCF Shakespeare Festival, Orlando Repertory Theatre (Central Florida's only Professional Theatre for Young Audiences), Orlando Theatre Project, Starlight Dinner Theatre, Mad Cow Theatre, Theatre Downtown, The Osceola Center for the Arts, Winter Park Playhouse, Theatre Winter Haven, IceHouse Theatre, and Seaside Music Theatre. Orlando also hosts the Orlando International Fringe Theater Festival every summer.
Church Street Station, a multi-level shopping mall and entertainment center that once featured an abundance of specialty shops, restaurants, nightclubs, and bars. Purchased in the late 1990s by TransContinental Talent owner Lou Pearlman, it is now virtually defunct, as the area suffered in post-9/11 tourist-industry slump. The area is being redeveloped with residential condominiums. Now closed due to bankruptcy and is due to be bought over.
Based on the Morgan Quitno Press "Safest and Most Dangerous Cities of 2007" rankings, Orlando ranks #11 nationaly. It's to be noted that the American Society of Criminology (ASC) and the FBI object to such rankings and use of data stating "These rankings represent an irresponsible misuse of the data and do groundless harm to many communities" and don't take into account "factors that influence crime in a particular study area such as population density and the degree of urbanization".
Orlando for Adults - The New York Times
Orlando Sentinel - Downtown Blog
Wikipedia - Downtown Orlando
Review Orlando
And, ironically or not in the news today:
Tourist Robbed At Hotel Near Disney
Photo credit: NY Times
http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=87
All dressed up to catch a glimpse of the list
Okay. Since it's been long since I decided that I should update my blog with, yet another, random list of things, I will do so today. Again, there's not a whole lot going on and this is the easiest way to make an entry. Here goes:
-- I'm still pondering going out tonight for the Barbs Reunion.
-- It sucks that it costs, at last visit to the gas station, $37 to fill up my tank.
-- I have a couple of writing contests that I want to enter but, alas, that costs money as well. Didn't someone say at one time, to not bother paying for such thing anyway?
-- I'm still working my way through the wonderful world of Coetzee by keeping Diary of a Bad Year instead of returning it the the library. I've had it since March I think.
-- I finished Out Stealing Horses this week though. It was one of those that, after reading the last line, I shut the book and muttered, "F&*$, that's good." My professor was adamant on this one and I didn't want to be so easily swayed by opinion but, alas, he was right.
-- I got caught up with Fran on The Tudors. Good Lord, those guys were some evil bastards. I had nightmares about the last episode we saw that showed the torture and beheading spree.
-- I am prepared to tape all three hours of Lost this Thursday. We have extra footage, plus the two hour season finale to discuss later on. Right now I'm betting that the last episode will be about Claire. We also discussed that maybe the island brought Christian Shephard back to life and that the freighter will blow up because Sun and Aaron are the only ones of the Oceanic Six who aren't in the room with the explosives. Now, as to who the other two people are supposedly survived the crash but later died, had better be freaking explaining because that's driving me up a wall (as is everything else on this show.)
-- I am not getting my tax refund bonus money until this month because apparently since I had the processing fees with TurboTax taken out before my refund was deposited. I don't get why this extra cash can't be sent electronically as well but, eh, at least they're sending me something (although, I think I count as the poorest of the poor and will only get the minimum amount.)
-- I need, and do not currently have money for: Frontline for the cat, my allergy pills, money for my insurance and going out cash. Seems though the insurance money will obviously have to come first and everything else will just have to wait.
-- I found my Ophelia painting from my old office and I tacked it up in my bedroom, since my walls are so bare. But then I got all antsy about staring at the damn thing at night and worrying about if it was even (since I have no frame to put it in right now) so I got on a chair and tacked it up in the hallway instead. That poster has been through a hundred attempts at staying up on a wall. It has rips and folds and holes punched in it on all corners. I remember when one of my seniors first saw that hanging in my office he said, "Wow, Miss. That painting is...uh...pretty intense." After I explained who she was, I think he was a little more at ease with my artistic tastes in office decor.
-- I took this picture of my desk after I got done with my cleaning spree. I have a lamp that actually puts out some light (for only $5) and a small stack of papers and items listed to be dealt with in the near future. By the way, the little notepaper reads, "To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment." Ralph Waldo Emerson. I found that when I was cleaning the desk up. Now I'm using it for my current work theme. I love Emerson.
-- I was ready to throw said lamp out the window last week when IE 7 kept crashing. Sure, crash recovery is fine, but crashing all the time for no apparent reason is not. I did some Windows updates, ran a couple of free virus and spyware detectors, plus removed the Share This button on my toolbar. I didn't have this problem before I added the button and my spyware mentioned a problem with my toolbar so...
And that's about it. Nothing else going on really. I have my little routine around here that keeps my mind occupied as I keep trying to find work, write my stories, get some cash, get some new books, get back to getting back I guess you could say.
Photo credit: deloresdefacto
http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=85
And I got what I got all despite you
<img src="http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g180/deloresd/516326731_a3a7b5f772.jpg" align="top" title="PUBLISHED!" width="500" height="332" border="0" hspace="0" vspace="0">
<p>
I finally got accepted for publication!<br>
<br>
After going through the voting process for the school's lit journal, I received a preliminary list of those submissions that were voted on; mine was not. However, the editor in chief said that we could suggest two more that weren't on the list and, of course, I voted for myself <i>again</i>. (I'm starting to feel like a band geek who wants to be prom queen.) What got me the most was not only did no one, out of the eight on the editors panel, aside from myself even cared about the five stories that I wrote, but they chose the hackneyed potty humor or the overly sympathetic memoirs over my work that I've always tried to have as actual literature. (I never even wanted to go the chick lit route.)<br>
<br>
But the editor in chief, today, said that one of my stories that I had suggested, was on the borderline (whatever that means) so she would put it in this coming edition. I had chosen two stories, on my last vote, that were the ones I was most satisfied and proud of myself after finishing. The one they picked was the one that was a "risk" (as my professor would say) so maybe he had a hand in that selection. Whatever the reason, I'm glad I got my work put to some public use, just as I always wanted it to.<br>
<br>
It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. I'm not going to let the fact that it's a small college's literary journal that I "work" for, stamp out my enthusiasm from finally having what I want of my future, to come a little closer to my present.
<br><br>
Photo credit: <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/fsse-info/" title="fsse-info" target="_blank">fsse-info</a>
<br><br>
<a href="http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=84" title="http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=84" target="_blank">http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=84</a>
And I got what I got all despite you
<img src="http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g180/deloresd/516326731_a3a7b5f772.jpg" align="top" title="PUBLISHED!" width="500" height="332" border="0" hspace="0" vspace="0">
<p>
I finally got accepted for publication!<br>
<br>
After going through the voting process for the school's lit journal, I received a preliminary list of those submissions that were voted on; mine was not. However, the editor in chief said that we could suggest two more that weren't on the list and, of course, I voted for myself <i>again</i>. (I'm starting to feel like a band geek who wants to be prom queen.) What got me the most was not only did no one, out of the eight on the editors panel, aside from myself even cared about the five stories that I wrote, but they chose the hackneyed potty humor or the overly sympathetic memoirs over my work that I've always tried to have as actual literature. (I never even wanted to go the chick lit route.)<br>
<br>
But the editor in chief, today, said that one of my stories that I had suggested, was on the borderline (whatever that means) so she would put it in this coming edition. I had chosen two stories, on my last vote, that were the ones I was most satisfied and proud of myself after finishing. The one they picked was the one that was a "risk" (as my professor would say) so maybe he had a hand in that selection. Whatever the reason, I'm glad I got my work put to some public use, just as I always wanted it to.<br>
<br>
It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. I'm not going to let the fact that it's a small college's literary journal that I "work" for, stamp out my enthusiasm from finally having what I want of my future, to come a little closer to my present.
<br><br>
Photo credit: <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/fsse-info/" title="fsse-info" target="_blank">fsse-info</a>
<br><br>
<a href="http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=84" title="http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=84" target="_blank">http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=84</a>
And I got what I got all despite you
I finally got accepted for publication!
After going through the voting process for the school's lit journal, I received a preliminary list of those submissions that were voted on; mine was not. However, the editor in chief said that we could suggest two more that weren't on the list and, of course, I voted for myself again. (I'm starting to feel like a band geek who wants to be prom queen.) What got me the most was not only did no one, out of the eight on the editors panel, aside from myself even cared about the five stories that I wrote, but they chose the hackneyed potty humor or the overly sympathetic memoirs over my work that I've always tried to have as actual literature. (I never even wanted to go the chick lit route.)
But the editor in chief, today, said that one of my stories that I had suggested, was on the borderline (whatever that means) so she would put it in this coming edition. I had chosen two stories, on my last vote, that were the ones I was most satisfied and proud of myself after finishing. The one they picked was the one that was a "risk" (as my professor would say) so maybe he had a hand in that selection. Whatever the reason, I'm glad I got my work put to some public use, just as I always wanted it to.
It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. I'm not going to let the fact that it's a small college's literary journal that I "work" for, stamp out my enthusiasm from finally having what I want of my future, to come a little closer to my present.
Photo credit: fsse-info
http://www.deloresdefacto.com/?p=84
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