Priorities

I would like a new cell phone. I say would like rather than need, because I have a cell phone that works. I do not technically need a new phone. I needed a new phone in December, because my faithful old Motorola decided that she had been dropped too many times and was going to start not telling me when I had a voice mail, and other such nuisances in order to indicate that she was tired and wanted to be done. So I went to the AT&T store and got a new phone.

The problem that I have when I shop for a new phone is that my priorities are so very different from what a phone sales-person is used to hearing. Does it have a calculator? Can I set more than one alarm at a time on the alarm clock? How does it feel when I hold it to my head? It seemed to confuse the man that I did not care about things such as the megapixels in (on? of?) the camera or how quickly it could connect to the internet. He kept trying to sell me an i-phone, because store representatives work off of commission. Do you think that someone whose main concern in a cell phone is whether it has a calculator and multiple alarm capabilities needs an i-phone? I do not think so.

I finally told him I wanted the free Nokia, just to make him stop trying to convince me that I would like a touch-screen after I got used to it, because his wife had said that she would not want an i-phone for just that reason but now she is used to the touch-screen and loves it and would never want anything else. Free Nokia, please. Of course, he could not tell me anything about it, really. It is a basic use phone, and representatives do not tend to learn about the specifics of those. For the record, it does not have a calculator. Who makes a cell phone without a calculator in it? Nokia, that is who. Goodness. It also does not have multiple alarm capabilities (eh. oh well. it would not matter if that were the only thing wrong with it) and it is not a flip-phone, so it is a bit small.

I do not like it. I miss my old phone.

I am eligible for a full discount on an upgrade next August. I have found a different AT&T store, about the same distance away from my house, where the sales representatives are not nearly so pushy, where they actually listen to you and to what you want. So when I can get something new, I will go there, explain what is important to me, and be willing to spend a small amount of money in order to get something with which I will actually be happy.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Itsy-Bitsy Pieces of My Life

Esmeralda is shedding, which always frightens me a bit. I have a rough spot on my neck from scratching it while I had a cold last week, and wondered this morning if I were due to shed, as well. When I was at the optometrist's office today, there was a girl in the waiting room named Esmeralda, and it startled me when they called her. I jerked my head up, and ended up making very awkward eye-contact with her for a few seconds. This was the first time in my life, in all my many years of eye exams, that the assistant was able to perform the glaucoma test on the first try. I hate that test. The blue light coming toward my eye and pressing against it, even though the drops numb the nerve endings so I can not feel it, terrifies me. I was quite pleased with myself for making it through this time. Being there made me keep thinking about Blindness, which I finished reading last week. An excellent book, perhaps the best I have read in a long time. I was fascinated by the author's use of punctuation, which did as much for the pace of the book as the plot itself did. I miss reading a lot. I used to read several books per week, and now it takes me a week to read one. But I am trying to continue reading new books, rather than becoming one who only reads books she has read before. My other new book that I finished recently was If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, which I liked decidedly less. But it seemed to me that part of the author's intent was that the reader should feel the unease I felt at it, so that was somewhat consoling. Next is The Master and Margarita, which my sister has wanted me to read for several years. I had no time or energy to do so during school, but I plan to pick it up starting tomorrow. The trouble I find with reading a lot is, of course, that which so many discover they have. That is, I do not lack time, but I do not feel like reading during that time which I have. I am working eight hours a day, and while I am not working I would like to be mindless. Television is more attractive for that reason, although I dislike television in general. I do not want to lose that mind which was cultivated so carefully over the past four years. My job is horrid at times. We are still in training, having just entered the second week. The hours are awful, and it is a noxious environment to be in. But I have hope that things will improve after training is through, when I am actually in a small, colorless box answering and selling phones. Hard to imagine that that would be a step up, is it not? My soul aches, here. I had thought that I was doing so well, finally getting used to being here again, but tonight after work, my soul started hurting for California again. For my friends, for the places and people I love so much. Oh, how I dislike change, when it is change away from what is good. But I can see ahead. This is not the end. This horrid position is a means to an end, and I will not be there forever. All my applications to graduate school are in, and now I have only to wait. Some say that is the hardest part, but I think it is much easier than agonizing over essays. It is out of my hands; there is a certain ease that comes from that, a sigh of relief. I hope to get into Fullerton. I hope to move back, to finally live with Adria, to study and relax with friends once more. I have few friends here. I hope when I return I will still have many friends there. I am so awful at staying in touch, I fear I may be losing people. My main problem is that I never know what to say. So I say nothing, and they do the same, and we fall away in our respective silences. The underlying issue here is that it is not the conversation that I miss, but the silent presence. I miss most those with whom I can sit quietly, or walk quietly. I miss those with whom there is that quiet understanding that silence is okay, and the silence of not being in contact is so very different than the silence of two people sitting and reading, knowing that the other is there if something does need to be said. I miss that so very much. That is all I can write for now, not because there are no other small pieces of my life I can think of about which to write, but rather because that last bit can not very well lead into any of them.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily

Post-Script Edit: In re-reading this, I realized the ambiguity of one of my sentences. In the sentence I miss reading a lot, a lot should not be taken as the amount that I miss, (eg, reading. I miss it a lot) but the amount of reading I miss (eg, reading lots of books. I miss that).

JobJobJob (take two)

Employment comes to me, yet again. Finally. I will begin working on Monday for ICT. I actually do not really know what I will be doing, specifically. That is, I know I will be answering phones in a call center, but beyond that I am not sure exactly what the job entails. However, the first three weeks are training (a long training, for merely answering phones!) so I am sure I will learn what to do before I actually begin the real job.

The hours of training are a bit horrid: two in the afternoon until ten at night, monday through friday. I have no idea why it is at that time. I like not having to get up at five, but being at work until ten? That is something I had hoped to leave behind me at the library. After the initial three weeks of training, though, I will get a different schedule, five days per week (either monday through friday or tuesday through saturday; I have requested the latter) with hours sometime between six in the morning and eight in the evening. (What is the limit between evening and night? I feel like five o'clock starts evening...and perhaps that nine or ten begins night. Though I have a tendency to say five in the afternoon, and ten in the evening, because in college sometimes midnight still feels like evening.)

It has full benefits (after ninety days), and pays rather well (considering that it is answering phones), so that is nice. Really, any money will be nice. Being able to pay my student loans off would be lovely, as would being able to continue to afford my telephone, and to buy a good heat lamp for Esmeralda's tank (it is too cold, here), and to save money up so that I can perhaps afford to attend grad school in the autumn.

I will, of course, update you when I find out more what exactly the job entails, and whether I will survive it without going insane. I certainly hope I will be able to. It would not be much use saving enough money for grad school if I went insane in the process, rendering myself unable to attend after all.

Blessings in your travels,
Emily.

Labeled

Well, since I have done all I can for my Eastern and WSU applications, I went through and labeled all my posts. There are an awful lot of them, as you can see over on the right hand side if you scroll down. I think it is mostly helpful if a reader reads the post and says to himself, "self, what other things has Emily said about labels?" And then he can click on "labels" under labels at the bottom of the post and see for himself.

The lady at Eastern's grad office called me today to let me know that she received my transcripts today. She is wonderful and lovely. I am sure she is beautiful. Actually, in the image I have of her in my mind, she looks exactly like Marty, the math/comp-sci/comm.disorders secretary at Biola. Likely because she has a similar voice and shows a like care for a small person's troubles.

The person who answered the phone at WSU, however, sounded like a disinterested student employee who does not really know anything, or care that she does not know. Which is fine, I suppose. I have been there at times. But I do hope my transcripts got in there, as well. I am both terrified and hopeful, for various reasons, that I will not be accepted anywhere at all.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.

My Wretched Day

It started out not so badly, you see. Got up, showered, dressed, had breakfast, made tea. Realized that my interview was in twenty minutes and that it takes ten to drive there, and so did not get to drink my tea. The first bad thing of the day.

The interview was not horrid, but I was nervous. Also, the ladies interviewing me were very casual, which was a bit off-putting for me. That is, I was not entirely sure how to interact with them, because it was very different from the atmosphere one usually encounters in an interview. So that made me more nervous. They said they would be making the decision today, and that I would hear back by five.

I came back to the house, and called EWU to check on whether they had received my transcripts yet. I had faxed Biola with my transcript request ten days ago for EWU, WSU and CSUF, and none had received them yet. Eastern confirmed that they still did not have it. The lady I spoke with was so lovely and nice, she made me feel as though everything in the world would be all right.

So then I called the Biola Registrar. They did not answer their phones. I called again and again, finally left a message, and then continued to call about every ten minutes. Finally they answered. I asked whether my transcripts from my request on the twelfth had been sent. They are very far behind, so nothing on my account has been entered into the computer. She leaves me on a soundless hold for about ten minutes while she (supposedly) rummages through papers. I had to check my phone about once every two minutes to make sure that I was still connected. Could they not at least have had some horrid music or something? No, just dead silence. Anyway, she came back, finally. (I realize I am switching back and forth between past and present tense, but I really do not care at this point.)

"Emily? Your transcripts to San Diego State got sent on the seventh." I know that. Ye gods, did you not listen to me at all? "No, the request I sent on the twelfth." ... ... "We never received any other transcript requests from you. Are you sure you sent them?"

At this point I started crying. I am so frustrated with life and already emotionally unstable this week from having to come back to Washington, and from being worried about my interview from that morning. Yes, I sent them. Yes, they went through. So essentially, they lost them, but refuse to take responsibility for it. Now, my EWU and WSU applications are due on the first of February. I had my requests turned in in plenty of time, but now they make me re-fax my requests, and I have to rush-order them, which costs ten extra dollars per transcript. Forty extra dollars, just because the stupid Registrar people lost my paperwork. I know that I am not the only person to whom this has happened. My mom drives me, sobbing, to her work to re-fax.

I do not have the money for this. My credit card is nearly maxed out, my savings account is dwindling, I have loan payments due on the first, and a phone bill coming up, and other stupid expenses. Stupid Biola, I can not wait until I am no longer dependant upon you.

I finally manage to calm down. But then five o'clock comes and goes, and I still have not heard from the credit union about the job. So I stress until seven-oh-five when my phone rings. I am sure you have guessed by now that I did not get the job. And if so, then you guessed correctly. I really wanted it, too. So that sucks. Anyway, anything more I would say here would just be whining, and I do not like doing that. So I will close.

Blessings on your travels,
Emily.