An open letter to my mother on finding a job

Dear mom,

I really appreciate you trying to help me find a job. I’m sure Starbucks is really missing out on their next barista all-star in not hiring me. I know I shouldn’t set my standards too high, but I think I can hold out a little bit longer for something suited for long-term and stable employment.

I will start by saying I’m sorry. I do not want to work in counseling. I do not want to be a grief counselor either. I do not want to work in a setting that, while rewarding, will compromise my own mental health. 

Furthermore, I do not wish to work with children. The few friends that will let me near their children will testify to the fact that they always return bruised after a casual visit with me (I can’t help it if they fall and get a black eye! But it does look bad on my part).

 Zelda's mom told her I was coming over today.

Notice those two statements and consider this possibility: I do not want to be a child therapist. Or a play therapist, or a sand tray therapist, et cetera. I know you want me to work with children because of all those years of babysitting I did in high school and how much fun I had. The difference now is that I do not have the swim club to babysit at or work in groups with all of my friends. I also charged $2 an hour – that alone is probably why I was so popular.

 I taught my nephew that a little butt-crack is okay to show off. Now he just needs a tramp stamp.

 

As for my mechanical skills: I am not the only kid who knew how to work a VCR. You gave me a little genius lee-way by saying that I put together a VCR in the 3^rd grade. I believe I got a VCR for my birthday in 7^th grade, and I “put it together” by hooking it up to a television set. I was also able to set the clock and record at specific times. I was able to do this based on one simple act that dad taught me: I read the instruction manual. So I do not consider mechanical engineering as a marketable skill; however, I am able to read and follow instructions.

You also mentioned that I wanted to be a writer. Writers do not make money unless they are really good. I never thought of writing as a means of employment. Photography, however, I really wanted to pursue.  Like writing, photography doesn’t pay much unless you are really good, or find a niche that no one else has hit on yet. My photography is mediocre in comparison to the professionals I know*. 

There are several reasons why my knowledge of German is not marketable. 1.) I took it in high school and college and today can barely understand German. 2.) Who speaks German, besides Germans inside Germany? 3.) The German language has the unintended association with Adolph Hitler. While I have a whole separate tirade on the overuse of comparing people, places, and things with Nazi Germany, it is a common (and unfortunate) association.

I need to take a minute to address my position at HopeLine. I was a volunteer coordinator, and was later recruited as the Interim Executive Director. I want to be very clear in the semantics. Interim. I only worked there three months. It was arduous work, and I usually worked 60-70 hours per week trying to regain grant funding and to set up volunteer training. I did not leave because of the callers. Taking calls was the easy part; taking calls and budgeting and recruiting volunteers and coming up with fundraising ideas and setting up speakers and dates all at the same time was a bit overwhelming.

Today was the last straw. I know you have every intention of being helpful.  But you had to go and bring my dead sister into this whole job-search-thing. And not even in a positive way! Since I am writing openly, I will disclose here that my sister was once fired from Kerr Drugs for unknown reasons. We have assumptions, and we can’t ask her why she was fired (or, in my mind, ask her if she really was fired?) I got a phone message from you this morning saying that you thought Kerr Drugs may be hiring for pharmacy technician positions. This is a legitimate referral, except for the fact that it is the same exact job and position that my sister was fired from, at the exact same store, and even though it was over ten years ago, I’m pretty sure it’s the same management. Even if I was able to get past the application and interview process, I would still be doing the same thing my sister was doing all those years ago. And that is kind of creepy.

In sum, I thank you for your help. I asked if you had any critiques of my résumé**, and you stated that it was geared toward Administrative or Office Management positions. The reason for this is because I am looking for a job in Administrative or Office Management. 

As always, I thank you so much for your overwhelming support while I am gainfully unemployed. I have never been so busy with all of these requests from friends and family for free work! I look forward to one day re-entering the workforce, in a job where I can have a salary and be able to use my cell phone from time to time. I do not know what I definitively want to be doing; I just know I do not want to be doing what got me here in the first place.

With love, kindness, and understanding,

Katie

*there are some photographers that should not be making money off of their misuse of expensive lenses; wide angle lenses are not intended to morph group shots of people into extended foreheads.

**for a copy of my résumé, please email katieallenwatson@gmail.com. Tell your friends!

Seven Year (b)Itch

Yes, it has been seven years since my sister died; seven and a half. My silly, complicated, eighteen-year-old, the-world-is-your-oyster - sister. In the movie The Seven Year Itch, Elwell argues that many men have affairs after seven years of marriage. While I do not have any scientific nor social statistical proof that this is, in fact, accurate, the idea still sticks with me. The idea that after seven years, you start to get restless. Things aren't what they used to be, and maybe you aren't where you thought you would be. You try to look for what is missing, and try to fill the void.

I have been journaling the past month or two, which has been quite cathartic. On July 4th, I had a moment where I thought my life would be so different if my sister were alive. When you graduate high school, the big question grown-ups like to ask is "where do you see yourself in ten years"? My answer was that I'd probably be living in Europe working in Social Welfare or traveling to third world countries or in the Peace Corps making a meager living, possibly as a translator after majoring in foreign languages in University. I never thought I would be married and have three dogs and gain fifty pounds and go to Graduate School for the same thing my aunts and my mother studied. Most of that happened in the past seven years. Actually, the only thing that didn't happen in those seven years is that I had one dog, Bean, who is nine. And I do not have a sister.

I have tried in so many ways to fill the void. I have surrogate sisters that got me through my wedding day. I have friends I can call or text at all hours. My brother is very supportive in ways that Caroline never was. I have a husband that is very sweet and dear and supportive. I have my sister's books and some sketches. I have her initials tattooed on my arm.

My seven year itch feels like a quarter-life crisis. How do I go forward memorializing my sister when it has been so long ago? To continue on, thinking about her everyday, considering what Caroline would have thought or said about something she had seen or done, seems like I'm stuck in an unhealthy pattern. But I think the same things about Rob, so I call him up and ask him, or text him, or meet up with him. I cannot quit having my sister in my life. It is uncomfortable at times - when a three year old asks me if I have a little brother or sister (in a nutshell - yes, a sister, they can be a pain in the rear-end, and they will steal your clothes when you're older).

Here is what I propose: grief counseling. I believe I have life experience that I can pass on to others. That's the goal I am going to have to put my energy into. I will have to answer difficult questions. I will struggle with smoking cigarettes (I'm not a smoker, but I do have a cigarette here and there. Note to new friends: Caroline died due to a cigarette left on a sofa and the resulting CO2, so I have extra guilt added to that one cigarette).  I have new family members and new friends. Life goes on - yet there is still a tug at my heart when sisters go to the movies together or even fight. I will not have that again. And that's okay.

I get moody and bitchy and I don't want to talk about it. A simple thing like a song on the radio will set me off, mostly because Brennan is butchering it. Poor, poor, me; woe as the pain set upon the privileged white woman (this is the major reason I have been against having a blog, but wait, I'm getting there). Classes start this month. I'm not where I thought I would be 10 years ago; who would have thought I would get married in my twenties? But I am totally in love and happy here in my save haven. I will create change at a very small level, but it will be a positive change. I will be a support system. I will be strong when I need to be, and I don't have to be strong all of the time.

 My punk-loving, skater-dating, independent sister still lives on. I will say a phrase that she used to say, or Rob will make a face that reminds me of Caroline. She will be eighteen forever. Things will settle, and soon it will be eight years; then a decade; and on and on. Sometimes I will act eighteen and irresponsible and silly and dance to music that isn't there. And that's okay.