strike that

when it rains

One week ago I had no jobs, and this week I have two. I’m working on a third.

Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club, writes in Fugitives and Refugees that everyone in Portland has three lives. It is true and fantastic. Filmmaker / bartender / librarian. Editor / web designer / bike advocate. So here I am, easing into my Portland self: barista / professor / something else. To Be Announced.

Anyway back to the first two: Monday mornings I pour coffee; Fridays starting in January I teach landscape planning. Let us not discuss which hiring process was more rigorous.

This “getting hired” thing has many perks. For example, I no longer have to feel pathetic and worthless. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been sitting in a dark room for three months sobbing, but I’ve been at about 70% of my usual self. I’ve been quieter and less decisive and slow to put down roots. I’ve been a little flakier and a little needier and considerably more concerned with how the bill gets divided than I would prefer. And with what I’ve got so far I’ll still just be covering rent and my cell phone, but hell. What more does a girl really need?

So this morning I woke up and went to work. It was grand. It was grand even though it was five a.m., which is traditionally about the half-way point in my sleeping. I woke up and went to work at a fabulous little coffee shop that for the purpose of this blog I shall christen Celia’s, and the owner made me a big welcome latte because I lied and said I was a coffee drinker, and then I spent a caffeinated heart-pounding morning learning how to pour espresso.

Fuck yeah.

posted by tortaluga @ 4:45 PM