January 4, 2003
Happy New Year!
And special thanks to everyone that has written and commiserated about the Teeth of Doom. Let this be a lesson to you, kids. A cautionary dental fable, if you will.
Ah, but in an auspicious start to my new year, finally, the Teeth of Doom have been extracted! My mother may have terrible judgment when it comes to choosing doctors and dentists, but she did pick one hell of an oral surgeon. He squeezed me in and the Teeth of Doom were gone inside half an hour.
Of course, I did have to sit in his waiting room for 45 minutes prior to the actual extraction, which, considering the evil teeth were not working their excruciating mojo on my mouth at the time, would not have been that bad, except that it meant I was a captive audience for my mother's Continuing Lecture Series on "You'd Better Pull Your Life Together, Kate; and I Mean Now."
I know, I know. She's right. For all of my ultimate-Gen-X-slacker-I'm-not-working-for-the-man-because-I'm-an-artist tendencies, I do realize that if 2004 comes and I turn 33 and I haven't progressed any further than the "adjunct faculty/dilettante writer/horrific credit risk/girl who can't get in an accident because she doesn't even have major medical" level that I'm at now, things are not going to be pretty. Honestly, if some spooky carnival gypsy with that requisite gypsy fortune teller scarf tied around her head and the requisite gold hoop earrings were to show me in her spooky carnival crystal ball with the requisite mists swirling inside it that a year from now I'd still be the same....hmmmm....what's the correct word here?....gee....it's on the tip of my tongue....oh, fuck, no use beating around the bush....loser (there, I said it) that I am now, I think I'd opt for the head in the oven method of life change.
So, yeah, for the first time in a decade, I have some goals. Really lofty ones, too. Like getting a job that requires me to go to a single location and work there and that gives me health and dental coverage. Hell, I might even aim high and shoot for vision. And paying off those bills that I've been trying to pretend don't exist for the past eight months. And doing the work that I say I'm going to do for Rose Theatre (something I've been sorely neglecting lately). And doing laundry more than once every three weeks. And eating some vegetables and maybe even some fruit every once in a while -- that is if my body doesn't go into shock the first time I eat something green that wasn't made that color through the magic of food coloring.
Gee, and I was runner-up in the Most Likely to Succeed Category in high school. Go figure.
I suppose I could make a list of these really pie-in-the-sky resolutions about how I'm going to get more stories published and how I'm going to write a novel and take acting lessons and learn how to do magic and go to Europe and lose 5,000 pounds, but really, when you consider that I couldn't even manage to get two teeth looked at by a professional before they abscessed and caused me immense pain, I think I'd better start a little smaller.
But because this is me we're talking about here, the minute I made the decision to focus on these smaller, more attainable resolutions, the powers that be decided to fuck with me a little more. Just for good measure. Or a good laugh. I got a call this morning from Estelle -- you know, the Overlord of University B. Naturally, I didn't answer my phone because I didn't recognize the number on the Caller ID, so she left a message. "Kate, I really hate to leave a message like this but I guess I have to: The grades came out for Calculus and Chem and they were horrible and more kids than we expected failed out of the program so we had to eliminate another section and I'm sorry but that means I don't have any sections to offer you for winter and spring terms. I'm sorry. But I do want you to come back in the fall."
Uh, yeah, okay, Estelle, you be sure to wait for me if I'm not there when you get in next fall. And, you know what? If she "really hate[d] to leave a message like this" then why in the name of everything that is holy didn't she just leave a message saying: "Kate, this is Estelle. Please call me back. It's very important"? Please. She didn't want to leave a message like that? Yeah, right. She probably had her fingers crossed the whole time the phone was ringing, hoping that the machine would pick up so she wouldn't have to screw me over in person.
I swear, when I agreed to go back this year, it was only because she swore on the University Charter that I would be guaranteed to keep at least one section for the entire year. Of course, that was before I allowed my students to do an alternate assignment and kept pointing out all of the stupid, hypocritical things that the English for Engineering Faculty was doing, but now as far as I'm concerned fool me once, shame on you, but after that, that's it, baby; you don't even get a shot at fooling me twice.
So I am NEVER going back to University B. And I really hope Estelle calls me next fall and asks me to come back because I am just going to laugh and laugh:
Estelle: Kate, we'd really like you to come back.
Kate: Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahha......(You do realize that this means that I will not only be back at University B next year, but I'll be team-teaching a class with Estelle just for good ironic measure.)
Scott, because he is one of the best people on this earth, feels terrible. He's trying to compensate in the only way he can by giving me lit classes to teach at University C in the summer AND the fall (no one on staff at University C gets to teach two semesters in a row, because we all have to take turns until the program gets okayed to go full-time), but while it is a wonderful gesture, it doesn't quite help me now during the winter and spring terms.
So I am looking for an office job.
Shudder.
I only have to stay there until this gig at University C goes full time, which should be in the next year or so. I keep telling myself that. Every time I send out a resume. I also keep telling myself that if I'd hurry up and learn how to do the frigging magic already, I could write my novel and get a publishing contract and fuck the office job and the teaching gig.
Well, maybe just the office job, but still....
Ah, but it's all about baby steps, Katie, baby steps. Let's concentrate on being able to visit a medical professional without fear of having to shell out a thousand bucks to do it. After that, magic lessons will seem like cake.
7 Deadly Sins and Other, Less Fatal Diversions
Pride:
Envy:
Wrath:
Sloth:
Avarice:
Gluttony:
Lust:
Book:
Tune:
I was born in the wagon of a travelling show.
Task at Hand:
Quest for Publication:
Total Submissions: 22
I didn't pass out when the oral surgeon repeatedly stuck a giant needle full of novocaine into my gums. With my deathly fear of needles, that's quite a feat.
My brother who got to eat pepperoni pizza for dinner while I was stuck with soup.
The more I think about how Estelle broke the news of my not coming back to University B, the more it feels like a set up.
I suppose I should find out if and when I am teaching at University A, considering the loss of my other teaching job for the semester.
I'm not giving away my possessions, but I'm also not particularly craving anything at the moment.
Two teeth pulled = soft foods. Lots of ice cream.
Billy is still reigning champ.
Almost done with The Two Towers.
Cher, "Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves":
My Momma used to dance for the money they'd throw.
Pappa would do whatever he could,
Preach a little gospel,
Sell a couple bottles of Dr. Good.
Buying a car.
I didn't win the writing contest I entered. Ah, what do they know, huh?
Rejections: 13
Acceptances: 1
Withdrawals: 7