I'm not Jules!
Last night after hanging out with one of my friends, she asked me what my plans were for today. Naturally, I replied with my best off-the-cuff, snarky answer: “You know, hang out on the couch. Stalk people about jobs. Look for apartments since I have to move into one by Tuesday. Sit at Starbucks for a while. Go to the gym. The usual.”
She rightly took my semi-smartass tone as worry on my part and because she’s a good friend, moved in for the consolation. “Don’t worry, you’ll find something. But it wouldn’t be very Rebecca for everything to be planned out and organized. That wouldn’t be exciting to you, right? I mean, you thrive on all this!”
Oh. Holy. Jesus. That’s when I realized that my 3 classes at ACT (thanks, Ryan) had done me way more good than I’d ever imagined. I’ve fooled all my dearest and closest friends into believing that I’m livin’ the dream. What dream, I’m not really sure. But somewhere along the way in the past 2 ½ years, I think I may have become Jules from “St. Elmo’s Fire” to my urban family. And this is disturbing.
You remember Jules. (for those who care to admit they saw this winner. I still watch it from beginning to end when it comes on Lifetime) She’s the happy-go-lucky, coke-snorting, boss-screwing gal who can’t hold down a job and hates her step monster.
Now I’m pretty sure that all my close friends know that a) I’m not a snorter b) I don’t have a job so I can’t screw my boss (nor would I if I had one) and that c) back in the day, I had jobs that I stayed in for years at a time – 5 ½ at one.
But I wanted to clear the happy-go-lucky record. I AM happy with the decision I made to leave my semi-high-paying job (compared to what I WILL make, anyway), clothes-buying, dining-out, trip-taking life I used to lead. All of you (and I’m talking to my urban family now) knew that wasn’t for me. I really like what I’m doing, or at least what I’m TRYING to find a job doing. But make no mistake: as much as I know that many of you derive MAYBE 2.75 ounces of pleasure from your job, I still ENVY you for getting to go to these pleasureless cubes very day. For having a 401K and health insurance and 4 weeks vacation (and 10 sick days!). You can plan vacations. Book your holiday travel. Go shopping. And that just sounds like a dream to me right now.
I know, I know, in due time, I TOO will have my very own pleasureless cube. Don’t worry, I’m not ready to call it quits on this thing I’ve spent the past 2 ½ years working my ass off for (I just ended a sentence with “for” but I’m on a roll). And I know that won't be curing cancer or saving puppies when it finally happens. But I like it. I'm happy. And I just wanted you to know at least that much. But considering it’s Thursday and I’m shooting to find a place to live by Tuesday and not one single whore on craigslist has called me back. Yeah, I’m worried.
But I’m working on it. I’ve learned that my greatest strength is resourcefulness. I can pull a mongoose from a hat when I need to. I could actually probably FIND a real mongoose if I really needed to and come on, how many friends do you have that can do that? Which friend do you call when you need a mongoose? That's right. ME. But most of the time my resourcefulness comes in the way of asking for help from one of my amazing (I think that word’s appropriate in this case) friends. And you KNOW I hate asking. For that, I can never thank any of you enough. I’m grateful beyond words. Verklempt.
I did want you to know where I stand though. Just because I’m smiling, laughing (and drinking) doesn’t mean that the wheels ever stop turning in my head to figure out the next move and that I actually ENJOY all this uncertainty. Because I don’t. Not one tiny little bit. No. Fucking. Way.
But I am happy that I’m such a fine actor. And I’m super happy that I’m not Jules.
She rightly took my semi-smartass tone as worry on my part and because she’s a good friend, moved in for the consolation. “Don’t worry, you’ll find something. But it wouldn’t be very Rebecca for everything to be planned out and organized. That wouldn’t be exciting to you, right? I mean, you thrive on all this!”
Oh. Holy. Jesus. That’s when I realized that my 3 classes at ACT (thanks, Ryan) had done me way more good than I’d ever imagined. I’ve fooled all my dearest and closest friends into believing that I’m livin’ the dream. What dream, I’m not really sure. But somewhere along the way in the past 2 ½ years, I think I may have become Jules from “St. Elmo’s Fire” to my urban family. And this is disturbing.
You remember Jules. (for those who care to admit they saw this winner. I still watch it from beginning to end when it comes on Lifetime) She’s the happy-go-lucky, coke-snorting, boss-screwing gal who can’t hold down a job and hates her step monster.
Now I’m pretty sure that all my close friends know that a) I’m not a snorter b) I don’t have a job so I can’t screw my boss (nor would I if I had one) and that c) back in the day, I had jobs that I stayed in for years at a time – 5 ½ at one.
But I wanted to clear the happy-go-lucky record. I AM happy with the decision I made to leave my semi-high-paying job (compared to what I WILL make, anyway), clothes-buying, dining-out, trip-taking life I used to lead. All of you (and I’m talking to my urban family now) knew that wasn’t for me. I really like what I’m doing, or at least what I’m TRYING to find a job doing. But make no mistake: as much as I know that many of you derive MAYBE 2.75 ounces of pleasure from your job, I still ENVY you for getting to go to these pleasureless cubes very day. For having a 401K and health insurance and 4 weeks vacation (and 10 sick days!). You can plan vacations. Book your holiday travel. Go shopping. And that just sounds like a dream to me right now.
I know, I know, in due time, I TOO will have my very own pleasureless cube. Don’t worry, I’m not ready to call it quits on this thing I’ve spent the past 2 ½ years working my ass off for (I just ended a sentence with “for” but I’m on a roll). And I know that won't be curing cancer or saving puppies when it finally happens. But I like it. I'm happy. And I just wanted you to know at least that much. But considering it’s Thursday and I’m shooting to find a place to live by Tuesday and not one single whore on craigslist has called me back. Yeah, I’m worried.
But I’m working on it. I’ve learned that my greatest strength is resourcefulness. I can pull a mongoose from a hat when I need to. I could actually probably FIND a real mongoose if I really needed to and come on, how many friends do you have that can do that? Which friend do you call when you need a mongoose? That's right. ME. But most of the time my resourcefulness comes in the way of asking for help from one of my amazing (I think that word’s appropriate in this case) friends. And you KNOW I hate asking. For that, I can never thank any of you enough. I’m grateful beyond words. Verklempt.
I did want you to know where I stand though. Just because I’m smiling, laughing (and drinking) doesn’t mean that the wheels ever stop turning in my head to figure out the next move and that I actually ENJOY all this uncertainty. Because I don’t. Not one tiny little bit. No. Fucking. Way.
But I am happy that I’m such a fine actor. And I’m super happy that I’m not Jules.
posted by Single, Party of One at 9:15 AM
6 Comments:
first of all, you little whore, you're so much better looking than jules. and second of all, i never, ever mistake your smartass tone as worry. i take it as smartass rebecca who had the most wonderfully cynical sense of humor i know. and those drama classes, well let's just say those come in hand a lot more than fooling your friends (karaoke).
bacongrease always comes out when you rub it hard enough, right?
this is funny, not in a ha-ha way but in a parallel-lives-kinda-freak you out way. I quit my job more than a month ago (a/r manager, ugh) to try and do something more creative (illustration) and now I am drowning in a "did i do the right thing?" I did. we did. being broke is no biggie... and those craigslist whores will start calling (I promise). Have faith. In yourself.
I can relate. I felt that way all through ad school. And during the year before ad school when everything was shutting down in SF. The funny thing is, even after I found a job, there's something else to worry about now. It never stops! But I think it's also what drives us to do more. If we never worried about anything, we'd never be motivated to do anything. Why would we change anything if we were comfortable? As odd as it sounds, I hope helps (at least a little bit) to know we're all freaked out about something or other, even those of us with a 401K.
being in the same situation as you...all i can say is that you're braver than i...because I'M worred. not for you. you'll be fine. but for myself. but the cool thing is, that all it will take to turn this whole thing around is one phone call. till then, there's prozac.
wait, so you're NOT a cokehead? Well, as Dame Meg said in Harry and Sally, "I'll have what she's having!"
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