She Works Hard For the Money

I am no longer an Americorps*VISTA. It was a good year. I learned a lot about general office happenings, a little about basic marketing, and had an enjoyable time tutoring STAR students. I was allowed to use my strengths (a basic knowledge of how to write clearly and consisely and a ruthless proofreading eye) and forced to develop some level of confidence in my abilities. I'm not sure I did much for VISTA's overall mission (to eradicate poverty in the United States). I never saw my work plan (I am not sure it ever existed), never handed in a time sheet or monthly progress report. (For the record, I would have willingly done so. I inquired about such things, but never received answers.) Our VISTA site closed after my term was up, so I think it is safe to say such things without jeopardizing the program. Overall, it provided me with some much-needed experience and little pay. The idealist in me would have loved to have entered an AmeriCorps experience that truly stretched me, where I was forced to pay rent on the measly stipend in a poverty-stricken area and I knew, with certainty, that I was making some sort of difference in someone's life. The realist in me is thankful that I had a professional type of position for a year and was not forced to clean rooms or work in a convenience store to get by. Decent jobs are difficult to acquire around these parts.

I started a new job last week. I am working in an eye doctor's office. I feel pretty stupid still and assume that most of the people who work there think I am, as well. It is hectic and fast-paced, but I am hopeful that I will get the hang of it soon. The majority of the patients are elderly and adorable. As my standard speech consists of speedily delivered mumbles, I am slowly adjusting to constantly speaking slowly and loudly in my syrupy phone voice. There are tons of things that I don't have the hang of yet, and it is frustrating and worrisome. I like the people who work there (including my aunt, who helped me get the job) and I think I will like the job enough once I get the hang of it. I tell myself that it won't be the worst thing in the world if it doesn't work out, but I don't know. I hate sucking at things (not that many people probably enjoy it). I do enjoy the uniform . . . khaki pants, green polo shirt, lab coat . . . it's rather comfortable and completely frees up time formerly devoted to wardrobe planning.

[DISCLAIMER] I am going to blog. So I say, anyway. Should I be embarrassed? Potentially, I guess, but I should certainly receive no more criticism for keeping a public chronicle of my thoughts than I should for, say, the number of hours I devote to reality tv viewing per week or cigarettes I smoke each day. I need to write something . . . anything, really, to assure myself that my brain is still somewhat functional. I'm not particularly sure about why I feel the need to justify my intentions. My inner vouyer loves to read other people's blogs, and I find some of them to be especially thoughtful or witty or well-written. The other 82% of them tend to be overly self-focused and boring, full of silly rants or luv messages to their bois and/or gurls, but lacking in substance and an understanding of basic grammar. I am really in no place to criticize anyone who is attempting to write as a form of self-expression, though, as I haven't been able to make myself sit down and come up with much of anything to say at all in recent months. So, I guess I will give it a shot. I make no promises of brilliance. I find my life, at the moment, to be rather sullen and dull, riddled with neuroses/idiosyncracies, but blessed with little moments of love, humor, and understanding. Here goes. [END SILLY, SMALLISH RANT]