Epilogue

"God makes hungry.  The devil thirsty. [...] Well, folks, I guess many in this fine hall are as hungry and thirsty as me, and I'd better stop, folks, right here.  Yes, better stop.  My notes and my self are petering out.  Gentlemen, I have suffered very much, and more than any of you can imagine."
-From Pale Fire

Fitting for me to wrap things up with a quote from my favorite author, the one whose writing inspired a love for the printed word so deep that I became a librarian, and this blog was born.

I now consider this blog to be a finished product.  There won't be any more posts.  It was about the struggles of trying to become a librarian, and it lasted far longer than I thought or hoped it would.  But that part of my life is behind me now.  That is, unless I get laid off in a few months and need to begin my search anew, but we'll just imagine it's not likely.  I feel that this is a good way to bookend the blog; my second and penultimate posts are titled "Give Up" and "I gave up," respectively.

Now I suppose to sum up.  I finally made it, I'm a librarian.  It happened just 3 months shy of my decade anniversary of receiving my MLIS.

To review, what was the cost of this MLIS?

--10s of thousands of dollars of debt, between undergrad and grad school.  I think it began in the low 40,000s, and is currently at 11,500.

--Losing out on a decade of my life.  A decade I was unable to live independently, meaning a decade I was unable to do various things in my personal life that were important.  Things that I have a greatly diminished ability to do now that I'm 35, as those activities were much more suited for people in their 20s.

--Had to move to literally the other side of the country, nearly 1,000 miles away from everyone I know, to a state where like-minded people are harder to come by.

--Earning a salary that's a bit on the entry-level side.  My dad made significantly more just being a mailman.

I don't mean to sound unhappy, so I'll also list the positives:

--I like every single person I work with.

--I'm doing a job that feels meaningful.  I get to do something that makes a positive difference in the world, rather than toil away just to make a rich asshole richer.

Those two things matter, and they matter a lot.  I'm not at all unhappy in life right now.  But you can find those things in jobs other than librarian.

In the end was it worth it?  Absolutely not.  I fucked up my life for library science.  I lost the best years of my life waiting for something to come together for me.

Would I recommend an MLIS to anyone?  Absolutely not.

Would I, in fact, actively discourage people from pursuing an MLIS?  A little.  I recognize that no one can predict the future.  When I was in grad school they were predicting a huge boom for library jobs soon after I was scheduled to get my degree, and look how that worked out.  But still, I think a huge fall is much more likely in this field than a huge boom, and I would likely at the very least give the same advice I would have close to the start of this blog.  You had better be passionate enough that you're willing to make sacrifices and spend a good long time living the starving artist life.  If you're not, I highly recommend fucking right off, for your own sake.

Would I do things over differently if I had the chance to turn back time?  Yes, I would.  I would absolutely choose a different career.

But am I happy now?  Yeah.  I mean, I guess ask me again when I'm 50 and still never got what I really wanted out of life because I started too late, but right now I'm happy.  I've made a life for myself, albeit very late, and I'm doing something worthwhile with good people.

For posterity, here is the map I had been working on of my application attempts in its final version.  I failed to achieve my goal of being rejected by every state in the union, but I came very close.  Maybe someday...

On a final note, I posted on a librarian forum about me getting the job after nearly a decade.  I was shocked to see people telling me that yeah, that sounds about right.  I know the field is in poor shape, but I thought my case was exceptionally bad.  Sadly, I was wrong.  A few people told me that it's exactly normal, and absolutely no one tried to tell me I was just especially unlucky, and most people fare better.  Not one.  I submit that, while it's obviously possible to do better, it's also not incredibly unusual for things to go just about this badly.

On another final note:  I reread over my old posts.  There are some very, very dark turns in here.  I was depressed through some of this, and when I was, it showed.  I can't even remember what it feels like to be so miserable, and thankfully I haven't felt that way in some time.  When I look back on it, it's actually scary to see it.  It's a great relief to know I made it through all of that.

Happy trails to all, thanks everyone who read.  Most people finish novels faster than I finished this blog, but at least it finally happened.  Goodbye and good night.

I gave up

So, last year I was weighing some pretty heavy decisions about giving up.  Granted, I've been aware of that looming decision  ever since I began this blog-- my second ever post was titled: "Give Up."  But the end of 2017 is when it really reached the point where the ship had taken on so much water that it was now becoming urgent for me to get into a life raft, or fully embrace sinking to the bottom of the ocean.  As I weighed my options, I saw one last chance of rescue; a passing ship that just might be close enough to see my flare.

I realize I'm getting lost in metaphor as I tend to do, so to clarify: in late December, after having decided to throw in the towel, I got an email from a place on the other side of the country that wanted to interview me for a position.  So I decided, that's it.  This is my last chance.  Either I'm going to get this job, or I'm going to give up for good.  I'd get a minimum wage job working 40 hours a week while also teaching at night for another 9-16.  I'd live the kind of life I specifically never wanted: long hours, my life taken up by nothing but work, all just so I can scrape by.  I was going to be miserable, but I was out of options.  So everything is riding now on this one last chance.

Well... it started out well.  I had a phone interview in January.  It was actually quite promising.  They were impressed with my experience-- they even noted that it's unusual to get applicants with so much experience since it's an entry level job.  Oh, did I mention that?  It's an entry level job nearly 1000 miles away from me, in a part of the country where there are very few like-minded people, for a low (but at least livable) wage.  Yeah, in this "all or nothing" scenario, this is what I was considering the "all" to be.

Anyway, the phone interview was good and they invited me to their state-- again, almost 1,000 miles away-- for an in person interview.  This is where things went off the cliff.

I had to fly there.  I'd never flown.  This is the dead of Winter and I got a ride to the airport from my dad.  I guess it could have been worse.  I could have gotten onto the plane and it could have crashed.  As it turned out though, well, I've still never flown.

The flight got delayed.  Then it got delayed again.  And again.  And again.  I think I sat there for about 7 hours before it finally got cancelled.  So, the plane never took off.  They weren't able to get me onto another one that would have made it to the airport where my transferring flight was in time.  Oh, and did I mention that the place interviewing me was on a very tight schedule?    They probably wouldn't be able to reschedule.

I called the person who interviewed me.  The first words she says: "oh no, and you had such good references too."

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.  That was not a good thing to hear.  I suggested possibly a skype interview.  She couldn't make any promises, but said she'd call me early in the morning.

I got a ride back home from my dad.  It was dark, the road conditions were terrible, and he even got lost for a bit.  That ride home, after sitting at the airport all day waiting for a plane that never took off, was just such a fitting end to my hopes of getting into this career.

I woke up very early in the morning after very little sleep in anticipation of that phone call.  The bad news was that, indeed, there would be no rescheduling of the flight.  The good news was that at least they could give me the skype interview.

Great.  I mean... I guess they tried.  It was something.  But crap, we know that the main point of an interview is getting to know the person a bit so you can decide if they'll fit in with your culture.  And when everyone else got to meet them in person and I just get a skype interview, suddenly my odds have gone from promising to dismal.  Can you imagine living the rest of your life in a completely miserable existence, all the while knowing that things could have been completely different if one tiny thing-- like a plane taking off-- had gone differently?

I did the best I could with what I had.  There was a presentation involved, and I had to do it over skype, but I made it work.  She sounded very impressed; when it was over she said: "you actually pulled it off!"  Great, that's a point for me.  Adaptability-- I demonstrated the hell out of adaptability.  But that was worth 1 point, and developing a rapport is worth 50, so I wasn't surprised when I heard the words: "We're interviewing other people."  After just a few months shy of 10 years of trying to break into the field, with those words I heard the last nail being pounded into the coffin.

They told me I'd hear back within a week, and there was nothing more to say at that point.  My last grasp for a life that wouldn't be completely miserable had just played out, and it was a huge disaster.

So anyway, they called me the next morning and I got the job.

Yeah... you read that right.  Don't believe it?  Well, neither do I.  Because it only happens that way in the movies.  I give up, and literally my last chance, that's when it falls into place?  That could almost only be fiction.  That's the climax of a Shakespearean play-- the hero (sure, I'm a hero >.>) is either at his lowest point and suffers a huge reversal of fortune, or vice versa.  Or a movie-- the hero is on his knees, about to be dealt the death blow by his foe, when he turns it all around and throws the dastardly villain off the cliff.  But these things don't happen in real life.

Part of me still has to wonder if maybe I got in the airplane and crashed and died, and now my mind is in some kind of fugue state, extrapolating what my life might have been from my arrival to the airport on.

This is getting to be a long post, so expect an epilogue to follow.  I don't know when, but hopefully before too long.

Specificity

As us MLIS holders keep banging on the doors that the full time jobs are locked behind, I can't help be amazed and some of the job posts I see, and can't help but wonder how on earth they could ever be filled.  What kinds of jobs do I see when looking over library job sites?  Here are some fun examples:


Due Diligence Analyst (IL). 

I read the job description for this position and I still have no idea what they do.  But putting that aside, I'd love to know how many people went to library school in hopes of one day working as a Due Diligence Analyst.  If you're one of them, please tell me what you do in much simpler terms than I saw.


Product Coordinator- Reading Glasses (RI)

OK, I'm going to assume that this just made it onto a library job site completely by mistake, I don't think it's even supposed to be related in any way.


Bilingual Vietnamese Access Services Assistant (OR)

Seriously, who gets this job?  "Do you have an MLIS?  Do you have experience in access services?  Do you live in OR, or are willing to move there?  Do you also speak fluent Vietnamese?  Well then, it's your lucky fucking day.  Because if you have the qualifications to apply for this job, you're the only one!  Just show up to an interview, pants optional, and the job is yours!"  I would love to meet the person who got made fun of all through school because they studied for an MLIS and learned Vietnamese in the hopes of finding this exact job someday, and then it actually ended up paying off.  I would laugh and laugh and laugh.


These are of course oddball examples, but it's actually extremely common to see jobs that want you to have a second Master's degree, often in the hard sciences.  Yeah, I have a Master's in engineering, but now I'm going to spend the time and money on another Master's so I can go from being an engineer to being a librarian, because... I don't deserve to be happy.

These are the jobs I see when looking for employment.  Jobs I don't see: "Reference," without a bunch of stuff like "programming" and "children's lit" tacked onto it.  I'm pretty sure that used to be a thing, back before my ill fated graduation year of 2008.  I don't think they'll ever exist again.

The ugly wall.

An update from my last post to begin:

First, I did not get that job I mentioned I'd applied for toward the end.  I did apparently do well enough to get an in-person interview and for them to ask me to consent to a background check, but it was just another case of "close but nothing," and as we know, close doesn't count for anything.  All nothings are equal, no matter how close to something that nothing was.

But the "good news" is that I actually do have a section of my usual job to teach after all; a section got added three days before the start of the semester, so I got it.  It's not going well for various reasons that I suppose would be tangential to get into, so I won't.

What I will get into is another reason I said "good news" in quotation marks above: namely, the fact that this job is no longer a sustainable option for me.

Now that they got rid of one of the two courses I'm qualified to teach, I can no longer count on this job to keep me in the black.  Time was that I could usually count on two sections per semester, and now I'm lucky if I get one.  Getting one is by no means guaranteed at all, and even if I were lucky enough to get just one per semester, that does not keep me in the black if I want any kind of entertainment budget.

I still have enough savings that I can keep this rate of pay up for quite a while, but I really don't want to see myself hemorrhaging all the safety net money I've worked so long to shore up.

So this brings me back to that age old question I've been asking myself ever since I began this blog in 2012: when do I finally stop throwing good years after bad, accept that it's time to walk away, and find some crap low-pay job that at least pays better than the job in my field I have now so I can join the ranks of the working poor where I clearly belong, according to the library profession that will not have me?

If I were smart, clearly I would have done this years ago.  But here's the thing.

I'm going to take you back to a time long ago, when I was in high school.  I don't like going back to this time, so I will try not to stay long.  But here's a story that relates to the problem I have today.

In high school, I had a friend.  I know, I'm surprised too.  Let's keep going.  I'd walk home from school with this friend every day.  I was about a 12 minute walk from home, and for him tack on another minute or so.

This friend started dating someone.  So it goes.  One day he told me he'd be out soon, that I could wait for him.  He was going to make out with this person in the cafeteria, where people cooler than me often hung out at the end of the day.  I didn't understand why the cool kids wanted to hang out at school of all places when the day was done, but whatever.

So I'm sitting at my locker, non-existent butt aching from the hard tile floor,  staring at the very ugly wall in front of me.  For 15 minutes.  20.  30.  45.  An hour.  Longer.

I don't remember how long I ended up waiting, but it was long enough for me to be justifiably mad.  He never came out to tell me, "just go on without me," because he figured that after 10 minutes I'd have figured that out for myself.

The problem wasn't that I was "too stupid" to figure out myself that I should just walk the 12 minutes home alone, like that's a big deal.  The problem was that I was always afraid that if I left, it could be literally three seconds after I walked away that he might have come back out of the cafeteria.  And every second longer I stayed, the more likely it was that the next second would finally be the one.  It wasn't that staying was the "smart" move, it was just the fear that, after having invested so much time into waiting, I could be throwing that away when just one more second might have made all of that waiting, while a waste, at least not a complete waste.  At least all of the time I'd spent staring at the wall wouldn't be for nothing.

That's where I am now.  I'm 34.  I've lost.  I'm too old to accomplish the non-career goals I had in life (which were more important that my career goals to me).  It's over.  My life is ruined because of all of this waiting for my MLIS to pay off so I could finally pursue those goals.  At this point I should probably just cut my losses, join the working poor, and while away the end of my life because there's fuck else for me to do.

Yet here I sit staring at an ugly wall, because if I walk away now, I'll never know if waiting just one more month would have finally made all of these years something less than a complete waste.

The happiest of holiday news...

My situation for the past 6+ years has been that I’m a severely underemployed librarian; I teach info lit as an adjunct and make just enough to cover gas, car insurance, and student loans with a little leftover for a CD (because I’m old) or a bottle of scotch (because I’m awesome) or whatever now and then.  Meanwhile I'm living with my parents at 34 because after that I have not enough money left for food and rent because my life choice to be a librarian was terrible, which is what my entire blog is about. 

OK, so my situation has changed.  For the next 4 months of my life (at least) I am not an underemployed librarian anymore! No, I’m just straight up unemployed now, and just in time for the holidays.  Yeah, so that has now happened.  There wasn’t room for me on the schedule for next semester.

To be clear, this is not because of my performance.  As far as adjuncts go, I tend to be taken care of, in part because my boss is nice and knows my life sucks, but also in part because I’m actually pretty darn good at what I do.  No, the enrollment just wasn’t high enough and the full timers need to be put on the schedule first, so I’m out.

And now I get to figure out what to do for four months, and this is not wonderful.  My options for employment outside of my field are just about as good as options inside my field, which is one of the several reasons that supplementing my income with another part time job hasn’t been an option to begin with.

Problem one: I am a very small, weak person.  Last I stepped on a scale, I was 108 lbs of nothing that even remotely resembled a muscle.  I have a frame and a back that were simply not designed for digging ditches, hauling pig iron, or pulling rickshaws.  Hard physical labor is not an option.

Problem two: I have very little in the way of experience in anything outside of my field.  An office job would be doable—in fact I kind of enjoy mindless data entry.  But how often exactly do you see office jobs that don’t require years of experience?  I do have a couple years of very part-time experience in an office, but that organization has since folded (not my fault, promise), and my old boss is, um, probably dead.  That was not a joke, by the way; I think she literally died.  The organization was the two of us—her as the executive and me as the assistant—so there’s really no one around to prove I ever did it, much less speak to whether or not I was any good at it.

Problem three: I can also cross giving blood off the list.  I looked into it and you apparently need to be at least 110 lbs, and you can refer to problem one to see why that’s a no go.  That’s right; I’m not even qualified to give blood.

So I’m seeing three options in front of me.

Option one: Coincidentally, before this crap went down I applied to another crap, no pay, horrible hours job in my field that would put me behind a reference desk in an academic library, and I just had a phone interview that wasn’t a disaster as far as I could tell, so maybe I’ll get this job.  Putting aside the hours that will see me being awake for 18-19 hours straight on Sundays and then driving home at night in that sleep deprived state, this would actually be pretty great in the fact that it would give me more varied experience for my resume.

Option two: Cashier.  I wouldn’t be making much money, but “literally better than nothing” is pretty much my only salary requirement right now, and this is something I could physically handle that wouldn't necessarily require a lot of experience.  I would not love this job, but a librarian’s gotta do what a librarian’s gotta do (and in most cases this means “anything but actually be a librarian”).

Option three: Start studying science.  Master the field.  Invent a time machine, go back to me at 22 and tell myself, “DON’T BECOME A FUCKING LIBRARIAN.”

Further failure, part 2: the dark side.

I've been putting this post off for a while.  I posted earlier about a job I came so close to getting after all these years, but came up short once again at the very end.  That post was my optimistic look at the situation, and I planned to follow through with a pessimistic look at it.

But the truth is, I'm just not feeling it.  And not only did that make it hard to motivate myself to want to do this, but it made me afraid to do it.  I've actually been feeling pretty good lately.  I've had things in my life to look forward to, even if gainful employment (and everything that comes with it) hasn't been one of those things.  So I was afraid that if I looked inside myself for the gloomy outlook that I know still exists in here somewhere, I might just open that Pandora's box a bit too wide and gloom and depression would have dominion over me again.

However, I have more I've been wanting to say, and that means I need to get this post out of the way first.  So on the bright side, it was a good sign that I got so close to a job, that had circumstances been different, I might be gainfully employed and living in my own apartment right now.  On the bright side, I now know that it's at least possible.

But on the dark side....

On the dark side, that was a damn fucking good job I didn't get.  The kind of job that doesn't come around very often.  Gainful employment doing exactly what I want to do and exactly what I know I'm good at, while only having to work 80% of full time.  Having an extra 20% to myself, to spend how I want.  And working in a nice place with a nice bunch of people.  That job was at the tip of my fingers, but it came down to five people who decided to pull it out of my hands after all.  And just like that, my best shot at a great job is gone.

Now, I might get a job someday, sure.  But the chances of me getting a job like that?  Well, it just can't happen.  I'm no stranger in life to unicorn hunting, but I've never managed to catch that damn unicorn.  May have spotted a few, but they all got away.  I should definitely not be getting my hopes up about being able to catch this particular unicorn.  So no, I'm going to have to grind my life down working 40-45 hours a week or more, 49 weeks a year or more if I ever get a job at all.  And granted, that is what most people do, but if there were a way I could have avoided that and had enough time to do some real traveling and whatnot, well it would have been through a job like that.  A job I probably can't ever hope to have.

And then there's the other issue I've hinted at before and will hint at again: I want very little out of life.  but the one thing I wanted more than anything, it's already probably too late for me to get that.  And the reason it's too late is because I won't be getting a living wage until I'm God knows how old (33 and counting).  I really needed to get there by my mid 20s at latest, but since I already didn't do that, I have next to no chance even if I get a job tomorrow.  Even if I had gotten that job I'd have next to no chance.  This is all for nothing.

That's about all I can write right now.  I'm already feeling down from this, so I'll stop here and try to get myself back into good spirits.  Things are going ok for me right now.  I have things to look forward to.  And my next post will actually be good news.  Back to the bright side.

Further failure, part one: The bright side

I did not get the job.  I still have one more day before I'm able to get really dark about this, so here's the bright side.

This was the closest I've ever gotten to landing a full time job in the library field.  My previous best effort was a job in Indiana, where I absolutely crushed the phone and the webcam/presentation interviews, then drove there from two states away, only for them to show zero interest in me from the time I set foot in there until they sent me packing half an hour later.  I was leading on the score cards for a few rounds, but in the final round I got knocked the fuck out and buried.

This time, I didn't get knocked out.  I did well.  I did really well.  They spent close to three hours with me, enjoyed my presentation, and let me know in some way at more than one point that I'd impressed them.  I went bell to bell and forced a difficult decision.  "Yo, Adrian!"

They still went with someone else in the end.  It sucks, and more on that later.  But the good news is, I wasn't a joke.  I just need to find the right jobs to apply for (not an easy task, but they come around now and then), get luck to go my way, and someday I could finally get that call.  I was close.  Maybe if my interview had been on a Tuesday after lunch instead of a Friday before lunch, or if I'd been elsewhere in the order, or if I'd worn a different color.  Who knows, maybe it was just a little thing like that that ended up tipping the decision.  It worked against me this time.  Next time, maybe it can work for me and finally, after all this time, I'll have a new city for my chalk outline to circle.

The point is, I'm marketable.  For the right kind of job, I can get far and get strong consideration.  Possibly enough to be the one.  I have enough experience, and now I have more confidence.  I've learned from past mistakes.  I've been able to adapt and force myself to become what I need to be (or, fake it for just long enough to get away with it).  I now know I have the skill-set and experience, and all it will take is finding that right interview where the coin flip goes my way.  This is no longer impossible.

Don't worry, the next post will be far less positive.

To win big just once.

About a month ago, powerball fever swept the nation.  All over the country, people said: "statistics be damned," and purchased a ticket to get in on the action.  I suspect many of them were purchasing a ticket not to win, but to dream.  They knew damn well there was no real possibility that they'd win this life-changing money, but for a week or two, they got to window-shop online for all the big-ticket items they'd buy, got to imagine their dream homes, got to daydream about paying off their debts and giving their nieces and nephews a chance to go to college.

After a long while of being unable to motivate myself to look for a job (and who wouldn't get burned out after 8 years of failure?), I've-- at least for the time being-- pulled myself out of the funk long enough to apply for two jobs.  In doing so, I rediscovered something I had completely forgotten about.  The powerball effect.

I know that the odds of landing any particular librarian job are near as likely as winning the powerball for me.  But still, I can dream.  Ever since applying for those jobs, I've taken to imagining what this life-changing windfall would be like.  I think about going home after a day's work to a small but nice apartment.  I open the fridge-- stocked with nothing but foods I like-- and prepare a nice but relatively fuss-free meal.  While waiting for it to cook, I walk to my absinthe fountain-- something I've always wanted but have no room for without a place of my own-- and slowly drip myself a glass of absinthe to unwind from my day.  I eat, drink, and enjoy what's left of my day while looking forward to the weekend when I'll have time to see my friends.

I even began window-shopping for apartments.  I looked online at pictures of one-bedroom places with reasonable rent, and imagined living in that space, imagined where my things would go, imagined meeting with the apartment manager, seeing the places in person, and trying to figure out if there are children in the apartments, since directly asking is illegal for some asinine reason (I'm not allowed to value quiet and sleep?).

I think about some friends coming up to my new place, bringing board games and being supplied with generous portions of wine, scotch, or absinthe, as desired, along with a home-cooked meal.  For once, my friends can come to me, and not always vice-versa.

Some people buy their dreams with a few dollars.  I buy mine with the time it takes to fill out an application and craft a cover letter.  I think my way is harder, and for a smaller dream, no less.  But I'm not here to complain about that.  Also, I would typically at this point say something about how my dream will go up in a puff of nothing just as easily as all those powerball players.  I would talk about that crushing moment where it's all hopeless again, at least until I can buy the next dream.  But I'm not going to do that this time, because I'm trying to give up my default negativity for lent.  So instead I'll say, maybe it will be this time.  Or the next.  And the take away from this for me is that, despite the likelihood of rejection, there is real value in my trying.  I spent so much time curled up  in a pit of despair that I'd forgotten what it's like to lift my head and at least look up at the sky above.  Maybe, knowing this, I'll be able to convince myself to keep trying.

I only need to win big just once.

This library-land is made for you and...........

I probably said at one point that this blog would still be active, and I didn't want it to become one of those blogs to update every six months just to say "sorry I'm not updating, but I promise I'll start again soon!" only to go silent for another six months, and repeat.  Did I ever actually say that though, or did I just think it?  Either way, I was hoping for that not to be the case with my blog, and in my defense I meant it at the time.  The follow-through has left something to be desired.

Anyway, I'm not going to make excuses.  I'm also not going to promise to write more from now on.  The reason I haven't been writing all this time is, frankly, I feel defeated.  I've just come to accept that this will be my life, and all I'm doing is wasting my time when I try to find full time work.

Every now and then I'll see some fresh-faced fuck (sorry, but allow me to be bitter.  I've earned it) complain about how it took them a whole six months to get a job out of grad school, and I'll think my 6+ years of teaching info lit should damn well count for something and I should be able to get a job within just a few months too.  And then I'll remember how utterly devoid of hope the last six years have been, and just...................

How can I not give up?  Clearly I lack something.  I'm always assured that I'm a fine candidate, but, "there were just so many applicants, is all.  Sorry about your damn luck."  But can it really just be my damn luck when people are getting jobs so soon these days and I still can't?

I've been worn down.  I've lost the will to fight.  I've even lost the will to fight back.

I don't remember the last time I looked at the want ads.  Maybe October?  November?  It has been a while.  Even when you're starving, there are only so many times you can open a pantry that you know for a fact to be empty.  That's exactly what it feels like I'm doing when I look at the want ads these days.  After opening that pantry door so many times, I've just learned that it's empty and there's no sense in opening it as if I expect a jar of peanut butter to have spontaneously appeared.

So that's why I haven't been writing.  My motivation to look for work and any feeling of connection I have to this field is slipping more and more with each passing year.  I'm telling myself I'll write more, just as I'll look at the want ads more.  I'm not going to make any promises, though.

I wish I could just forget it all.  Be done with it.  I have a car that runs and I have a box of Woody Guthrie albums.  What else would I even need, if only I didn't need to worry about money for food and gas and student loans and another car for the day the one I have doesn't run any longer?  If it weren't for those needs, I'd say fuck it, get in my car, and spend a few years exploring that ribbon of highway I've been hearing about.

I want to see the desert.  I'm sure there's more for me out there than I've come to find in library-land.

We just got no letters, I wonder who they're from.

It has been an especially long time since I’ve gotten a letter of rejection.  Part of the problem is, of course, that I’m applying to fewer jobs these days.  The truth is, there have been far fewer jobs to apply to lately.  I don’t know exactly the cause, but it seems that there are far fewer jobs being advertised this year than there have been in the last two years, and most of my time job hunting lately is spent skimming a short list of job ads while thinking: "nope, nope, nope, I don't even know what that is, nope, and that's it, let's see how it goes next week."  But part of the problem is also that sometimes you just don’t get a rejection letter.  Sometimes you get a rejection email, and sometimes you get nothing at all.

Reading comments from other job seekers, I’m under the impression that a lot of us would very much appreciate being told when we weren’t selected for the job.  Maybe I’m still younger than some of them, but I honestly can’t remember a time when it was commonplace to receive any kind of notification.  I once applied to a job outside of the field, and the interviewer assured me unsolicited that they do call people to let them know if they were selected or not.  They never called me.  I learned after that that I should neither expect notification nor bother trying to obtain assurances that I’ll get any.

But really, of all of the complaints that us job seekers should have—the very shallow job pool (more of a job puddle, really), the mystery salaries, the low salaries—it seems odd to pick on notifications.  Maybe this is the best we feel we can do?  That was can never expect anything else to improve, but maybe if we raise our voices enough, more places will send out a nice little form letter or email?  Maybe even with a real signature on the bottom if we’re extra blessed?  I’m sorry, but with so many legitimate issues that exist when job hunting, it seems like nit-picking to bring this one up.  You know why I don’t care if I get notified?  Because if they never give me any kind of reply, that’s my answer.  I figured it out all by myself.  Actually, it somewhat annoys me to receive a notification of fuck off because it often happens 3-4 months after I apply for a job.  Why even bother?  Thanks guys, but I worked out that you didn't think I'd work out.  You've given me no new information.

But I have noticed the lack of paper letters in just the past year.  As I write this on Feb 2015, the last paper notification of what a loser I am came in on June 2014 (thanks, Santa Fe! I'm sorry I won't try your chili but I'm glad I won't encounter your scorpions).  And I know that paper notification letter had been a thing even as recently as a couple of years ago, and I know that because I have a stack of them.

I’ve saved every single one of them since I began job hunting in 2008.

I’m not sure what my intentions were, exactly.  Maybe I thought that when I got a job, I could look over every rejection letter and think: “you didn’t pick me, but I found someone who would.”  Maybe I thought that one day when my niece or nephew is looking for a job and having a hard time, I’d be able to pull my rejection letters out of my filing cabinet and show them that people often don’t succeed their first try, but if they hang in there, good things will happen.  Maybe I wanted to burn them all at once in some gleeful celebration.  Maybe I wanted something to glare at when I drink (though my MLIS is filling that role nicely).  I don’t know what I was thinking, but the point is I kept them, so I still have them, so I know they used to be a thing people sometimes received by mail.

And now it seems even more uncommon to receive them by mail than it was before.  This is, of course, only my experience and personal experience counts for nothing.  But since my experience is the one I’m writing about, here it is.  My thoughts on saving rejection letters suffer the same problem as my thought to pursue a career in libraries: it was a nice thought, but ultimately unworkable.

So this is the new year. And I don't feel any different

2014 is sputtering out its last gasps.  By the time anyone sees this, it will likely be 2015.  Another year ticks by with nothing to show for it but lack of opportunity and failure for the very few opportunities I did have.

The end of the year is doubly a symbol of failure for me, because it's not only the end of a calendar year, but the end of another year of my life.  I was born on December 28th, 32 years ago now.  As another year passes by for the earth, so too does a year of my life go by in almost perfect unison.  So now, as I type this out two days after my birthday and two days until the new year, I can say that both of these cycles have been completed once again without me seeming to be even one step closer to being anything, anywhere, to anybody.

I've mentioned before that I'm a failure, and as much as I try to move forward, the light never changes green for me.  Year after year, I'm seeing red.  Farewell 2014, another pointless waste of a year being shaved from my life with nothing to show for it.

As a point of habit, I've never celebrated New Year's eve.  For one thing, I don't have the kind of social circle that gets me invited to parties.  Big shock, right?  And for another, I've always resented holidays that are used as an excuse to drink.  I'm a fucking adult, even if I don't live like one, and I don't need someone to tell me when is a socially acceptable day to drink if I want to.  So while everyone is out drinking and making out with their significant others (or closest strangers) while listening to a song by a poet they all REALLY ought to learn more about (fact: Robert Burns is better than you), I will be here in my basement, playing video games, and probably not noticing when the clock spins to midnight.

It's lucky that I've never felt an urge to celebrate the new year.  Because if I ever had, I sure as hell wouldn't want to now.

I started this blog as a 29 year old living in the basement of his parents, and now I'm a 32 year old living in the basement of his parents.  Not a 32 year old who dropped out of high school and has spent the last 17 years doing drugs, but a 32 year old who spent until 26 getting an education, getting a Master's degree, and then finding out what was supposed to be a practical, employable Master's degree wouldn't even make good kindling.  And this basement is fucking cold.

32 is the year that you're officially old enough that it's hard to remember your age.  30 is easy because it's the big 3-0.  31 is easy because "holy fuck, I've gone a year past the big 3-0 and I still don't have my life together!  32 is when you stop counting because it's all just too God damned depressing.

A benign year for me.  A malignant year for the earth.  Progress happening for neither of us as we race to see who passes away first while looking back on what we've done to confirm that it was all a huge mistake.

Silence

I've gone a little while without updating my blog.  Don't worry, I still have plenty of scribbled notes of ideas for blog discussions.  I just haven't been interested in doing them lately for the same reason I haven't been very diligent in job hunting for librarian jobs lately.

When I first started writing about the impossibility of getting a job in this field, the advice I gave to myself, yet refused to accept, was "Give Up."  And while I haven't done this yet, the sentiment has crept deeper into my bones lately.  It's so hard to motivate myself to spend hours of my time going through job listings and applying to at least the lowest hanging fruit when more than six years of experience is telling m it's a waste of time, and my life will never move on from the stalled place it's at now.

For the past few months I've been begrudgingly doing the part-part-part time job I do have and then coming home and escaping into books or video games, not even bothering to waste my time applying anywhere.  I've just been feeling too defeated to pull myself up lately.

If you're not in this position it's probably so easy to say: "oh, but you need to apply, you never know!"  or "don't Give Up!"  Or "you may as well keep trying, no harm in trying after all!"  To you, I challenge you to go six straight years failing at something and not go through patches where you're just not motivated.  When you've had Mike Tyson beating you senseless for six years, there will be times when you lie on the mat for longer than needed, just to get a break.

My lack of interest in my career has also, as you have seen, translated to a lack of interest in talking about my career.  I still have plenty to say, though.  And really, that's sad.  I didn't know when I started two years ago that I'd have over two years worth of material to rant about regarding my own personal failure in life, and the death of the American dream.  No, not death.  Zombification.  It has died, but shuffles on as a cruel mockery of those who cared for it, devouring them in giant handfuls.  I don't know what to make of the fact that I've now used two analogies of fighting an opponent who likes to bite people.  Point is, it is appalling  that there's so much to say about how terrible one specific problem is.  Two years and still so much left to say about the futility of life for anyone trying to start a life for the first time post November, 2008.

And it will be said.  A few days ago I managed to bring myself to skim the job postings half-heartedly, and this should mark the start of more searching, more applications, and more posts about just how fucked this dead field is.

Enjoy.

A tale of two pities

For about two years now I’ve been writing about how my pursuit for a career has pretty much fucked my entire life up.  And yet, I keep trying to make it in my field, despite the universe telling me not to.  Part of the reason for this is that giving up completely would entail giving in to trying to find a few minimum wage jobs to string together until I can manage to make enough to live off, despite my student loan debts.  Indeed, it seems that life in America has turned into a “fucked either way” situation.

Allow me to compare the divergent paths of me and my best friend.  We’ll start with me since you know the story pretty well:

I got a 4 year college degree, went on to library school, got my MLIS, and six years later at the age of 31 I am living with my parents, still in no position to even try to make a family of my own because I’m making right around 10,000 a year while paying 280 and change per month for student loans that I’ll have for the next, oh, probably 20 years.

My friend, on the other hand, did the exact opposite.  He didn’t graduate from high school, and just went right into the work force the moment he could.  Fast forward to today, he is 31 and has a house and a family.  However, he also works 90 hours a week doing strenuous manual labor.  Here is a direct quote (well, not exactly verbatim, unless my luck is a statistical monster) that sums up his life:

“When I got home from work I fell asleep in the garage with the car still running and the garage door closed.  I woke up in time, but this is just what this job’s doing to me.”

My point, and what I consider one of the main points of this blog, and why I consider it important for me to be recording my experience for posterity, is this: this seems to me to be the choice most Americans have to face these days.  Those of you who found footing in library land before fate fucked it over: congratulations.  I’m happy for you.  But people trying to make it in the world now seem to have two choices: they can either come very close to killing themselves (maybe literally) doing nothing but work at a variety of low paying jobs like my friend, or they can take the gamble I took and invest a lot of time and money in a degree that gives them only a CHANCE to aspire to better.  If they’re lucky, that chance may pay off.  These people are not 90% of those who try, they may not even be the norm at all (a lot depends on the specific field they want, of course).  And for those who fail?  They can either give up and live like my friend (only with student loan debt and many good years of their life wasted), or they can do like me and toss aside any hopes of a family or an independent life.

And that’s not how things should be.  The choice should not be “90 hours of hard labor to make a life for yourself” or “gamble and pray you make it, and if you don’t, give up the hope of a family or independence.”

I’m not sure if I can pinpoint the exact moment the “American Dream” was butchered.  Obviously the big crash in 2008 was when the sword of Damocles officially impaled the Dream, but it had been descending inexorably toward its target since long before that.  Whenever it was, the end result is that anyone who hasn’t already made it (and was lucky enough to keep it) needs to be lucky to make any kind of life for him or herself.  And I’m not ok with that.  I’m not ok with losing my chance for a life when a pretty basic one was all I ever wanted.  Truth is, even if my luck changed and I made it in my field next month, it’s already too late for me.

Usually I try to wrap up with a line that, depressing or not, is mildly amusing, at least to me.  This time, all I have is “fuck.”