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.

String beans to Utah

This will be a short update.

I said last time (and surely you remember what I wrote 4.5 months ago...) that I was planning to get back to the good news.  I let it get so long because I was hoping if I waited I'd have even more good news.  Well, that didn't happen, and then the news that felt good at the time stopped feeling all that great.

Anyway.  The good news is that I had some more interviews.  In the span of just a few months, I had three whole interviews, and two of them went well.  Well enough that in another universe somewhere, I may well have gotten those jobs.  The third one, eh, not quite as great (I didn't get past the phone interview), but it wasn't a disaster and it was an interview.

What that means is that in just a few months time, I had more interviews than I'd had in any one year ever since that fateful day when someone handed me an MLIS and, somewhere, I heard thunder and and what sounded like distorted, mocking laughter.  "This is good news!," I thought.  At this rate, I may well have a job soon.  I'm finally starting to see the opportunities I should have been seeing six years ago or so.

But then after that, nothing.  And I don't mean nothing as in I haven't been getting interviews.  I mean nothing as in, I can't even find jobs to apply to anymore.  I keep looking regularly-- a few times a week I'll look over my websites and see what's been posted.  Always the same: a bunch of part time jobs in far off states that I couldn't afford to take even if I got them.  Jobs I have no experience with (i.e., anything public.  These jobs usually fall in the former category as well).  Jobs I wouldn't take with a gun to my head (i.e. anything working with children.  These jobs usually fall in the former category as well).  So, nothing.  I don't believe I even applied to a job since maybe July or the end of June.  There's just nothing I can apply to.

Weird year.  I have a lot of success (compared to what I used to have), but it's all clumped together in one short stretch so for two months I feel like I'm awesome, and the rest of the year just feels desolate as hell.

I was thinking hey, at least on average this year has been better, so maybe next year will be too.  But given recent events, I have little hope for the economy for a while, so.... fuck, maybe I'm just nearing the time I finally go ahead and pull the trigger on giving up for good.  I think I'd make a pretty good trucker.  In any event, I have a lot to figure out moving forward.

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.

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.”

On the road again

I didn't realize it had been so long since my last update.  Work has been busier than usual somehow, but hopefully I can get back to my goal of updating this at least once a month.  No promises, though.

Since you last heard of me I had yet another on-site job interview.  Yes, really.  I think at this point I can say I have confirmed that crossing the 5-year experience mark is making a huge difference.  Within the past year I have now had 4 interviews, which comes after about 4 years in a row of having exactly zero interviews.

This time I only had to travel 3 hours to get there (and another 3 back, of course), so unlike This interview I didn't have to stay the night.  No bill for an inn, no bill for a dinner out, just the cost of the gas for six hours of travel.  And here's the crazy part: they reimbursed me.  The place where I shelled out all that additional money made no offer to do so, but this one where I spent almost nothing in comparison?  They're willing to pick up the check.  I actually could have spent the night and had a meal on them, but I didn't know they'd reimburse me.  And that's ok, because I didn't have the time anyway.  I had time to drive there, do the interview, and drive back, getting it all out of the way in one shot.

So the good news to you aspiring librarians is that not every out of state interview will be on your own dime.  Just some of them.

Oh, I didn't get the job, by the way.  I probably should have lead with that, but I figured that was the least shocking part of the news.  On the shock scale, me not getting a job rates somewhere between "the sun came up" and "bacon is still delicious," while me being reimbursed for my interview expenses rates somewhere between "I got through a day without wishing for death" and "Jesus came back, and it turns out he was Japanese the whole time."

This time I feel less bad about missing out on the job, since it wasn't the millions-to-one job I missed last time.  But I realized something distressing in that bit of seemingly good news:  I'm never going to want a job that badly again.  From now on, every single interview will be entered into half-heartedly.

Maybe that's a good thing.  In some ways, interviewing might be like dating; if you're desperate, it shows, and it's a major turn-off.  And like dating, the more you need the job, the longer you've gone without one, the more desperate you are.  It's a cruel catch 22.  The only way out, it seems, it to reach the point where you're so demoralized that you've given up deep down.  Only when you stop actually giving a fuck about whether or not you get the thing do you have a chance to get it.

I don't know yet where exactly the interview went wrong.  It didn't seem to go badly.  I thought I gave good answers, and they didn't seem to show any facial expressions or body language to indicate that they thought I was a train wreck (and I have a good natural ability to read these things).  But I also did get the impression that they wrote me off during the interview.  For one thing (among a few others), they said the next step was to call references, but they never called mine.  So maybe I said or did something wrong.  Or, maybe they simply had their heart set on someone else who came in before me (I was the last to interview).  I will try to work up the courage to contact them soon and ask if there was a misstep I made that I can correct in the future, but I still haven't heard official word of my rejection, and I think it would be good form to do so.

In the meantime, I am now days away from the new semester starting in my current job, the one I hoped to Japanese Jesus I wouldn't have to go back to.

Save me.

Map to failure

When I started this blog years ago, I didn't know I'd still be at it by this time.  The mess of an economy I walked into has now stolen nearly six years of my life, and the meter is still running.  I have plenty more posts left in me, but as a placeholder until I have more time, I'd like to revisit one of my first posts.  I had a map where I was keeping track of all the states I got rejected from in my quest to become a financially independent librarian, declaring that my new goal was to fill it out completely, so that I could declare that every single one of these United States has told me individually that they want nothing to do with me (since the goal of gainful employment is unattainable for a librarian these days, I may as well focus on something doable).

After my hard drive died a while back I replaced that ugly map with a much sleeker one, now filling in a blank US map rather than crossing out the states in a full map.  It looks much better, I think.  You'll also notice it is now quite a bit more full:

I only have 18 more states to go.  As you can see, I can now travel the country from coast to coast in an unbroken path of states that have been specific about not wanting me to stay.

Some of these states will be harder than others.  Florida is not the hardest state to find openings in, I only need to find one I actually seem right for.  Montana, on the other hand, rarely has openings.  The hardest spots to fill, I think, will be:

-Montana
-Hawaii
-West Virginia
-Rhode Island
-New Mexico

Alaska might be pretty tough, too.  Florida and Nebraska are only a matter of time.

Swimming against the current

When I was just finishing up library school and getting ready to face the nonexistent odds of attracting an employer’s attention with very little experience to my name, a friend in the field let me know about the one positive I could look at, namely my currency.  “You’ll be more current than the person who hires you.”  That was the bright side back in mid 2008, and now it’s an edge I’m rapidly losing.  At this point-- five monkey-fucking years into my search for a full time position-- it’s no longer completely ridiculous to think I may actually be less current than the person who will hire me.  Don’t get me wrong, I am more than happy to trade that dull edge for my five years of experience (even if it’s just as an adjunct instructor), I’m merely reflecting on how ridiculous it is that I may get my first full time job from someone who is an even more recent graduate than I am.

I also need to consider at this point, how current am I really?  I have to admit, aside from the word “festschrift,” I remember roughly jack about cataloging.  I may remember using Dreamweaver in my digital libraries class, but I don’t really remember how at this point.  What I’m saying is I’ve lost a lot of the knowledge from all those years ago.  Not exactly current.

Besides, after five years, is any of it really still “current” anyway?  Perhaps you could call it “more current” than ten years ago, but a closer miss is still a miss.  “Current” today seems to revolve a lot around mobile devices and apps.  There were no courses on using either of these things to a library’s advantage when I was in school.  Nowadays, however, I see a lot of jobs calling for knowledge of mobile devices, and even experience with designing apps.  That sort of thing is far out of my league, and always will be.  You see, I don’t freaking have a mobile device and have never used an app.  And this is a place where I’m going to have to draw the line and be left behind.  I am simply not going to pay for a device and a monthly fee that I really can’t afford for a product that I don’t have a personal need for and do not want, just to be able to say I know my way around mobile devices and apps.  Librarians like to talk about the digital divide, and this is where I’m a victim of it; I’m being left behind because of the tacit expectation that I’m electronically keeping up with the Joneses, and am willing and able to spend all the money it would take to do so.

I’m not a neoluddite.  I know how to use IM, I know how to create profiles on social media, and I’m obviously on a computer right now (with Windows 7).  But holy crap, people have got to be able to draw the line somewhere, and for me it’s paying a monthly bill for something I don’t even want, just to have the latest technology.  But again, this decreases my currency even further in terms value in the job hunt.  How long do I have to land a job somewhere before I'm considered so out of date that my odds of being hired go from one in 999 trillion to a flat zero?

Have I actually become a dinosaur in my field before ever landing a full time (or even half time) job?

On the bright side: death

I’ve found that I’m far too candid when people ask me how I am.  No one really wants to know.  I know this by the way they keep walking without giving me a chance to answer.  I know it by the way I’ll say something completely nonsensical and they’ll respond with “good!”  I’m well aware of the social convention where I’m supposed to say “good” or “fine” (no matter how I actually feel).  And I don’t do that.

No, instead the most awful crap will fall out of my head.  I will tell complete strangers, or people whose faces I know from seeing them around maybe twice a month or so, things like “I constantly fantasize about dying of cancer, and I sincerely want that to happen.”  Today it was: “I think I’ll give it til the end of the year, and if I still don’t have a full time job I’ll just do heroin until I die of AIDS.”

That… that is pretty fucking dark.  And rest assured, I do not think I’m being “funny” when I say these things to people.  I may not literally want to die of AIDS (though the cancer thing?  Completely true, actually…), but the sentiment does reflect my mood and how I feel about life.

For the most part, I consider saying these things to be a kind of revenge.  They asked a question they didn’t want an answer to, so I get back at them by giving them an actual answer.  Just my little way of saying: “there, we both feel awkward now.  Happy?  Let that be a lesson about asking about stuff you don’t want to know about.”

But still, holy crap, it is getting really fucking dark.  Like, really dark, to the point where this isn't ok anymore.  My honest answers are taking a turn for the worse.   The misery of my unemployability has gotten to the point where dying of cancer is my favorite fantasy.  I just imagine how nice it would be for all the weight to be off.  No more stressing about how my clock is tickin’ and I still haven’t found a job.  No more wondering or worrying about what will become of me.  Finally, an answer.  A final answer.  I would just know that nope, I’m not going to get what I wanted out of life, but I could be at peace with that because I’d know that I won’t have to worry about it any longer.  I'll be dead soon, so nothing I wanted is actually going to matter anymore.  I’d fulfill my obligations to work, if possible, then leave that miserable place, and spend my last days enjoying the little things in life while my loved ones—the few there are—all tell me how awesome I was and say their goodbyes.

That’s true, every word of it.  I mean, I’m sure the physical agony of cancer would be hard to take, but aside from that, just emotionally, knowing it’s over and being at peace would be so wonderful.  I can’t stop thinking about that.

To be clear, I’m not saying I’d kill myself.  I wouldn’t.  I’m just saying that a large part of me hopes to have it taken care of for me.

That’s another fun thing to consider if you want to be a librarian: how emotionally strong are you?  What effect will years and years and years of failure have on you?  Think you can take it?  This is probably a career to stay away from if you, unlike me, might actually have it in you to find that easy way out.  

Because sometimes, I can't help but pray for it.  Sadly I know it will not happen, for I am simply far too pretty to die. 

Wash it down the drain

As I think of how unprepared I feel to do most of the jobs I find on the job hunt, and how scary everything seems, and how hard and how much work, I often think I’m trying and failing to do something I have no business doing.  I know that my life has been a never ending cycle of me thinking I don’t have the competence to do something, and then doing it well.  And I know I earned my degree, and I did well in my fieldwork, and I’m doing at least well enough not to get fired with my current position, but none of that makes me feel prepared or capable of doing 99% of the library jobs I see.

As I sat (alone.  In the dark.  If you must know) tonight, dwelling on that very issue, I couldn’t help thinking about how I’ve set myself up for failure by trying to do something I’m just not good enough to do, and then I thought: “All because it was so fucking important for people to think I’m smart.”

I mentioned before why I chose to be a librarian, and all of that was true, but it’s also true that my motivation for a lot of things in life stems from wanting to show that I’m smart (and in my previous explanation, that was indeed my reason for getting into reading before I found that book that really made me into reading).

I know “Librarian” doesn’t say “genius” the way a medical degree or something would, but I’m not smart enough for a medical degree.  But I am (or thought I would be) smart enough to be a librarian.  And hey, librarians are considered smart.

The only problem is, now that I’m trying to get that job I really don’t think I’m smart enough at all.  I mean, I’m smart at a few things.  Reading, of course.  Logic, of the “if X, then Y” variety.  And I was a good student because of that, being able to see patterns easily.  I still remember one example.  Elementary school, some guest speaker was talking to us all, grades 1-6.  I was probably somewhere in grades 1-3, can’t say where for sure.  He had a long rectangular box with doors on both sides, and he put a ball in one side and asked where it was.  Someone pointed to the side he put the ball in.  He tilted the box so the ball rolled to the other side, then opened the door the kid pointed at to reveal it wasn’t there, and asked again where the ball was.  Another kid points to the side the ball rolled to, and he tilted the box the other way… etc.  This went on for several rounds, and I was /dying/ for him to call on me.  I couldn’t believe that no one else had figured it out.  Simple, point to where the ball isn’t and he’ll tilt it and that’s where the ball will be.  Simple pattern recognition, right?  He was calling on all the older kids, and none of them got it.  I’m sure I was one of the few who did.  He even made a comment at some point, along the lines of “you’d think they’d figure it out by now” before giving up completely.

And in the post I linked to above, you see that my kindergarten teacher didn't think it was even possible for someone to read fluently at the age of 5 until I was her student.

So where does all this insecurity come from?  This driving need for people to see me as intelligent?  Easy.  I had another trait as a small child: I liked making people laugh.  So I tried to do that at every chance I got, getting myself a bit of a "class clown" reputation.  I didn't know it at first, but apparently the stereotype is that class clowns are dumb.  That's just the stereotype: the kid seeks attention because he's not good at anything else.  I eventually realized that the other students weren't aware of the smarts I had, they were only aware of the clown persona, and applied all the usual stereotypes to it.  Everyone was treating me like an idiot, and it was the worst feeling in the world.  I never got over that.  to this day nothing gets under my skin quite like someone insulting my intelligence.

Therefore, it was important to me all my life that people see me as smart.  Therefore, reading and higher education.  Therefore, librarian.  When I dig further back into my past than the post linked above, I see it was my insecurity that took me here and drove me right off the cliff of failure.

The thing is, even though I was actually a pretty sharp little kid, none of that potential I had amounted to anything.  I think I was an exceptional child who, through sheer lack of motivation, became an average adult.

I spoke before about a song lyric that applies to my life, or more specifically, the part of my life I describe in this blog.  There’s another song lyric, much less optimistic, that also applies.  From a song called Farewell Mona Lisa:

“Don’t you ever try to be more than you were destined for, or anything worth fighting for.”

That one hits me every time.  I feel like that’s exactly what I did.  I bit off more than I could chew, tried to become something more than I was worth.  And now this is my life: struggling and fighting to do something that I don’t honestly believe I can do, and the thought of doing it scares me senseless.  Fail or succeed, I feel like neither option can end well for me.

All those employers I’ve sent resumes to have been right not to put their trust in me.

Top 5 uses for an MLIS

After 5 years now of having a Master's in Library and Information Science, and spending that much time and counting trying to get full-time (or even half time) employment, I have decided to put together a list of things that an MLIS can actually be useful for.  Here is what I've come up with:

Uses for an MLIS:

-Tuck your degree into your shirt before tackling a plate of ribs.
-Make an incredibly expensive yet stylish paper airplane.
-Wipe away your tears of failure.
-Glare at it while drinking alone each night.
-Give yourself a paper cut to procure the blood necessary to complete the ritual that summons Belphegor, ancient demon of greed, and beg him for a crust of bread.

What an MLIS is NOT useful for:

-Getting a job in the library field, or any field.

Where jobs grow on jobees.

I said I couldn't do it.  I couldn't face one more semester in this hostile work environment, especially not with Spring approaching, notoriously the worst time of the year for student behavior.

Did anyone really think things would turn out differently for me than they always have?  Of course I'm on the schedule again... and it turns out I'm not the only one who has asked/begged not to be placed on this particular campus again due to the student behavior, ensuring that I will be shoved into this slot over and over as more people leave, since I don't have the luxury of demanding to be placed at a different campus "or else I won't come back."  I don't have another job.  I need the money.  I'm the only one willing to take this kind of abuse.  Well, not "willing" exactly, but I don't have a choice.

The "good news" if there is any, is I'll only have one section, and on Saturday morning.  This leaves me lots of free time and flexibility to find and work another job, maybe some crap minimum wage job that will undoubtedly suck, but will probably be less stressful and pay as much or more.  There's only one small problem with that.  It would have to be possible for me to find another job, even a crap one.

I've always "loved" how people say "get a job" as if it's just that simple.  We no longer live in an age where you can walk into any store and remove the 'help wanted' sign from the window, and you have a job.  We no longer even live in an age where you can walk into a McDonald's, fill out an application, and automatically get that job.  And I'm someone with reliable transportation, no convictions, and an able (if crappy) body... I'm what used to be the bare criteria for hire-ability in a dead end job.. but none of that cuts it anymore.  Just "get a job"?  Only one reply seems appropriate to that condescending advice...


So this summer, I strap on my job helmet and finally search for some crappy, dead-end minimum wage job, since this whole library science thing worked out so well.  Wish me luck.  Or death, I'll take death, actually...

No end in sight to my suffering

It may seem like I've forgotten about this blog, but I do have more to say.  This issue right now is a combination of being very busy and being completely demoralized from losing all of the pre-written posts I had when my hard disk died.

So just to keep things going for now I'll address a question that no one asked: does anyone know about this blog?

Well, no.  I mean, like, no one at all.  I'm positive no one follows this.  Even people I know.  I've told some people I have a blog on this topic, but I haven't told them how to find it.  For the most part, however, I haven't alluded at all to the fact that I have this blog.  And that, of course, is a big part of the reason no one follows it.  I don't advertise.  I can't.

The thing is, I figure as long as no one who might ever read this knows who I am, then I'm free to say whatever I want.  If I were writing this keeping in mind that my friends, relatives, boss, co-workers, what have you, know about this blog, then I'd be keeping in mind as I write it who may be watching, and making adjustments based on that.  If no one knows, I'm free to say anything I want without ever even thinking about whether or not I should phrase things differently, omit things, etc.

so when will I ever tell people about this blog?  when it becomes a finished product.  that day will happen.  I don't know when, but it will.  It will be when I'm no longer a failed librarian.  And that'll happen either when 1-- I've found that full time job, or 2-- I've given up so utterly and completely that I'm no longer looking for library jobs or planning to ever look again.  If the former happens, I will no longer be a failure.  If the latter happens, I will no longer be a librarian.

When this is a finished product I will share it with the people who I consider it not inappropriate to share it with.

So if anyone was wondering if this very blog was one of the obstacles I've been having to getting that elusive job, hell no.  I'd rather every view be from a spam-bot than give myself away right now.  for now I write uncensored, freely, and (preferably) drunk on absinthe.

The ice is getting thinner

Please bear with me.  As I mentioned not long ago, I recently lost all of the posts I'd written out prior to starting the blog.  This style of typing up a post as I think of it instead of "perfecting" it weeks or months in advance is a little alien to me.  Hopefully this won't hurt the quality that I'm pretending my posts used to have.

I have just entered the new semester, and I hope to God it is my last.  Obviously I've always been hopeful of that just because I was hoping I'd get a full time job in the field.  By now I've given up on that hope and I'm looking for literally anything else so that I'll never have to teach at this place again.  If I can find a job flipping burgers at Wal-Mart I will take it and never look back.

I mentioned before the behavior issues the students have, especially in this post:

http://failedlibrarian.blogspot.com/2012/12/paying-dues-when-doing-doesnt-pay.html

(skip down to "the workplace environment...")

I would love to go into more specific details, but quite frankly I'd be giving away too much if I did.  In the off chance anyone who knows the school were to read this, they'd know which school I'm talking about, because this kind of crap couldn't possibly happen at any other college.

Next semester will be Spring semester, and I have never had a good experience in Spring.  I don't know what it is, maybe it's the heat, but for some reason Spring brings out the most antagonistic, combative, and hostile students, and every single one of them ends up in my classroom.  I can't face that again, I just can't.  I can't, I can't, I can't.

Unfortunately I'm still wrestling with one not-so-minor problem.  Being a librarian is all I know how to do.  I don't have extensive experience in anything else.  If anything, I'm pretty sure that having a Master's degree hurts my chances of getting a job at a gas station or something.  And much to my detriment, I'm one of the apparently few people who isn't smart enough to hide that kind of thing.  It would just mean too many white lies during the interview.  Maybe not all white.  Maybe a few greenish ones, or even a crimson one.  I'm just not very comfortable with lying.

This is all I know how to do, and all I've ever done for any serious length of time.  I'm a librarian, I'm not qualified to flip burgers.  Where can I go?  The clock to Spring has begun...

What's so happy about it?

As of a little over a week ago, it is now finally official.  I am the quintessential go-to example of a loser stereotype.  I am a 30 year old living in my parents' basement.

I explained the whole parents' basement thing in this old post:

http://failedlibrarian.blogspot.com/2012/10/subterranean-homelife-blues.html

And now I've finally hit the "big" 30.  I don't see what's so big about it, though.  The only difference seems to be lower car insurance rates, and the sudden inability to eat pizza before bed from now on.

But that's neither here nor there.  The point is that I am 30, have had my MLIS for almost 5 years, and have yet to find any employment in my field that even qualifies as half-time.  Anyone surprised?  Show of hands?


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Yep, that's what I thought.

FML

So, my hard disk died.  I had almost nothing backed up.  The disk is so thoroughly fucked that it would cost 1200-1500 to even attempt to repair it.

What does that have to do with this blog?  Well, aside from having had several blog posts written out in a word doc in advance, I also had my cover letter templates on that disk.  Yet another beautiful setback in my job hunting, like I needed one.

I also lost some statistics I was keeping, such as a list of every job I applied to.

This is all really the least of what I lost, but it's the only part relevant to my blog, so I'll leave it at that.

Idiot Wind

If I were trying to get to know someone and could only ask that person a single question, it would be “What’s your favorite Bob Dylan song?”

Bob Dylan touches a lot on the human experience.  It’s impossible to go through his catalog without finding something that really touches you, really strikes a nerve with you in particular, and seems to be talking directly to you.  For that reason I think that discovering someone’s favorite Dylan song can really tell you a lot about about them, what their experiences have been, and what kind of thing really strikes a nerve with them. 

Besides, anyone who doesn’t care for Bob Dylan probably isn’t someone worth talking to.

My favorite Dylan song is Idiot Wind (the original, from the Blood on the Tracks album).  Absolutely nobody can sing contempt like Bob Dylan and the way this song starts out is a good example.  But that’s not the main reason it’s my favorite, it’s just a strong supporting reason.  There are actually several good supporting reasons, but I’m going to jump to the main one:

You didn’t know it,
you didn’t think it could be done,
in the final end he won the war.
After losing every battle.

Every time I grab that album to listen to on the way to work I hear that song as though hearing it for the first time.  When it comes on I know I’m about to hear my favorite song by one of my favorite artists, and yet I always seem to forget that I’m about to hear that specific line.  And when I hear it, it’s all I can do not to break down and cry when everything it means to me comes flooding back.

For so many years that one line has spoken to me more than anything else.  It was my only hope, after all.  Life post grad school has been rejection after rejection after rejection, for years.  Every single battle lost.  It was always encouraging to think that it was possible, even after racking up nothing but losses, to win the war in the end.

My belief in that may be weakening over time.  Lately it seems like even if I do win the war, who cares?  I’ve been fighting so long that the end of the war isn’t going to be glorious or romantic.  It’s going to be missing limbs, misery, and unstable conditions for the region.  It has turned into the kind of war where no one wins and everyone loses.

After all, I already feel like I’m too old to still have time to get what I really wanted out of life, but can’t go for until my financial situation is in order.  I’ve probably already lost in life thanks to this career choice, but for some stupid reason I keep marching on in hopes of an eventual Pyrrhic victory.  What am I even fighting for anymore? 

My war…. what is it good for?

Member$ only

I got that dreaded email today.  “Renew Your ALA Membership.”  This email signifies another 65 dollars out of my pocket for absolutely nothing.

I’m not hating on the ALA.  I’m sure a membership is a nice thing to have if you’re working in the field.  But for a severely underemployed person who doesn’t actually work in a library?  This is pretty useless.  The ALA joblist is visible to me with or without a membership, so there’s only one reason for me to have it:

I keep renewing my membership in hopes that it looks good on my resume.

When I was in library school I had a professor who said that if she had the power, she’d make it mandatory for us all to have ALA memberships simply because it helps our resumes.  But as you know if you’ve been following my blog since the beginning (and I understand that’s not all of you… or any of you… or anyone because there is no hypothetical “you” and I’m talking to myself >.>) I’ve given up hope that it’s possible for me to get a job in this field.  It’s over, throw in the towel, I am a failure.  Despite this, I am still sending out resumes because, crap, I didn’t waste all that time and money not to try.

This is my first time being asked to renew my ALA membership since officially giving up, and I’m not sure exactly what to do now.  Do I waste my money on something I know is futile, or do I keep paying because, if I’m going to keep sending these resumes out, I ought to put my all into it?

How exactly is it even improving my resume, given that I have done precisely dick with it in the 5 years I’ve had it?  Wouldn’t it be just as well to write “I’d purchase an ALA membership if you gave me a reason to have one”?  Of course I’m speaking practically, and practical is not always the same as realistic.  Of course that wouldn’t look good on a resume, but for all intents and purposes it would be the same thing except I wouldn’t be wasting money that I desperately need.

I will grant you that 65 dollars for a year isn’t a lot of money.  In return, I hope you will grant me that it is a lot of money when I’m already operating under a yearly net loss from bills alone (thank you, student loans for a career I now know I can never hope to have!).

Is $65 in my current predicament worth the ability to tell myself that I did all I could, or is it time to cut another loss in a loss-filled life?

Positively positive

You're getting by now that I'm aware that I completely ruined my entire life with my horrible career choice of trying to be a librarian.  Yep, I am, no arguing there.  But in honor of Thanksgiving, I'm going to try to think of something positive to say about it.

The good thing about being a librarian is that the work itself doesn't suck.  Ideally.  I mean, no matter where you are, some jobs are just going to suck.  But if you can find a position that doesn't, it sure is nice to be able to help people and feel like you're doing something of value.

Before I embarked on this career, I couldn't fathom the idea of wanting to work.  It's something we do because we have to, not because we want to, right?

One of the things I learned in the management course in library school was that people are most satisfied with their professional lives when they believe that what they're doing really matters.  I had no frame of reference for that tidbit of knowledge to be useful to me at that time, but for some reason I remembered it when I was doing my fieldwork and a cartoon light bulb went off over my head.

The last job I'd had before my fieldwork was, embarrassingly, being one of those people at a busy intersection holding up a sign for a nearby pizza stand.  My entire job was holding up a sign.  I could have been replaced at any moment by a wooden post.  How valuable do you think I felt?

Then I got to do fieldwork and I got to help people.  Directly.  Even when it was something as simple as showing them how to print or explaining how to figure out a bus schedule, it made me giddy to know that people were presenting me with problems, and I was solving those problems for them.

Do I think I'll ever really accept that I have to give up the better half of my waking day, 5 days a week, to something else with no say in the matter?  No, of course not.  But for the first time I actually understood how working life could at least be bearable.  I realized how true it was that workplace satisfaction comes from feeling like your contribution matters.

The good news about the librarian career is that you do get opportunities to do things that feel like they matter.  So if it were actually possible for me to get fully employed in this field, I really would have something to look forward to.

Not only is the work itself not bad, but add on the fact that, while not many people will ever get rich in this field, librarian is a job that, for now, if you were to get it, you wouldn't be starving (assuming you're not living outside of your means).  Also, that was a lot of commas.

Put that all together and this is a career where I could put in a days work, come home feeling like I did something that mattered, and greet a spouse whom I do not argue with over money all the time because I do not have a minimum wage job that forces us to live check to check, paying off one credit card bill with another credit card, and never fully knowing how we'll make rent.  Instead, we live comfortably within our means and, though never rich, aren't constantly stressed out over money either.  That's a pretty damn good life.  In fact, I couldn't ask for better (I'm already assuming the spouse is hot.  With as hot as I am, it goes without saying).

That's the life I could hypothetically have, if only this profession, as nice as it can be if I ever make it to that side of the rainbow, weren't completely devoid of opportunity.  If only this career path had a somewhat reasonable expectation of job placement, it would be pretty sexy.

Yes, I'm thankful for the fact that librarian would be a good job, of only librarian jobs were out there.  I suppose that's about as useful as saying that I'm thankful for how delicious unicorns would be if only they existed, but hey, I said I was going to say something positive.

A Matter of Chance

I mentioned before how I followed the path of least resistance and more or less stumbled ass-first into this career path.  But that still doesn’t explain exactly why librarian was my last-minute desperation choice.  There has to be some reason that was on the top of the pile when I reached into my hat and grabbed one.  There is.

I blame Vladimir Nabokov.

Allow me to back up.  I’ve always been a good reader.  In fact, I was unusually good.  In kindergarten the teacher tested us on our reading level by pulling us into the hall individually and asking us to read.  She gave me the book and I read it.  Really read it.  Not sounding out words, and not pointing to the picture of the tiger and saying “kitty!,” I read it fluently.  She thought I must have had that book at home and knew it by heart, so she gave me another.  And another.  And another.  Then she finally realized that I was actually reading those books.  She was shocked; she had never seen that before from someone my age.

I would go on to take the ACTs and score in the 99^th percentile for reading and 97^th or 98^th for grammar.

Don’t get me wrong, I suck enough at math and science to balance that out so I don’t consider myself a genius by any means.  I’m not bragging, just giving you background.

The point is, I was good at reading right from the start.  And I loved reading.  I loved it right up to the age of 13 or 14, when I let that hobby slide in favor of other hobbies (not all of which involved my genitalia).  It wasn’t until the Summer before college that I began to read for pleasure again.  Although, it wasn’t really pleasure I was doing it for, to be honest.  It was simply because I wanted to be viewed as intelligent, and intelligent people should be able to list well-known books they’d read, or be ready at any moment to talk about what they were reading at the time.  So I began reading some of those books that intelligent people “should” have under their belt.  Catcher in the Rye, For Whom the Bell Tolls, Moby Dick.  You know, those kinds of books.  I didn’t dislike them, but I can’t say I loved them.  Then I read A Clockwork Orange, and that sparked something in me.  I actually enjoyed reading it; I found it fun.  For once since I was 13, reading really was pleasurable and not just something I “should” be doing.  But when I returned the book to the library, I still felt the same as always.  I still merely felt proud that I had another well-known book under my belt.

The next book I checked out was Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.

There is no hyperbole in stating that this book changed my life.  It was beautiful, so so beautiful.  The language, the flowery prose, it was art.  It wasn’t entertainment or an idea or a conversation piece, it was, simply, art, in all its raging beauty.  When I finished and went to put it in the library return drop, I didn’t feel a trace of that pride from having “another one under my belt.”  That didn’t matter anymore.  All I felt was sadness for the fact that it was over, that I couldn’t immerse myself in it forever.  It was hard from me to open up my fingers and let the book drop.  It actually took a few seconds to bring myself to let it go.

It’s almost scary to think that, as much as Lolita changed my life, it’s not even my favorite novel by Nabokov.  I’ve read 7 of them, and almost every single one of his short stories.  My favorite, Pale Fire, is one of the few books I actually own, and I have read it almost countless times now.

Vladimir Nabokov is why I have a passion for the printed word.  He’s why I hold books sacred.  He’s why the library, and what it represents, is special to me.  And if not for that, the library wouldn’t have been the place I settled on when forced to decide where I wanted to spend my life.  Where would the path of least resistance have taken me if not for that?  I have no idea.

For a long time, Nabokov was the reason I was happy.  He changed my life in more ways than what I just discussed.  He made me happy.  No, not happy.  Content.  Reading his short stories inspired something in me, made me feel like I could feel “at peace,” and satisfied, whatever was going on.  That as long as I could find and appreciate the beauty around me, it would be enough.

As you can see, this did not last.  Now that the real world had ground me down, and now that I don’t have time to read Nabokov’s works anymore anyway, and now that I’ve become the failure I am, the glow of that contentment has faded.  Nabokov made me serenely happy, and then in time he made me a depressed, miserable wreck.   

So I guess you can say I know what it’s like to have been in love.

Would I change my path if I could?

Sometimes I sit alone and wonder about what could have been, about what could have changed or been done differently.  I found myself where I am by following the path of least resistance.  I didn’t know what I wanted to do after high school, so I took some scholarship and loan money to go to college.  I didn’t have a post-college plan, but I didn’t know what else to do, so putting the decision off for four more years was easier.  I chose a pretty not-outstanding major as far as jobs go because I still didn’t know what I wanted to do by my sophomore year.  That’s why, instead of picking anything practical, I picked what was interesting.  Everyone said I’d find out what I wanted to do when I got to college.  They lied to me.

Then came time to graduate from college, and the only exit plan I had come up with was “steal crap on my way out.”  It turns out that dry erase markers couldn’t pay off my student loans, however, so it was back to the drawing board.  Still no idea what to do, I kept going on the path of least resistance.  Library school.  Sure, what the hell, why not?  It didn’t seem like a hard job, I liked reading and libraries, and I didn’t know what else to do.  If I didn’t have such a horrific, paranoid fear of bugs, I honestly would have just been homeless by choice.  That’s how much I had no idea what to do.  Instead I chose library school, again doing the easy thing.

What if I’d done something different?  I still wonder what my life would be like—if I’d actually have one—if only I ever really wanted to do anything in particular.  If, instead of throwing a dart when I had to make a decision, I had been really into the idea of being a plumber, or dentist, or ninja.  If at any point in my life I would have had some burning passion.  Instead, I identify very much with the protagonist from Office Space.  We were supposed to imagine what we’d do if we could do anything we wanted for the rest of our lives, and that was supposed to be our career choice.  The problem is, there’s just nothing we wanted to do all of our lives. 

Don’t get me wrong, I do want to be a librarian.  I’ve enjoyed the work so far.  There are some parts I want to leave behind, and some parts I need to leave behind, and hopefully one day I’ll get the kind of library job I want so I’ll be able to.  But I do want to be a librarian.

But what if there had been a real passion in my life?  What if I were one of those kids who wanted to be a veterinarian from the age of 5 and worked my whole life with that goal in mind?  What if I swam against the current that took me to library school and ended up anywhere else?

The only problem is, even now when I try to imagine it, I can’t think of what that other path could possibly be.  The truth is, I never did have an interest in being a plumber or an exotic dancer.  What good is it to ask myself what I would have done differently when I still can’t even imagine how?  Even now I don’t know what my other option could possibly have been.  If I could hit reset and live it over again, I can’t imagine what I’d do instead of this.  

I guess it doesn’t help to imagine anyway.  After all, I’m a librarian.  I’m a librarian, writing this future blog post at 9:20 PM on a Monday, October 29^th, wrapped in a blanket despite being a little too warm, while avoiding grading some essays.  Just like I was always going to be.  And then in a few weeks or maybe over a month, I’ll post this. Whenever I do it, it’ll be when it was always going to happen.  There were different outcomes possible, but none of them were ever going to happen.  It may not be true that anything is meant to be, but everything that happens will be the only way it was ever going to happen.

I’ll never know what my other options were, and I was always going to be a hopeless, failed librarian.