January rolled on, and turned into February. I was waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Waiting for a call on the consulting job I had done in December — Just as December ended, we had ran into a bug from the New York software house: much of the data was not getting written into the database, and my job, essentially, was to extract that data and format it. I was waiting for a call to say that the software had been revised and the project could proceed. So I waited for more work.
And I waited for payment for the hours that I had worked. It amounted to a sizable sum: enough for a couple of months rent.
A fool ignores the oncoming tide
And so when february began, I waited for work and for payment. So I called. and called. And got no answer: empty air. And I waited for my sweet and lovely to call. One day in January, we talked and she had been in a Trader Joe’s and asked what I had needed in the way of TJ’s giant chocolate bars. You see we have no Trader Joe’s outlets here: it is a mark of the civilized world that has passed right by this town.
But that was the last I had heard from her. So I called. And got: empty air. Was she caving? Remember that John Gray of Mars and Venus says that caving is a required phase of relationships: Best to let time pass. And time did pass. And Pass. And my emotional uncertainty rose, and rose.
But I was rather busy, though, with my classes. Oh, yes, did I forget to tell you? I have wanted to change careers for quite some time now. My technical skills, although pretty good, and very very broad, are not as up to date as they should be: I really have trouble finding jobs as a systems programmer. In fact, as an applications programmer, it is hard to find work: In fact, on-line I find a ton of competent guys who will work remotely for as little as eight dollars an hour. Let me repeat that $8.00 per hour. I’ll say it again: $8.00/hour! I can work every day of the week at $8 and I would not be able to cover the rent in my high-rise, rent subsidized, chinatown apartment. Hey, I like chinatown. It’s busy even on days when the rest of the town is dead. The point here, is that even with one of the most affordable places in the city, I can not compete with the outsource brigade.
Oh, yes. Don’t wander, get back to the classes. Duh! I’m taking classes to get a master’s degree in clinical psychology at a local diploma mill. Not a fancy degree, just a workman-like, honest, counselor position. School sounds pretty good: I get to learn something new, I get to move forward with my degree, work a few hours a week in the college library, and collect a student loan check every so often. It helps. I’m also in what is called a “practicum.” It’s like an internship. I’m going to the local prison three days a week to work with a group of problem people. Actually, they are the kind of inmate that society currently fears most. I am really enjoying learning about the reality of these prisoners.
And I am enjoying learning about how society’s ideas about them are, well, misplaced — but enough about that: I’m not here to challenge society’s notions, you know, I’m just telling my story.
Now that is how February mostly goes. Waiting. Studying.
But then comes the Valentine’s day massacre. But that will be another blog entry…
