And I've said it before and I'll say it again, without fearing your disdain for my hubris: I'm a good writer. I know I am. I know I can write about basically any topic, and I know that what I write will be at times informative, touching, hilarious, and/or more. I don't believe that it's cocky or self-involved to admit that you do something well, so I never shy away from acknowledging my intelligence or my writing ability. I realize that's perhaps still a unique quality for a woman in this country, but there it is regardless.
When I used to write about baseball every day, I didn't have a job. I could just sit around, watch baseball, write what I felt like writing, and publish it for everyone to see. I could mix in my personal life or politics and just put it all out there. I no longer have that luxury. I work. A lot. And when I'm not working, I'm busy pursuing my second bachelor's degree, in the hopes that I can one day put my family in a better position than we are now. The first bachelor's degree did absolutely nothing for me except cost a lot of money and look slightly prestigious on my résumé.
So, here I am, whittling away at a B.A. in "Computer Information Technology." Maybe it will lead to something that pays well and doesn't require me to work 80 hours a week anymore. That's obviously the goal. But there is a little piece of me that dies every time I crack open my computer to do statistics homework or read about the history of computing, instead of writing the funny things I thought of that day, or how it makes me feel to be a parent, or what an incredible privilege it is to have the marriage I have. Instead I settle for quips on Facebook and the occasional blog post if I have time. In the process of "growing up," I have lost the ability to do the thing I really love.
We all know those people who post memes about how "you always have a choice" and "it's never too late" and all that. Every time I see one I think about how, you know what, sometimes people actually don't have a choice. Maybe a person spent her 20s doing absolutely nothing except battling depression over being unceremoniously dumped from her dream job and living off her significant other's money. Maybe she thought she had plenty of time to figure out what she wanted to do and that she'd get to it eventually. And maybe now she's mired in debt and working her ass off to get out of that situation while trying to maintain a decent life for her family, so starting over trying to make it as a freelance writer or devoting her time to becoming one of those "mommy bloggers" (many of whom, I'm sorry, are just shit writers, but good for them for figuring out how to spin shit into cold, hard cash) isn't a choice she can make at all.
In other words, maybe some of us have already exhausted all of our choices. Maybe we're born with an allotment of choices for the course of a life, and when they're gone, they're gone. So barring an improbable lottery win (all the more improbable because I don't actually play the lottery) maybe now the only thing I can do is what has to be done. Not what I choose to do.
I didn't even have time to write this. I came on simply to give the update to my previous post. But today someone told me that I am a good writer and it felt good, if bittersweet. And I wanted to acknowledge it with something a little more than just posting the screen captures.
So, here's the update. As you probably know, on Wednesday I sent the fake cover letter for the dimensional metrologist job. This morning I received a response. Here's how it went down:
I proclaimed this as an example of the internet being awesome sometimes. As my friends put it on Facebook, "It's nice when people are people" and "I think we all won with this one. Such good natured action all around. Yay people!"
Yep. That about sums it up.