1) No farmstand job. I'm not the least bit bothered. I was told I would be contacted with a schedule and also to send my resume. I sent my resume, which contained nothing that was not mentioned during the meeting, and did not hear anything back; I even had to get the email address through messaging the Facebook fan page because neither that page nor the website had a proper email address (not a good sign). I mentally gave them a week to contact with me and when they didn't simply crossed it off. The one thing that frustrated me most at my high school was lack of communication and disorganisation; I am not looking to work in an environment like that. It'll drive me crazy faster than anything else.
2) I sent my resume/cover letter in for a job that looked to be after school homework help and supervision (totally up my alley). 20-25 hrs/week, $10-13, 7 minutes from my house. Was called for the interview. It is definitely more of an after school instructor--and thus teaching--position with lesson planning and the lot. Alone with 10-15 elementary school kids in one classroom after school, homework helping and then teaching for a hefty enough slot of time. It's not something I can't do, it's just definitely not the job I thought I was applying for. I did well in the interview, anyway, and was asked to come for a trial lesson at their camp tomorrow. I'm to teach something I've taught before. I worked out my lesson plan over the weekend and think it should hopefully include enough for different learning styles (got some visual, auditory, creative, kinesthetic).
The pros: The hours, money, location.
The cons: The age group (I'm better with secondary schoolers), the instructing (teaching rather than tutoring), the commitment (well it's really both, but I have to really decide before taking the job because these kids need consistency and I'd really have to do it for the whole year).
It's also different from my last teaching job in that at least we had some sort of basic curriculum to work from on a week-by-week basis. There were also plenty of lesson-planning books in the office library. Sure, I often did the brunt of the lesson-planning for all my colleagues so I must have been somewhat skilled with it, but it was definitely a lot easier when there was that sort of structure and support. The impression I got during the interview was that instructors were much more on their own with this one. That doesn't so much thrill me although, again, not something I couldn't get used to (perhaps crafting my own longer-term curriculum with fun projects and having each day of the week being dedicated to different subjects).
Anyway, I'm giving it a shot tomorrow to see how my teaching style looks to them and how the job looks to me. We'll see how it goes.
3) I am utterly fried. I feel too young to take seriously and too old to be useful. My friend mentioned the other day that she always forgets I'm 23 and, my goodness, so do I. I tend to joke with friends that I'm 23 going on 87 or that I'm secretly 87 inside, but sometimes...well, sometimes I just feel much older than I am. It's perhaps why I'm so amused (and occasionally confused) to be one of the token "young'n"s here. That role is incredibly different from the one I play out in real life.
4) To use youthful language, I ouch inside. Too many types of grief in this little heart of mine. Sometimes I'm saner about it and sometimes I'm not; in the 'not' times I feel much more desolate and desperate and detestable and disappointing. I hate how much I cry these days. It makes it feel much more dangerous to be alone, which is when it happens (I don't tend to cry around others), while my ability to find contentment in alone time used to be one of my best features. I thought I was doing better for a time--I was almost able to not just notice things I would normally find beautiful but was almost back to that wondrous feeling of oh, isn't that beautiful?--but here I am. Grief cycles. The waves that take one by surprise.
5) I feel selfish for still crying over my hip and my body when there are so many other things going on. But it seems I can no more change the crying than the feelings. This autumn will mark the anniversary of the year in school in which I a) became 'Kiwi' (decade as myself!); b) came out as queer (and again!); c) got my period (which was a big deal since I had been on hormone suppressants from ages 7-12 so I wouldn't get it as a child and be a legal midget); d) had my first ever moment of "oh my goodness I am hot" with no other negative feelings (and unfortunately I have not had such a moment since); e) decided to go to a non-traditional high school; and f) fractured my fucking hip. It's not as if we often see where our lives will end up or how they will get there but...where I am, how I am, is not always fun. And sometimes I cry about it. Sometimes I laugh, too, because I'm 23 with a six-year-old faulty hip that snap-crackle-pops and squeaks, but I'm afraid at the moment those times are not in the majority.
6) I had my first adult annual physical and pap smear. The doctor--a beautiful Indian woman--and I had interesting conversations. "Are you sexually active?" "No." "And have you had sex before?" "No." "So you're a virgin." "Yes." Then we got to the subject of the pap smear and she said something along the lines of, "But you are a virgin. With the hymen..." I quickly cut her off with a little laugh and said, "I'm not worried." She asked, a bit confused, "So you have had intercourse?" I laughed again and explained, "Well, not with a person" and drew a laugh out of her. There was much more laughing to come. Why? Well, the fact that I am ticklish often arises, to the great delight of my friends. I'm ticklish all over my body. I just didn't realise that was all over all over. So she gave me a running commentary and sure, some of it was not what I would call the most comfortable, but overall it was just...ticklish. So I laughed. At one point my laughter made her drop one of her tools, which got her laughing as well. It was all the more hilarious to me because she had been so worried about me from the start. "Now remember to just relax, breathe deeply, think pleasant thoughts..." (I had told her, again, that I wasn't worried; meditative breathing comes naturally to me.) In the end I said, "You know, I was told these things were absolute torture. I can't say I found it to be that!" The end of the appointment came with her asking if I had any questions, "Perhaps on safe sex?" I nearly lost myself to laughter again. "No thank you. I know it: I teach sex ed, I just don't do it." She joined me in the laughter. All in all, the appointment was just fine. She did marvel at the size and content of my medical folder, though. If I ever forget that I'm unique I should just open it up.
Well, I intended that to be much better organised and written, but that's what I could manage. I'm about to pop home the way to my friend's so I can print out a few pictures for tomorrow's lesson and pick up MS Office. I'm about 500 words into the first story I've written in over half a year, which I hope is a good sign. It's likely going to be depressing as all heck but that's all right; sadness is still a story.
Off I go, then.
[Crossposted from dreamwidth.]